Mia sat on the edge of the sleek leather couch in her father’s study, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The heavy scent of aged wood and faint cigar smoke clung to the room. The polished bookshelves and antique furniture seemed cold, detached — much like Laurent himself.
Liam stood at her side, his body coiled with tension. His gaze was sharp, cutting across the room where Viktor lounged in an armchair. A crystal glass of amber liquid rested in Viktor’s hand, catching the soft glow from the fireplace.
Viktor’s mouth curled faintly as he swirled the drink. “I assume Laurent has explained the terms.”
Mia’s throat tightened. “He has.”
“Good.” Viktor’s gaze sharpened. “Then we have no need for further discussion.”
Liam’s eyes darkened. “You really think this is going to hold?”
Viktor
