“I am someone who knows when to cut a line before it snaps,” Genevieve said.
Her voice had changed.
The corporate softness was gone. The careful politeness had vanished. What remained was lower, colder, and far older than the identity printed on her business cards.
Costa noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“And I am someone,” she continued, “who prefers to remain a stranger to men like you.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
It was not amusement.
It was recognition.
“A stranger,” he said, “is just a friend who has not been tested yet.”
Genevieve’s expression did not change, but something inside her tightened.
Men like Costa did not make casual remarks. Every sentence had a blade hidden inside it.
Then his hand moved toward his jacket.
For one heartbeat, Genevieve prepared herself for the end.