Lanura was calling her back.
"You have to come back here, Scarlet," her aunt's voice echoed in her mind, sharp and unyielding. "You already committed to that shoot. Your father will be disappointed if the schedule is delayed."
Disappointed.
The word lingered, heavier than it should have been.
Because in their world, disappointment was never just that—it was pressure, expectation, consequence.
Her aunt's words weren't a request.
They were a summons.
An order wrapped in civility, backed by obligations Scarlet could no longer ignore—contracts signed, appearances promised, a reputation that demanded perfection at all times.
And this time…
She had nowhere left to hide.
She couldn't refuse.
Her breathing steadied, but her eyes darkened, something dangerous settling behind them.
Slowly, deliberately, her gaze returned to Ares.
To the way he refused to let Lara go.
To the way his entire world seemed to narrow down to that one woman in his arms.
