Vessara's head snapped toward the entrance, her heart lurching, and a woman swept into the room as if she owned it, like she had been summoned by the tension itself.
She was beautiful. There was no other word for it. Tall and poised, with wine-dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She was draped in designer fabric that cost fortunes. Her heels clicked against the floor, each step announcing her arrival with unmistakable authority.
The women at the table straightened visibly. Even Sheila seemed to sit up a little taller. And Vessara watched something shift in her expression, a deference that hadn't been there for her.
Maya Lawson.
Vessara knew the name without asking. She'd seen it in the files Sera had prepared, the list of influential figures in Nightwalker's social hierarchy. Maya wasn't on the council—no, she was something more. Someone in charge of a cosmetic empire. Someone who didn't need a title to command respect.
