A soft knock echoed through the quiet suite.
A young attendant entered and bowed slightly toward Yelena. "Lady Red… the Patriarch has sent a ship for you. It's waiting at Dock Seven."
Yelena gave a small nod. Her face was unreadable again—back to that well-trained calm.
She stood up.
Xavier didn't say anything. He just watched.
She turned toward the exit, heels clicking on the polished floor. But right before stepping through the door, she paused.
Then, without a word, she turned back, plucked a folded napkin from the table, and threw it at Xavier's face.
It landed square on his chest.
She gave him a long, silent glare—not of anger, but something stranger. Something warmer. More dangerous.
And then she was gone.
Xavier raised a brow, unfolded the napkin.
There, printed in red lipstick, was the outline of her lips… and a number scribbled beneath it.
He chuckled, then stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
"…Guess I'll be the one calling now."
