I tried to sit still, my shoulders tense, my fingers clutching the dress bag like it was a lifeline. The leather seat beneath me was soft, but I felt no comfort—just a gnawing anxiety that refused to loosen its grip.
Niklaus, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease. I could feel his gaze on me, studying me the way someone might examine a riddle they were dying to solve. It made my skin prickle—the weight of his attention, the way his silence seemed louder than the soft hum of the car engine.
"You look like you're about to jump out of the car," he finally said, his voice smooth and calm, shattering the heavy silence.
I flinched slightly, snapping out of my spiraling thoughts. "I'm just… processing," I muttered, my voice small, like I wasn't sure if I wanted him to hear me.
He tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing the tiniest bit. "Processing what?"
