The night pressed heavy against the tall windows of Lucas’s villa, shadows slanting across the marble floors like silent scars. Ayla sat perched beside him on the velvet couch, a damp towel folded carefully in her delicate hands.
Lucas leaned back, eyes closed, exhaustion dragging at his bones. The events of the summit still spun in his mind: alliances formed, rivals neutralized, speeches delivered under bright white lights while Elaine’s cold eyes haunted the shadows.
“Lucas…” Ayla’s voice, soft as spun sugar, cut into his thoughts. “You’ve drunk too much tonight. Let me take care of you.”
He opened his eyes as she leaned forward, her movements gentle and practiced. Her small hand reached out, the towel hovering inches from his temple. Reflexively, Lucas’s arm shot up, blockin
