Inside the room, Anthony sat like a man who owned the air in the room, his posture relaxed yet commanding. The thin fabric of his singlet clung to his frame, revealing the sharp lines of his chest and the dark ink of his tattoo that trailed along his skin like a silent warning. The table before him was bare, no drinks, no distractions. Just him, waiting.

Cleopatra stepped inside, her eyes darting immediately toward the table.

“Is it the usual? Let me go get your tray ready,” Cleopatra said, her tone flat, already turning.

“No,” he said, his voice low and decisive, cutting through the space. “Don’t stress yourself.” His...