The Negotiation Begins

The air between them crackled, thick with her panic and his predatory calm. Natasha's pulse hammered against the delicate spade on her neck, a frantic drumbeat betraying her icy composure. Darius leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking, his gaze a physical weight tracing the line of her throat. He didn't just see the mark—he saw the woman who wore it, and the secret world it promised. Her power was a shell now, and he held the hammer.