⅞
Serena’s POV
The night was perfect.
For once, there was no tension between us, no heated stares, no barely restrained annoyance or anger. Just peace. A rare, fleeting thing.
Ronan sat across from me at the small wooden table, his chair tipped back onto two legs, a lazy smirk curving his lips as he watched me. His golden eyes glowed, sharp with amusement as I tried—and failed—to flick a playing card into the empty whiskey glass between us.
“That was pathetic,” he teased, taking a slow sip from his own glass.
“Shut up,” I muttered, grabbing another card. I flicked my wrist, aiming carefully, but it fluttered uselessly to the floor.
Ronan chuckled. “Do you want me to show you how it’s done?”
“No.”
He ignored me, picking up a card and flicking it effortlessly into the glass. It lan
