|Gryphon's POV|
Beatrice Van der Bilt is standing there. Silent. Still. Backlit by the chandeliers like a ghost carved from gold and venom.
Her posture is perfect—chin slightly tilted, arms crossed with that same graceful cruelty she's made her legacy. Her icy eyes drag over me slowly, the way one might examine a painting at an auction they're not sure is worth bidding on.
"Gryphon," she says, voice smooth as silk and twice as sharp. "What a surprise. Didn't expect you to be up this early."
Her gaze dips—purposefully, cruelly—to my bare chest, then lingers with a smirk that tightens the air between us like piano wire.
I stay still. My spine straightens instinctively, like I've just encountered a predator in the wild.
"Didn't think my daughter was such... stimulating company," she co
