The tension between the two of them was almost palpable as the morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of the lounge, casting pale gold across the polished wood of the table.
Nova sat there with his hands curled around a warm cup of dark coffee, shoulders relaxed but eyes anything but. The weight of the previous night lingered, the auction, the noble whispers, and the words that echoed in his head like a ghost refusing to leave.
"You are my son… no matter what they say."
He let the bitter taste of the drink ground him.
Across from him, she was lounging with far more ease than she ever should have had. Still dressed in dark tones, her mask covered parts of her face, partially revealing the curve of her cheek and the full shape of her lips. A trace of mischief tugged at the corners of her mouth, but her eyes remained thoughtful as she watched him.
