It wasn't a question.
It was phrased like one. Had the polite little uptick at the end. The if it's not too much trouble qualifier that existed purely to give the illusion of choice.
But the mind behind those dark eyes wasn't asking. She was informing them she was here to stay. Until whatever reason had brought her was finished.
Until the bracelet on her wrist had done what it came to do.
Until one of them belonged to the other.
And Phei — standing in the hallway outside the elevator with four women who shared his blood, his bed, and his growing empire of chaos — knew with cold, absolute certainty that the Sovereign Tower was no longer safe for them.
Not the penthouse. Not the fifty-second floor.
