The study of Duke Asher's mansion existed in perpetual twilight. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, their leather-bound volumes casting shadows that seemed to devour the sparse light from the fireplace.
The flames crackled with irregular intensity, throwing dancing patterns across the faces of the six men seated around the obsidian table.
Duke Asher occupied the head position, his fingers wrapped around a crystal glass of wine so dark it was nearly black.
His expression remained neutral, but his eyes tracked every movement in the room with the precision of someone calculating multiple outcomes simultaneously.
To his immediate right sat Vance, cousin by blood, partner in ambition, and currently the most agitated presence in the chamber.
The Phallanax Solutions' leader gripped his wine glass with white knuckles, his jaw working as though grinding through thoughts he hadn't yet verbalized.
