Celeste sat within the backseat of the black sedan, her hands gripping the edge of her coat. Rain pattered in opposition to the home windows like fearful fingertips. The driver hadn't started a word since picking her up. Just a nod and the engine starting.
This was risky. Stupid, even.
But the Viper had promised something no one else could.
Her mother.
Still alive.
The car stopped outside a sleek glass hotel in the business district—one she’d seen in newspapers. Too clean. Too polished. It was the kind of place where secrets hid behind five-star service and golden keycards.
The driver opened her door, and she stepped into the cold. In the penthouse, the Viper stood with the aid of the window, a wine glass in his hand, untouched. He didn’t smile. He didn’t offer a greeting. Just motio
