Sofia's heart was still racing when the car eased back onto the road.
The silence simmered, pulsing with everything unsaid. She clenched her jaw, arms crossed, willing herself not to look at him. She needed space—room to breathe, to think, to pull herself back together.
But then he turned down a familiar street.
And she snapped.
"Stop the car."
Adam glanced at her. "What?"
"I said stop the car," she repeated, sharper now. "Drop me at the bus stop."
He didn't even slow down.
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not kidding. I don't need an escort. I don't need your car. I know how to get home on my own."
Adam didn't respond.
The nerve of this man.
"Mr. Ravenstrong," she hissed, "pull over."
"I'm not letting you wait for a bus alone after everything that just happened," he said coolly, eyes on the road. "You're going home. I'm driving you."
"You're not my chauffeur," she snapped.
"No," he agreed, "but I am the man you're going to marry."