THE FIGURE lounging in his executive chair spun slowly to face him, distinct golden eyes glittering with malicious amusement.
Kieran appeared just as Grayson remembered—sharp-cheeked, ageless, his dark-blond hair glinting under the afternoon light like threads of sunlit silk. His expensive charcoal suit was immaculate, tailored to perfection, and he wore it with the casual arrogance of someone who had never known what it meant to want for anything.
But it was the predatory smile curving his lips that made Grayson's blood boil.
"Hello, again, Ashford," Kieran purred, the endearment dripping with mockery as he gestured languidly around the office. "Love what you've done with the place. Very... domesticated."
Grayson's hand tightened around his coffee cup until he felt the ceramic crack under the pressure.
The stress ball in his other pocket seemed to mock him now—what good were Mailah's gentle remedies against the kind of darkness Kieran brought with him?
