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AUTHOR’S POV
The air in the room was thick with tension, the kind that didn’t need words to be felt. Vincein sat on the couch, his body still and rigid, his sharp gaze locked onto Damon, who sat across from him, equally unmoving.
Their expressions were unreadable, their silence filled with an unspoken history of rivalry, distrust, and something else—something deeper.
Damon leaned back against the couch, his posture deceptively relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, his hand resting lightly on the armrest.
He wasn’t fooled by the invitation.
Vincein never did anything without reason, and this meeting was no different.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
They simply stared at each other, assessing, waiting, daring the other to be the first to break the silence.
