Her lips—painted a sinful shade of red—curve into something wicked. Half smirk, half challenge.
The kind of expression that says she knows exactly who she is and exactly what she does to men.
Then her eyes find mine.
Impossibly dark. Bottomless.
But not black like I thought. They’re green, like the forest.
Like the darkest of emeralds mined from the deepest of caverns.
And the second they lock on me, something sparks—sharp and hot—catching in my chest like fire meeting dry tinder.
“Mr. Stavros,” she says, her voice smooth silk drawn over steel.
Controlled. Dangerous. Tempting in ways that feel entirely inappropriate for an international arms negotiation.
“Welcome to Viper Enterprises. I’m Cecilia Batiste.”
I already know her name.
Of course I do.
I’ve done my research—exhaustive, thorough, precise.
She is the daughter of Luc Batiste, the man who is the Council of this empire.
Venom in his veins, vision in his bones.
The kind of man you don’t shake hands with unless you’re ready to bleed for the alliance.
My blood may be blue—technically—but that’s an old family relic I use only when necessary.
To unlock certain doors.
And impress certain women.
Fairytales and fantasies.
The whole “prince” thing tends to get me whatever I want.
Every woman wants to fuck a prince, don’t they?
But Cecilia?
No.
The second she looks at me, I know—instantly—she’s not part of that category.
She’s not impressed.
She’s not charmed.
She’s not dazzled by legacy, or wealth, or titles.
She’s studying me.
Analyzing.
