The hum of the elevator faded as Eden Lin stepped into Leon Hart's penthouse––the space where glass walls met polished ebony floors, and the city stretched endless below. Leon waited by the floor-to-ceiling window, sip of mineral water in hand, expression unreadable.
“Good evening," he greeted, inclining his head. His right cufflink caught the light: an unassuming onyx sphere.
Eden offered a measured smile. “Thank you for hosting." She removed her coat—a dove‑gray cashmere wrap—and let it fall over the back of a nearby chair. Underneath, her tailored sheath dress was the exact shade of twilight.
Leon guided her to a long mahogany table set for two. Candles flickered against imported Venetian glassware; the menu lay folded in crimson silk. “I thought we could finalize our agreement over
