The restaurant was too quiet.
Elara noticed it the moment she stepped inside. No background music. No chatter. Just the soft clink of cutlery and the muted sound of rain against glass.
Victor liked control. Even silence bent to him.
A hostess led Elara to the private section at the back, where a single table stood beneath a chandelier dimmed low enough to feel intimate, high enough to feel threatening.
Victor was already seated.
He rose slowly when he saw her, smiling as if greeting an old friend.
“Elara,” he said warmly. “You came.”
She remained standing. “Do not mistake presence for agreement.”
Victor chuckled. “Straight to the point. Adrian taught you well.”
Her jaw tightened. “Do not say his name like you own it.”
Victor gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. Please. Yo
