I glanced at him, heat brushing my cheeks. He wasn’t flirting—not like the others did. No, with Kross, his words always felt like truths. Like observations that made me feel more real than I wanted to admit.
I licked my lips, easing into the velvet seat, trying not to let my awe show too much. “You still haven’t answered me,” I said, keeping my voice casual. “Can you really afford this place? Or do fabricated identities just work as natural currency for you now?” I tilted my head. “Was this your grand plan all along?”
Kross’s lips curved slightly as he sank into the seat across from me. The table was round and small—too intimate. Too intentional.
“I don’t need to afford the place,” he said, his tone flat but not dismissive. He gave a subtle nod to the waiter who approached silently. “My
