It was not an accusation. It was a statement.
Valerie did not answer right away.
She lowered her gaze slightly, looking at the rose petals in the basket. Her fingers brushed a stem whose thorns had been carefully removed. Her lips pressed together.
"I'm not lying," she said at last, very softly. "I just… don't want to explain more than necessary."
Demian looked at her for a long time.
Something tightened in Valerie's chest, yet her expression remained controlled. She did not demand an explanation about last night. She did not ask for clarification. She did not ask why she had been left waiting.
She simply stood there, roses wounded in her hands, choosing silence.
And for some reason, it was precisely that composure that made Demian feel as though he had not entirely won.
The evening breeze stirred, rustling leaves and petals. In that quiet garden, there was no argument.
But a new distance had been born subtle, nearly invisible.
And they both felt it.
