Angela pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, her eyes burning with a newfound fire—immortal, unstoppable, mine. Without a word, she slid off my lap, her posture shifting from breathless awe to cold, commanding authority.
She straightened her clothes, her fingers brushing over her lips as if savoring the last traces of our kiss, before turning toward the door.
The heavy oak door creaked open as she stepped out, her voice cutting through the night like a blade. "Max!" she called, her tone sharp and unyielding. The sound of boots scuffling against stone echoed down the hall before Max appeared, his expression alert, his posture rigid.
