Elena – POV
I was not going to look at him.
Not even a glance.
He could stand there all broody and smug with that open shirt and that damn tie hanging loose like he just rolled out of someone's sheets—but I wasn't going to acknowledge him.
Let him stew.
Let him wonder.
Because I was pissed.
No—furious.
How dare he leave me like that? After the way I threw myself at him, like some heat-crazed little wolf in the middle of a full moon rut?
And I didn't regret it—that was the problem.
No, what I regretted was the way he left. Like it didn't matter. Like I didn't matter. Just a little tease, a morning distraction, and then he ghosted me like I was a one-night heat-fix.
Now here he was.
Lurking in the dining hall like a sexy plague.
I could feel him watching me. Every damn second. The weight of his gaze, dragging over me, hot enough to sear. Like he was daring me to look. Daring me to acknowledge him.
But I didn't.
