The invitation arrived without ceremony—no seal, no threat, just a time and a place. Alyssa recognized Davin’s handwriting immediately. Precise. Elegant. Possessive in its restraint.

She didn’t tell Ethan.

The meeting was set in an old conservatory overlooking the river, glass walls ribbed with iron like the bones of a cathedral. Night pressed its face to the panes. Inside, the lights were low, amber, deliberate. Davin had always preferred stages that made people feel chosen.

Alyssa stepped in alone.

He was already there, pouring tea as if the world were not burning. Dark suit, immaculate cuffs, a calm that suggested certainty rather than peace. He looked up and smiled—not the...