My steps are steady, measured, each one landing with cold precision on the marble floor of the Kael Holdings lobby.
My face is a mask—unreadable, carved from stone, the face of Zyren Kael that makes employees tremble and opponents second-guess every move they've ever made.
The guards bow as I pass, their movements synchronized, practiced, perfected over years of serving this family. Someone opens the massive glass door, and I step out into the night.
The cool air hits me immediately, a sharp contrast to the heated frustration simmering beneath my skin.
And there he is.
Moon leans against his car like he owns the night itself. It's an expensive machine, sleek and black, the kind that probably costs more than most people's homes.
His arms are crossed over his chest, his posture radiating calm control, absolute certainty. A smile plays on his lips—slow, confident, infuriating.
Like he hadn't cornered me in my own room this morning.
