The crystal glass in Veylin Nachtmahr’s hand gleamed under the golden chandeliers as he descended the grand staircase, each step slow, deliberate. The echoes of a private business deal still whispered in his mind, but they faded into irrelevance the moment his eyes fell upon her.
She stood at the foot of the stairs, draped in black velvet, her bare shoulders kissed by candlelight. The soft flicker of the flames danced along the diamond necklace resting against her collarbone, but even jewels could not rival the elegance she exuded. Her dark hair, swept into an intricate updo, revealed a neck so delicate yet poised with confidence. And then—her eyes. Sharp, knowing.
For the first time in years, Veylin stopped breathing.
She was speaking—voice rich, steady, effortlessly composed. “—a merger of this scale could shift the entire industry. The logistics would be complex, but the long-term returns—”
One of the men, a bloated fool, waved a hand, cutting her off. “Sweetheart, you’re better off worrying about whose bed you’ll end up in tonight rather than mergers.”
The others chuckled, lifting their glasses, amused at their own mediocrity.
Veylin’s grip on his glass tightened.
Veylin moved then, descending the last steps with smooth precision. The men noticed him too late. “Gentlemen.” His voice was calm, but beneath it lay a quiet edge, a warning wrapped in velvet. The air shifted. The atmosphere thickened. “I believe you were about to excuse yourselves.” The men stiffened. One by one, they muttered excuses, retreating into the crowd. Veylin turned to the woman beside him. Up close, she was even more stunning, her beauty sharpened by intelligence, her posture unyielding. She met his gaze without hesitation, without fear, as if she had already assessed him.