|Gryphon's POV|
The skyline yawns wide outside my office, a ruthless masterpiece of steel and ambition, each tower glinting like the blade of a well-kept knife. New York doesn't apologize, not for its sharpness, not for its beauty. And neither do I. But this morning, as I sit behind the obsidian slab of my desk—hands steepled, mind trailing somewhere far softer than the walls around me would suggest—I find myself tracing the ghost of a name against my thigh.
Serena.
Stillness hums in the room, the kind that feels intentional. The kind you command when you're the kind of man who doesn't need to raise his voice to be heard.
A soft knock at the door cuts through the hush.
My assistant's voice, calm and clipped. "Mr. Vance, Draven Russo is here to see you."
I don't hesitate. "Send him i
