The whiskey poured freely that night, but the real intoxication was the tension crackling in the air like electricity before a storm. Damien Cross had arrived like he owned the damn place, stepping out of his sleek black car in a tailored suit that screamed money and menace. Victor’s business partner was thirty-five, built lean and sharp with a predator’s smile and eyes that missed nothing. He claimed it was about urgent contracts from Tokyo, but the second he walked into the living room and saw Lila, his gaze turned hungry.
They settled in with drinks — Victor in the big leather armchair like a king on his throne, Lila curled on the couch, and Damien choosing the spot right beside her. Too close. His knee brushed hers deliberately as he leaned forward to pour her another glass, his finge
