The air in the study was thick, not just with the scent of old paper and rich mahogany, but with something far more potent, something that made Mayari's skin hum. She was perched on the edge of a plush leather armchair, pretending to be engrossed in the ancient text on astrophysics splayed across her lap. But her eyes, though scanning the complex equations, weren't truly seeing them. They kept darting, like startled birds, to the man across the room.
Eryx.
He was leaning back in his own chair, a heavy, leather-bound financial journal open in one hand, a glass of amber liquid glinting in the other. Moonlight, cold and silver, streamed through the tall window, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the subtle flex of his bicep under the expensive fabric of his shirt. He hadn't said a word to
