He lingered for a fleeting heartbeat, his gaze lingering on her before he turned toward the door, his frame coiled with the intent of departure.
Yet, before his boot could cross the threshold, her voice arrested him.
It was a soft sound, quiet as a falling petal, but laced with a venom that curdled the very air.
"By all means, proceed," Olivia murmured.
"Go to a woman who is not your wife, in the dead of night, to interrogate her on the transgressions of your own spouse. Oh, what a charming dialogue that shall be at such an ungodly hour."
Matthias stumbled, his momentum shattered.
His fingers, already grazing the cold brass of the handle, went still. Slowly—agonizingly—he turned to face her.
A spark flickered in the depths of his eyes, an unreadable shadow of something dark and ancient.
"What, precisely, are you implying, Olivia?"
She met his gaze with an iron-clad composure, her lips curving into the faintest ghost of a derisive smile.
