The city fades behind the tinted windows of Adam's luxury car. Sofia sits stiffly beside Adam. Silence cuts sharper than words.
The car was quiet. Too quiet.
The hum of the engine filled the space between them, but Adam said nothing—his hands tight on the steering wheel, jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might crack. The heat of his fury pulsed in the small space, though his face remained cold, unreadable.
Sofia's heart pounded. She stared straight ahead, refusing to break the silence first.
But the tension was unbearable.
"You followed me," she finally said, her voice low but sharp.
Adam didn't look at her. "Because I knew what he'd try. And I was right."
"You had no right to do that."
"I had every right," he snapped, his voice cutting through the air. "You're my wife."
"Exactly," she bit out. "Your wife, not your prisoner. You don't get to track my every move because you're jealous."
His grip tightened on the wheel. "This isn't about jealousy."
