A strong arm shot out, catching Amanda mid-fall before she could land across William’s lap.
"Amanda."
His voice was low, sharp as splintered ice.
"I know you’re not drunk. The charade is over."
The air in the car grew thin, charged with a sudden, suffocating pressure.
Amanda blinked once, then slowly straightened. Her eyes were clear. She looked at him, not with shame, but with something softer, a calculated wound.
"Must you be like this?"
10