Draven's Point Of View
"...then consider the deal over," she finished, her voice carrying a note of finality that left no room for misunderstanding.
I let out a sound. It wasn't an angry shout, and it wasn't a roar like the one still vibrating from Azriel's chest. It was a low, slow, thoroughly dry chuckle that scraped against the back of my throat like gravel. The kind of laugh that emerges when the universe presents something so absurd, you can either rage or find the dark humor in it.
I leaned back just a fraction, shifting my weight onto one leg, my hands sliding casually into the deep pockets of my tailored trousers. The sheer, unadulterated absurdity of the moment hit me square in the gut.
This woman… this silver-spoon-fed heiress from a secondary syndicate - actually believed she could walk into the highest room of the Corvanni tower and dictate terms using our own employees as leverage.
The audacity was almost admirable. Almost.
