|Draven's POV|
The aftermath of the auction still simmers in my veins, and I can't shake the unsettling feeling Lazaro left behind. I lean against the balcony railing, scanning the city lights below, trying to clear my head. Gryphon stands a few feet away, muttering curses under his breath.
"She's pissed, you know," he finally says, lighting a cigar.
I grunt, not in the mood for his commentary. "Let her be. She needs to cool off."
"Or maybe you need to stop being such a stubborn ass and just tell her the truth," he shoots back, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
I don't respond, my jaw clenched tight. It's not that simple. Nothing about Lazaro Veyron is simple.
Just as Gryphon's about to say something else, a frantic woman bursts onto the balcony, her pale face streaked with fear.
"Someone—
