Lyra walked into the grand dining room with hesitant steps, her fingers nervously tugging at the hem of the sweater the maid had given her. The space was large—too large—and decorated in the kind of luxury that made her skin crawl with discomfort. Crystal chandeliers, a long polished oak table, and the scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread thick in the air.
She froze when she saw them already seated.
Kyson. Xander. Maverick.
Her eyes instinctively flicked to Kyson first. His jaw was tense, lips pressed in a cold, unreadable line. His arms were crossed as he leaned back in his chair, one leg resting over the other, his stare cutting through her like winter steel. He didn’t say a word. Just stared. As if her presence was offensive.
Xander gave her a lazy smirk from where he sat
