"Start talking," Zane said coolly.
It had been about ten minutes since Noah left the house—ten minutes he had spent pacing, trying to force his pulse to slow so he wouldn't snap at his sister. They were now in the second living room, a space that felt far too small for the tension radiating between them.
He took a seat on the luxury couch and crossed his legs, his gaze fixed and waiting for an already sitting Olive to answer for herself.
"I don't owe you—"
"No, Olive…" Zane cut in, his voice dangerously calm as he strained to remain even-tempered. "Don't tell me that. Start talking."
He looked at her, and even though a stubborn, defiant pout played on her lips, he didn't budge.
"Olive, I'm trying here, as I'm sure you can see. But there is only so much of your pettiness I can take right now."
