(Third Person).
Across the table, Wanda watched it all unfold with barely concealed amusement. She leaned back ever so slightly, her spoon resting lazily between her fingers as she enjoyed the fallout of her earlier handiwork.
'Delicious,' she mused inwardly. 'This night just keeps getting better.'
But Draven's attention was far from her.
He was still chewing, but his thoughts were a thousand miles away, replaying every word Meredith had hurled at him that morning. Every line of accusation. Every defiant glare.
The way her voice had cracked with hurt, and yet, she'd stood her ground, as though she hadn't just been beaten down hours earlier.
She had changed.
And now, even her silence had turned into sharp, deliberate weapons.
There was a time, not long ago, when he used to hate her quietness—the way she never answered his questions, the way she closed herself off. It used to frustrate him endlessly.
