Miss Claire paused at the question. Not long—barely a second—but enough for the subtle raise of her brow to register as a quiet, calculated reaction.
There was no flicker of warmth, no flash of irritation. Just that subtle, almost curious tilt, as if she were running a mental equation in the background while her expression remained smooth.
Then she shifted, the motion deceptively casual. Her posture loosened, or rather gave the illusion of loosening—shoulders dropping a fraction, legs crossed a touch more comfortably, hands resting neatly atop her knee.
For all her elegant poise, she could've been sculpted from marble. The paradox was that she made it look effortless.
"Go ahead," she replied, voice flat, controlled. No trace of curiosity, no hint of boredom. Just a blank, open field where the conversation could land—or die. You couldn't really tell.
It was the kind of tone that could freeze a lesser speaker mid-thought.
Don, however, didn't flinch.
