Logan Mason's world had always been full of noise—paparazzi flashes, screaming fans, the endless applause that fed his ego like a drug. But that morning, when the sun spilled through the tall hotel windows, the noise was replaced by a silence heavy with tension. Aurora Sage sat at the edge of the bed, her hair tumbling in dark waves down her back, her profile sharp and untouchable as she fastened her boots.
Logan leaned against the headboard, shirt half-buttoned, eyes locked on her like a predator watching prey.
"You're avoiding me," he said, his voice low, threaded with arrogance and accusation.
Aurora didn't look at him. "I'm being practical. You have a set call in an hour. I'm not about to babysit you through your tantrums when the press is waiting."
The corner of his lips tugged upward into a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "Tantrums? You think that's what this is?"
