- ARIA
The mansion was a tomb of cold marble and heavy silence when I finally pulled back into the driveway.
It was past midnight. My head was spinning with Wynne’s crisis—with the way Luca’s petty jealousy had been twisted into a political noose for Hogan.
I walked into the foyer, my heels clicking like a countdown on the tiles. The light in the study was out, but the air still felt heavy with the scent of him: that sharp, agitated pine and the metallic tang of unspent power.
I didn't head for the master suite. I didn’t want to smell his skin or hear his labored, pained breathing. I turned toward the west wing, pushing open the heavy oak door of the guest room.
"Aria."
The voice came from the shadows of the hallway.
Luca. He was leaning against the wall, his frame l
