Chapter 61: Delilah's POV

The door opens with a soft creak, and I glance up from where I'm curled on the bed, my fingers absently tracing patterns on the silk sheets.

He's back. I smile up at him and he pauses in his steps just long enough to return it with a fairly real one.

I know the second he steps into the room—there's a tension about him, a weight in his shoulders that wasn't there this morning.

His usually sharp, commanding presence seems dulled, as though he's been at war with something he can't quite conquer.

I watch him silently as he crosses the room, shrugging off his jacket with a little more force than necessary, tossing it onto the chair by the desk.

His expression is unreadable, but I know better.

He's worked up.

"Long dinner?" I ask softly, sitting up a little, the sheets falling from my legs.

He glances at me, and for a brief moment, the hard edge in his eyes softens. But then it's back—the storm brewing behind his silver irises.