Ice and iron. Beauty and blade.
I wonder sometimes what it looked like when they were dating.
If it was even dating at all, or just two predators recognizing each other across a crowded room.
"Doran." Greer pulls her son into an embrace, holding him for a beat longer than expected.
When she releases him, her hands frame his face, studying him. "You look tired."
"I'm fine, Mum."
"You're working too hard."
"I learned from the best."
Something flickers in her expression—pride, maybe, or worry.
With Greer, it's hard to tell.
She turns to Rev next, and her whole demeanor softens. "Revna. You're glowing."
"It's just the jet lag," Rev says, but she's smiling as Greer pulls her into a hug.
Then those sharp eyes land on me.
"Dalla."
"Mrs. Mackenzie."
"We've discussed this."
"Greer." The name still feels strange in my mouth.
Too familiar for someone I worship from afar.
She studies me for a long moment, and I resist the urge to fidget under her gaze.
I'm twenty-six years old.
I run my own projects.
I've presented at fashion weeks in four different countries.
Greer Mackenziestillmakes me feel like a nervous intern.
"You brought your portfolio?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Good. We'll look at it tomorrow morning. Nine sharp."
Not a request. A summons.
"I'll be there."
She nods once, then turns to Aleksandr.
Something passes between them—a silent conversation in a language only they speak—and then he's guiding us deeper into the house, talking about dinner plans and guest rooms and schedules for the week.
