Kyson stepped into the study room like a storm bottled inside a man. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched. The door clicked shut behind him, the weight of his fury pushing it closed without a thought. He needed space—space to breathe, to think, to forget how dangerously close he’d come to losing control with Lyra again.
She was too soft, too quiet—and yet somehow managed to undo him with just a look.
He poured himself a drink from the glass decanter on the side table, the amber liquid sloshing in the glass as he brought it to his lips. He didn’t hear the door open. But he felt the shift in the air.
“Kyson?” came the soft, familiar voice.
He didn’t turn around. “Livia.”
“You looked… upset,” she said, walking in like she belonged. Her heels clicked lightly on the floor. “I saw you stor
