Mirabel’s POV

The phone is pressed tightly against my ear as I pace the luxurious hotel suite. My heels click rhythmically against the marble floor, echoing off the high ceilings.

“I told you,” I whisper harshly into the phone. “Keep your mouth shut. Flora’s not someone we want snooping around.”

The person on the other end mutters a nervous agreement. I roll my eyes and end the call without saying goodbye. Pathetic.

I toss the phone onto the velvet chaise just as the door opens. Senator Boris steps in, his expensive cologne announcing him before he even says a word.

“Bad news?” he asks, sliding off his jacket and tossing...