Crossed Lines
One that tethered Elara closer to him, weaving her into a web so seamless she could no longer distinguish trap from destiny.
A chime interrupted the silence. The screen at the far end blinked to life with a call. Clarisse Duval’s sharp profile appeared, her smile calculated.
“Mr. Cross,” she purred, her voice cutting like velvet. “I had a feeling this partnership had your fingerprints. Efficient, bold… and entirely unexpected. We should celebrate.”
Damon’s expression didn’t shift. His power lay in restraint. “This is business, Clarisse. Nothing more.”
Her laugh was low, amused. “Oh, but isn’t that what makes it delicious?”
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