Beneath Velvet Poison
Pearl, Starlight Tower.
The presidential suite on the top floor—was soaked in amber light and quiet decadence.
Crystal lamps shimmered above imported carpets. A city of neon stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass, Woodland's midnight skyline glittering like cold jewels scattered across black silk.
At the center of that luxurious silence, Lucas sat alone beside the window, gently swirling a glass of red wine.
The wine moved in slow crimson circles.
So did his thoughts.
His face still had a hint of pallor, but his body had recovered quite a bit.
Recovered… but not forgotten.
His blue eyes narrowed.
That punch.
That impossible punch.
Even now, when his fingers tightened around the stem of the glass, phantom pain stirred in his chest.
The injury from that punch a few days ago was indeed severe, leaving him with lingering fear.
Fear.
The word irritated him.
Lucas did not like admitting such emotions even to himself.
