What I expected—anger, confrontation, or immediate rejection—never came. Instead, Elliot leaned his arms against his vehicle, his posture relaxed yet undeniably dominant, his presence anchoring the space as though he had already claimed it as part of his territory. His voice carried that same controlled weight, low and magnetic, cutting cleanly through the tension between us as he spoke.
"I've been waiting for you at your doorstep. Hurry up and get inside."
Before I could fully respond, he shifted away from me without hesitation and moved toward the backseat, his attention softening as he addressed Jared with a familiar warmth that contrasted sharply with the pressure he carried moments before.
"Hello, Jared."
The change in his aura was immediate—gentler, measured, restrained—but the underlying authority never disappeared, only redirected. Jared's voice followed, small but attentive, sensing the subtle strain beneath the surface.
"Mr. Presgrave, you're not mad, are you?"
