The lobby seemed to shrink the moment Dahlia Blackwood stepped inside.
Even without a word, her presence commanded the space. Every line of her posture radiated elegance and quiet authority, the kind that needed no introduction. Heads would bow, voices would lower—because a woman like her did not simply arrive. She arrived.
Damien held himself tall, shoulders squared, but there was a subtle shift in him—an almost imperceptible softening in his gaze, the kind reserved only for his mother. For all his ruthlessness, in front of Dahlia, he wasn’t untouchable. He was her son.
“You’ve been keeping yourself too busy,” Dahlia said, her eyes sweeping over him with sharp precision, though her hand lingered for one more heartbeat on his cheek. “Always running, never resting.”
Damien’s lips curved
