The sunlight hit just right.
Golden streaks cut through the tall glass windows, sliding over the jet-black fabric of his custom suit, catching the crisp angles of his jawline sharp enough to ruin marriages. It was almost offensive how good he looked—like some teenage girl's delusional billionaire boyfriend fantasy come to life, except he wasn't here to love-bomb anyone.
Justin Black didn't walk.
Nah, this was a goddamn power move.
Slow. Unrushed. Measured. Every footstep hit the floor with the kind of rhythm that made people listen. He didn't need to announce his arrival—his presence did that for him.
Behind him, precisely two steps away, came the distinct click-clack of heels.
One side—Selena. The kind of woman who could kill with a pen and still look good in court after.
The other—Adams. Recently conquered, newly devoted, walking with the eerie calm of someone who knew exactly what she'd signed up for.
And ahead?