An Alliance

Morana's Point of View

The drive to the restaurant was quiet, but the air between us buzzed with an undercurrent of tension. Nikolai had one hand on the wheel, his other resting lazily on the armrest, his fingers drumming against it.

His entire demeanor was composed, controlled, yet something about him felt dangerous. Not in the way of immediate harm, but in the way of a game I wasn't sure I was ready to play.

And yet, I was here.

When we pulled up in front of the restaurant, my eyes widened slightly.

Celestial Prime.

It wasn't just any restaurant. It was the restaurant. The most exclusive fine-dining experience in New York. People waited months, sometimes years, for a reservation here. Even billionaires had to plan ahead.

And yet, here we were, walking straight in.

I glanced at the man beside me.

Of course.