11:45 PM. The Cross Master Bedroom.

Damian stood by the window, the city lights reflecting against the glass as he barked orders into his phone. He was tired, his tie loosened, the weight of the Carter scandal pressing down on his shoulders.

But then, a shadow moved across the floor.

Aria walked up to him. She was wearing a silk slip that clung to her curves like a second skin, the lace hem brushing against her thighs. In her hand was a crystal glass filled with dark red wine.

She didn’t say a word. She just hovered around him, the scent of her perfume vanilla and dangerous musk clouding his...