"Mark."
It was an impulse, one that I almost regretted as he was turning, but his expression… For a moment, there was a shift—something different in his gaze, a hint of curiosity that softened the edges of his usual scowl.
We stood there in silence, locked in this unexpected exchange, and I felt a strange, unspoken understanding pass between us. It was a quiet, almost fragile moment, and I realized, somewhat to my surprise, that maybe—just maybe—Mark Rowley was more than the spoiled cynic I'd taken him for.
The silence stretched, becoming something more, and I thought I saw a glimmer of uncertainty behind his eyes.
But just as I was about to speak, footsteps echoed down the hall. We both looked away quickly as the makeup artist peeked in.
"They're ready for you both," she said, glancing between us with a polite, oblivious smile.
