The nameplate on my desk read Cassiel Draven. I didn’t care for titles, but my board insisted on the sharp serif letters carved into obsidian, a reminder to anyone who entered this office that the man behind it was not to be trifled with. CEO. Founder. Visionary. Half-angel. They whispered the last one in reverence, or fear.

What I wanted, though, was silence. The kind of silence that let me forget that investors pulled at my sleeves, that clients treated me like a messiah, that employees rarely dared to look me in the eye. Six-foot-eleven doesn’t make blending in easy, nor does the fact that I never stayed long enough for anyone to know me.

I had just loosened the knot of my tie, savoring the rare peace, when the doors slammed open.

Two of my security detail shoved someone forward. A small figure stumbled into the room, clothes wrinkled like he’d wrestled asphalt, hair sticking up in uneven spikes. His lip was bleeding, though he wore his cut like a medal rather than a wound.

And then I noticed the tail. Black, barbed at the end, lashing against my marble floor with a sound like leather snapping. His eyes flared the way fire catches when fed oxygen. Half-demon.

“Let me go!” he snarled, voice small but sharp, like glass biting into skin. He twisted against the guards’ hold with an arrogance his frame couldn’t support. “I’ll sue you—hell, I’ll curse you! You can’t just manhandle me like I’m some street urchin—do you have any idea who I am?”

One of the guards muttered, “He was trying to get past the elevators, sir. Refused clearance.”

I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers. My silence alone filled the room. The little demon finally noticed me, froze for a heartbeat, then puffed up like he had inches to spare. His coat was a luxury brand, I realized, but wrinkled beyond recognition, the silk shirt beneath spattered with city grime. He still tried to tilt his chin like a model on a runway.

“Cassiel Draven,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue with disdain. “The untouchable angel in his glass tower.” His tail flicked. “You look taller in the papers.”

I should have dismissed him, let security drag him out. Instead, I found myself studying him, the way his arrogance covered the obvious hurt, the way even his defiance carried an odd sort of grace.

And—though I’d never admit it aloud—the silence I’d wanted didn’t feel so necessary anymore.

“Release him,” I ordered.

The guards hesitated, then obeyed. He straightened his wrinkled collar with deliberate slowness, as if daring me to comment.