He was wearing a suit I'd never seen, a perfectly tailored black pinstripe that made him look older, sharper, and dangerously beautiful.
His hair had been styled back, revealing the elegant lines of his face. He looked like he belonged here. He looked like a masterpiece.
But something was wrong. I could see the tension in his shoulders from thirty feet away. He was holding himself with a brittle stiffness, his eyes darting toward the exits. He looked like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.
And then I saw the cage.
Alex Hendrix was standing behind him, his hand resting firmly, possessively on the small of Noah's back. He was smiling, charming a group of investors, his posture radiating a smug sense of ownership. He was touching him like he had every right in the world.
My jaw tightened so hard I felt the muscles ache. My fists clenched at my sides, the fabric of my trousers straining against the movement.
