Caius was sitting outside the room, slouched in the chair by the door, one hand resting on his knee, the other holding an empty bottle of water. A tray sat beside him—an empty plate, the fork abandoned next to it.
She stared at the tray.
Had he been eating out here? Was he…waiting for her?
The low glow from the hallway light settled across his face. His expression was calm, but distant. His green eyes, however, tracked her every step like a shadow.
Heather didn't say a word. She stayed quiet, her posture careful as she padded barefoot toward the bedroom door. She didn't want to start another fight, not tonight.
But his voice stopped her.
"Where are you coming from?" Caius asked, his tone quiet and flat, but carrying that undercurrent she knew too well.
Heather clenched her jaw. She didn't want to answer him. He was the last person who had the right to question her after everything. But the second he rose from the chair, towering over her, she felt small.
