Riley let out a sharp, ear-piercing scream, her hands instinctively flying to cover her ears as the gunshot echoed through the room.
Her heart pounded like a war drum, her breath caught in her throat, expecting to see blood splattered across Alex's still form. But as her wide, terrified eyes darted toward him, she realized—nothing.
No blood. No wound. Just the sound of shattered porcelain filling the tense silence.
She turned slowly, almost afraid to believe what she had just witnessed. The bullet had missed. It had torn through a delicate vase instead, its broken shards scattered across the polished floor and desk like a cruel reminder of how close the shot had been.
Riley's breath came in short, ragged gasps as she snapped her gaze to Tryson, her body frozen in shock. What the hell was going on inside his head?
"Tryson?" Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with disbelief and something far more primal—fear.
