Night draped the city like a curtain soaked in secrets. The upper floor of Davin’s private suite glowed with dim amber lights, reflecting off the expensive glass walls like the room itself was watching—waiting—for someone to break.

Maya stood by the window, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. She didn’t flinch when Davin walked in, though the sound of his footsteps still scraped inside her like old wounds reopening.

“Still pretending you don’t miss me?” Davin asked, voice velvet, poisonous.

He poured himself a drink, offering her the other glass.

Maya didn’t touch it.

“I don’t miss you,” she replied coldly. “I don’t miss being used.”

Davin laughed softly—a sound...