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Tasha set the glass down, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I don't know what you mean," she said, her voice steady, though her insides were in turmoil.

He smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. "You've always been a good liar, Tasha. But remember… I can always tell."

Her breath caught, but she hastily masked the fear with a small, nervous-sounding laugh. "There is nothing to tell, De Silva. I'm just… adjusting to everything. You know how stressful things have been."

He raised an eyebrow. His fingers brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, a gesture that felt more possessive than affectionate. "Stress, huh?

Tasha nodded, conscious of the weight of his scrutiny. She needed to be cool, needed to make him believe all was right with her world. But sitting as close as she was to him, feeling the heat emanating from his body and the intensity of his gaze, she wondered how much longer she could play the facade before he uncovered her betrayal.

De Silva leaned back, taking the glass from