The private tearoom at the top of the Asterion Hotel was designed for royalty—soft cream walls, gold-trimmed windows, and a chandelier that glowed like trapped starlight. Everything looked delicate, serene, almost sacred.

A lie.

Because the two people about to sit at the small circular table were anything but holy.

Alyssa stepped inside first, her heels echoing like slow, deliberate warnings. Davin was already waiting, lounging in the corner seat with the ease of a king surveying his kingdom. A porcelain teapot sat between them—steam curling upward like a ghost rising.

He smiled lazily when she approached.

“You’re late.”

“And you’re predictable,” Alyssa replied, taking her seat without lowering her...