The dim, golden glow of the lamplight shined in Bruno's bedroom, casting shadows that seemed to mimic the tension between us.
I turned my gaze to the window, my arms crossed over my chest in a vain attempt to shield myself from his piercing gaze.
The air between us was thick, suffocating, and every second of silence felt like a tightening noose around my neck.
Bruno leaned closer to me, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, exposing the hard lines of his chest.
He was the picture of composed intensity, but his eyes burned with a mixture of frustration and something deeper—something I couldn't quite understand.
"I have been avoiding this conversation for weeks, Maria," he said, his voice low and controlled, but with an edge sharp enough to cut. "It's time we stop dancing around it."
I turned away, pretending to admire the view outside.
"There's nothing to discuss," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
