LOGINLana's POV The words did not only hang but it was stuck between all of us in that room, not as an offer, but as a pronouncement. Move in with me. The air grew thick, suffocating. Bastien made a sound like a wounded bear, stepping forward. Ronan went perfectly still, his golden eyes narrowing to slits, every muscle coiled. “Absolutely not,” Bastien growled, the words tearing from him. “She stays with me. That’s the end of it.” Gideon didn’t even look at him. His attention was fixed on me, a spider patiently waiting for the fly to stop struggling. “You see?” he said softly, almost sympathetically. “The instinct to possess. To control. It is not protection, Lana. It is ownership. First by one brother, now by the other. You have traded a fierce jailer for a gentle one, but the walls are still there.” He spread his hands, a gesture of benevolent reason. “My offer is not ownership. It is asylum.” “Asylum from what?” I managed to ask, my throat tight. “From the war they are waging over
Lana's POV This darn kiss. Part of the things I have been trying so desperately to not remember. A small part of me regrets leaving here and it makes me sick. The kiss was a collision of all the longing, anger, and desperate truth we’d been denying. For a heartbeat, the world ceased to exist. There was no gala, no Bastien, no Gideon, no witch. There was only the searing rightness of his mouth on mine, the taste of storm and regret and a home I’d tried so terribly to forget. My fingers, traitors to my own resolve, twisted into the lapels of his tuxedo, clinging as if he were the only solid thing in a universe of shadows. It was Ronan who broke it, wrenching himself away with a pained gasp that echoed my own. He rested his forehead against mine, his breath ragged, his eyes squeezed shut as if in agony. “This… this is not a weakness,” he ground out, the words a vow against my lips. “This is the only thing that’s ever been real.” A sound of a boot scuffing on stone sliced through th
Lana's POV Ronan’s wrath was a beacon in the crowded room, a silent thunderclap that made the glittering chandeliers feel dim. My breath caught, my steps faltering for a fraction of a second. But Bastien’s arm under my hand was rigid, a reminder of the role we had to play. I couldn’t afford to be the startled deer, not here. I was the woman who had made a choice, and I had to own it with unshakable calm. I deliberately looked away, breaking the searing eye contact. I focused on the intricate pattern of the marble floor, then on the faces around me, offering polite, vague smiles to no one in particular. Ignore him. For peace. For survival. “The Lancaster contingent. How… fascinating.” The voice was a smooth, cultured baritone, aged like fine wine. Gideon Blackthorn materialized before us, having crossed the room with silent, predatory grace. He was older than Ronan, his dark hair silvered at the temples, his eyes a striking, watchful hazel. He wore his power not as a blazing aura,
Lana's POV The air in Maison’s office wasn’t just charged; it was claustrophobic. His words hung between us, not as a question, but as a foregone conclusion he expected me to simply accept. A cold, clear anger, sharper than any I’d felt with Bastien, cut through my shock. “You know I have a boyfriend,” I said, my voice flat and devoid of the tremor he probably expected. “I do,” he acknowledged, unbothered. “A fact that is, frankly, irrelevant to me and, if we’re being honest, to the current you seem to be putting off. He’s a placeholder. A security blanket.” “He’s my partner,” I fired back, taking a deliberate step forward instead of back, meeting his pale grey gaze head-on. “And even if he weren’t, this would be grossly inappropriate. You’re my CEO. I’m a junior coordinator. This isn’t a challenge, Maison, it’s harassment. And I have zero professional or personal interest in you.” A spark ignited in his eyes. Not offense, but fascination. “Harassment is such an ugly, bureaucra
Lana's POV The invitation lay in my hands like a lead weight, the elegant calligraphy blurring before my eyes. Blackthorn. The name echoed with a resonance only someone who’d lived in the shadow of packs would understand. The key turned in the lock. Bastien walked in, shaking rain from his coat. His eyes went immediately to the envelope in my hands, then to my face. He didn’t look surprised. He looked resigned. “It came,” he stated, hanging his coat with slow, deliberate movements. “You knew it would.” “Ronan would have to respond.This is how he responds. By forcing our hand in public.” He walked to the island, pouring himself a whiskey, neat. He didn’t offer me one. “We have to go.” “I want to go,” I said, my voice surprising me with its steadiness. Bastien’s head snapped up. “What?” “I want to go,” I repeated, setting the invitation down. “I want to see him. I want to look him in the eye and have him see that I’m not broken. That I made a choice and I’m living with it.” I
Lana's POV It was my first day at work and well it was a lot since I had been away fromn working for so long. It buzzed with a different kind of energy. Not the electric fear of the supernatural, but the nervous-excited hum of a new beginning. Bastien dropped me off a block away, his jaw tight. The unspoken argument about Maison hung between us, but he’d kept his word of no more hovering. Just a terse, “Call me when you’re done,” before he drove off. Walking the last steps alone, carrying a new leather notebook and a determined hope, felt like a victory. “Lana! Over here!” Chloe waved from under the building’s awning, a splash of color in a sea of grey suits. Today her hair had blue streaks to match her eyeglass frames. “First day! Ready to dive into the beautiful chaos?” “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I laughed, falling into step beside her. Her easy warmth was a lifeline. “Okay, quick intel,” she whispered as we rode the elevator up. “Demarchelier is in Milan for a fabric show fo







