"Thanks," Ryley murmured as Oliver pulled the chair out for him.
Then, with a calm that masked something far sharper underneath, he added, "Now sit."
Oliver froze for a second, his brow twitching in surprise. It wasn't a request—it was a command. Subtle, yet firm.
He glanced at Ryley's face—liquid gold tracing his lids, cheekbones sculpted with a cold gleam, and lips brushed in a muted bronze.
The blond model looked like he'd walked off a villain origin cover spread—gorgeous, untouchable, and cold as steel.
Oliver sat across from him without protest.
"Any news from Maximilian?" Ryley asked, his voice low and cool, like a blade hidden in silk.
"Vincent… has accepted the offer," Oliver replied carefully. "He also said he'll support the new law concerning Enigmas—the one you requested."
For a heartbeat, Ryley said nothing. Then his brown eyes lit up—not with relief, but with dangerous satisfaction.
