The limousine purred to a halt outside a secluded estate cloaked in the glow of understated opulence. The air pulsed with wealth and menace—high walls, steel gates, and security cameras that blinked like watchful eyes. Logan stepped out first, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored jacket, every inch of him carved in polished arrogance. Aurora followed, her heels silent on the cobblestone, her movements fluid and deliberate. She wore a deep burgundy dress that clung to her body like a second skin, one slit riding high on her thigh. A garter holster was fastened discreetly underneath. Beauty sharpened into danger.
They were no longer entering as prey. Tonight, they were weapons.
"This isn't the Black Orchid," Logan muttered, scanning the estate. "Where the hell are we?"
"Somewhere worse," Aurora replied, her voice smooth but alert. "This is a private residence. Whoever invited us doesn't just want a meeting. They want leverage."
The doors opened before they could knock.
