The rain drummed a relentless, rhythmic beat against the tinted glass of the private booth, blurring the neon lights of the city outside into streaks of bleeding color. Inside the upscale lounge, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of expensive leather, Cuban tobacco, and old, lingering grudges.
Marcus sat back in the plush semi-circular booth, swirling the ice in his glass. He didn't look up when the heavy velvet curtain parted, but he felt the shift in the air. He knew the exact moment she stepped inside.
Vivian looked exactly as he remembered—sharp, elegant, and carrying herself with a calculated coldness that could freeze the blood in a man’s veins. She was draped in a tailored black trench coat, her dark hair immaculate despite the damp weather outside. She didn't offer a greeti
