He wanted to shake her. He wanted to demand why she had ignored him for eighteen hours while he stared at a blank chat screen like a fool. She looked like an angel and talked like a blade, and the contradiction was making his blood burn. "Why didn't you reply, Zoya?" She turned back to face the room, seemingly deciding that looking at him was a tactical error. "I was busy." "You weren't busy." "I was asleep." "You weren't asleep." She took a slow, unhurried sip of her rosé. "Are you surveilling my sleeping habits now, Mr. Mansoor? Should I be concerned?" "Why didn't you reply, Zoya?" She finally looked at him again. The full look — unfiltered and dangerous. "Why did you text me?" she countered. "I thought you were going to ruin my life if I didn't drop the case. Isn't that how the threat went?" He opened his mouth to argue. "Because if that's still the plan," she continued, perfectly pleasant, "I do have a full day tomorrow and I would appreciate knowing in advance." "That
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