Eleanor sat on the edge of her father's study desk, Ryan towering over her, his mask lying on the desk, his hands gripping the edge. His gaze was intense, almost intimidating, but Eleanor met it with a steady smile.
"I've been writing to you for two years," she began, her voice calm and even. "But there's been no response." She paused, her smile fading slightly. "Remember when I came back, I went to you and begged you to listen to what I had to say? I went in person to talk to you, you refused."
Ryan's eyes narrowed but was still looking at her.
Eleanor's gaze remained fixed on him. "Now you've taken my hand and brought me here. Now you're looking at me."
His eyes shifted to the hookah lying on the table. "Since when did you start smoking?"
