The Mark Exposed

The boardroom air, sterile and cold, turned thick the moment Darius's gaze snagged on the pale skin just below Natasha's severe hairline. Not a beauty mark. A delicate, unmistakable 'Q' spade. Her composure—the panther's grace—shattered. He saw the raw panic flood her eyes before she could mask it, felt the power dynamic in the room flip on its axis. His own pulse wasn't from fear, but from a slow, deep thrill; the hunt had just begun, and he'd already found the prize.