The car sped northward, the suburban sprawl of the Greater Toronto Area melting into the rugged, granite-lined corridors of the Highway 400. Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was suffocating, thick with the scent of Julian's expensive leather interior and the sharp, clinical fury radiating from Styler.
Julian's hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, his jaw set in a hard, rhythmic pulse. Styler sat in the back, her body tense, her eyes fixed on the back of his head with the cold, diagnostic precision of a surgeon looking at a tumor.
"You're insane, Julian," Styler said, her voice a low, dangerous vibration. "You saw me on those steps. You heard every word I said to the world. I didn't just reject you; I incinerated the very idea of us. And yet, here you are, committing a felony like a common thug."
