Chapter Eleven— fake dating.
☆Micaiah's POV☆
We sat in his study. Barton himself looked like something out of a mob movie—sixty years old, silver hair slicked back, a pinky ring that caught the light when he moved his hand.
Kieran stood behind me, silent and watchful. He'd barely said a word since we arrived.
"So," Barton said, swirling his scotch. "Daemon Blackwood."
I leaned back, keeping my expression neutral. "He's becoming a problem."
"A problem." Barton chuckled, low and dry. "That's one way to put it. From what I hear, he's got half of Phoenix locked down. Supply chains, distribution networks, legitimate businesses as fronts. The man's built an empire while you've been playing professor."
The jab landed, but I didn't react. "Which is why I'm here."
"Asking for help." He stud
