Phei stood at the window, forearm braced against the cool glass, forehead resting there as he watched the Hell River carve its slow, indifferent path through the glittering city below—sharp jaw, dark eyes fixed on the endless lights folding into water into night.
Behind him, the mirrored closet door slid open with a soft, deliberate hiss.
He felt the shift in the air before he heard her—warmer, heavier, scented with dark vanilla, faint wine, and the unmistakable musk of a woman already aching.
Patricia stepped into the room.
"Phei~"
One word—his name—like a caress wrapped in velvet and heat.
And the moment he turned, the world narrowed to her.
She was sin made flesh in black lace and shadow.
The robe was barely there—translucent black silk, open at the front, tied with a loose satin sash that did nothing to hide what lay beneath.
