The Don’s Dangerous Addiction
Avery possessed baseline data indicating Jessica Winster would occupy the central board at the gala tonight; she could not afford to forfeit this single window.
Within the dim geometry of the balcony corridor, the ocean breeze carried a freezing, salt-lined chill across the concrete.
Jessica leaned her weight against the window frame, the dead, placid depth of her gaze shifting as she parsed Avery’s approaching silhouette, her lips pulling into a slow look of amusement.
She held her champagne glass with total composure, her tone dropping into a low, mocking cadence:
"The golden cage managed by the Sovereign of Obsidian City appears to have a loose latch."
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