The suffocating silence that blanketed the penthouse boardroom was thick enough to be sliced with a blade. The microscopic fraction of divine pressure Noir had casually allowed to bleed into the terrestrial atmosphere had completely paralysed the rival negotiators. Marcus, the heavily scarred lead representative of the Obsidian Cartel, sat frozen in his high-backed leather chair, a cold sweat breaking across his brow as he stared into the unyielding, chocolate-brown eyes of the prince seated beside Boss Solis.
For the Rosea executives lining the opposite side of the sprawling mahogany table, the experience was equally terrifying, yet deeply validating. They did not understand the cosmic, primordial nature of the fear gripping the room. They simply saw their resurrected CEO and his breathtakingly beautiful consort asserting absolute, unquestionable dominance over a hostile syndicate.
