Mara
What we walked into was… a lot.
Martha stood in the hallway wearing a black silk robe—untied, gaping open to reveal lingerie that left nothing to the imagination. The lace clung to her curves, deliberate and desperate. Darian stepped forward to help her tie the robe shut, but the damage was already done.
We’d seen it all.
Say what you want about Martha—she knew how to use what she had. But the fact Vander hadn’t caved said everything. The man was finished. She’d played her final card, and it flopped.
"Darian, tell your mother to move to the seventh room down the hall," Vander said, his voice flat and exhausted. His shirt was rumpled, buttons misaligned. I didn’t want to guess what exactly had happened in that room—but whatever it was, Vander had rejected her.
"No!" Martha cried,
