In the Ashford Madam's office, the temperature had been dialed down four times in the last hour.
Each drop colder than the last.
Yet none could quell the fire rising within her.
She sat poised behind her desk—back straight, legs crossed at the knee, pen hovering over a contract she'd been staring at for forty-five minutes without truly seeing a single word.
The game had ended two hours ago. She'd watched every second in solitude, on the curved screen hidden in the conference room. Watched the boy she'd lain with on her desk in her home office defy gravity, floating above the basketball court like it was a mere suggestion.
And something inside her stirred.
Something ancient. Something buried deep in the basement of her soul long before Phei had barged in and shattered the lock on whatever had kept it chained.
She set the pen down.
Picked it up.
Set it down again.
