The searchlight from the helicopter outside continued to sweep the room, casting long, rhythmic shadows that danced across the walls of the opulent penthouse. Alaric stood tall, silhouetted against the window, while Anna remained perched on the cold teak desk. Her torn red gown offered only a fleeting veil for her body, leaving her smooth shoulders and thighs exposed in the amber glow of the city lights.
The atmosphere was electric, suffocating. Alaric's revelation about her heritage hung in the air, heavier than the scent of the spilled whiskey.
"The daughter of Silas's enemy?" Anna whispered, her voice a fractured rasp. Her eyes remained fixed on her trembling fingertips. "So my entire life... it was all just an infiltration project?"
