Ravena let out a soft breath.
For a moment, her expression looked as if it might crack—then it didn't.
Instead, she laughed again.
Light. Elegant. Perfectly controlled.
A kind of laughter far more suited to echoing through a cathedral hall than a muddy tomato field.
"Oh my," she said gently. "Young Master certainly has a… unique sense of humor."
Lucas clicked his tongue inwardly.
That laugh.
It made his skin crawl—annoying, irritating. Too artificial. Not friendly—just grating.
"Enough," he said shortly. "What do you want?"
The shift was abrupt.
Ravena's laughter stopped instantly.
No pleasantries. No drama.
She straightened her posture, her gaze sharpening.
"Very well," she said calmly. "I'll get straight to the point."
She stepped forward once—not threatening, but pressing.
"I wish to propose a cooperation."
Lucas gave no response.
Ravena continued, her tone now purely professional.
