Seraphina Voss stepped out of the private elevator into Lucien Blackthorn’s penthouse at exactly 9:58 PM, her black heels clicking like a challenge against the dark marble floor. She had chosen her armor carefully: a tight crimson dress that hugged her full breasts and flared over her hips, the hem stopping just below mid-thigh. Professional enough for “negotiations.” Lethal enough to make him suffer.The entire top floor smelled of aged whiskey, leather, and something darker—pure masculine power. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering city, but the real view was the man waiting for her.Lucien stood behind a massive obsidian desk, jacket discarded, white shirt sleeves rolled up to expose powerful forearms. The top buttons were open, revealing a glimpse of tanned, muscled chest. He looked like sin incarnate.“Prompt,” he said, voice low and rough. “Good girl.”Sera’s stomach clenched at the praise, even as anger flared. “Let’s skip the bullshit, Blackthorn. You wanted this
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