Christine Rivera
The air in the room feels thick, like it’s holding its breath. Elena leans back against the velvet sofa, her eyes tracking the way Julian moves—slow, deliberate, and entirely too aware of the space between them. "You're staring again," Julian says, his voice a low vibration that seems to settle right under her skin. He doesn't look up from the glass he’s filling, but a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Hard not to," Elena murmurs, her voice dropping an octave. "You have this way of making a quiet room feel... loud. Like every thought I’m having is being broadcast." Julian finally looks up, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that makes the world outside the window disappear. He sets the glass down—untouched—and moves toward her. "And what thoughts would those be? The kind you share, or the kind you keep locked away because they’re too much for a polite conversation?" He stops just inches away. Elena can feel the heat ...