Celeste squinted her eyes, pleased, the corners of her lips lifting into a smile that was all teeth and velvet. There was something distinctly feline in the way she regarded him—sharp, playful, dangerous.
For a moment, just a breath, she indulged him.
She leaned in close, her gloved hand rising to trail lazily along the edge of his collar. "Mm," she hummed, feigning thought. "You might be right."
Then, with deliberate grace, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Not soft. Not innocent. It was a silent reward laced with provocation.
When she drew back, her voice was smooth as glass. "But don't get used to it. I like you best when you're useful."
Lukas only smiled, as if the threat were a love letter.
He glanced at the roses on the table—the vivid reds, oranges, and deep purples laid out like trophies—and then to the vase where the thornless stems stood proudly in clear water, arranged with unnerving precision. Each one as red as spilled wine.
