The estate was quiet, almost impossibly so, the kind of silence that made the faintest sound a whisper, a footstep, the rustle of silk feel amplified. Selara sat at the edge of the grand bed, crimson silk pooling around her like spilled wine, and watched Draven move across the room. His presence was magnetic, commanding, and every subtle motion drew her attention, from the deliberate set of his shoulders to the way his golden eyes glimmered in the candlelight.
"You're staring," he said softly, a teasing lilt in his voice, though the heat behind his gaze made her shiver.
"I… can't help it," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "You just… stand there like you own the world."
He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. Those gold eyes softened as he closed the distance between them, each step purposeful, each breath measured. By the time he reached her, the air between them had thickened with something unspoken, a tension that was both dangerous and thrilling.
