The room was clean, modern, with minimal decoration — a deliberate choice, one that ensured the focus remained on the people inside, not the space. Donovan sat across from the long conference table, his eyes sharp as he checked the time. He’d set this up carefully, made sure both Tristan and Chase couldn’t back out. The air felt charged, and he could sense that neither of them was happy about being there, but this had to happen.
The door opened, and Tristan walked in first, his usual cool demeanor in place, though his eyes were slightly darker than usual. He nodded toward Donovan but didn’t say anything. Then, a moment later, Chase entered, his posture stiff, jaw set, clearly not thrilled to be dragged here.
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