The hotel suite Logan Mason had booked was one of those rare places where extravagance seemed effortless—floor-to-ceiling windows, velvet couches, gold-trimmed details that glowed in the dim light of the city outside. But the moment Aurora Sage stepped in, she saw past the glamour. She saw it for what it really was: a cage. Not made of steel or locks, but of Logan's control.
He trailed behind her, tossing his jacket onto the couch with casual arrogance, the same way he tossed away anything that wasn't worth his attention. But Aurora? Aurora was never discarded. She was collected, cornered, consumed.
"You've been quiet," Logan drawled, his voice low, the edges carrying that mocking warmth only he could manage. "Not sulking again, are you? I don't want my assassin hiding her claws."
Aurora turned, arms folded across her chest, eyes cool as steel. "Maybe I don't feel like playing into your games tonight."
