Larin

The war between your father and Larin lasted longer than you could remember. It was a battle between two empires.

Larin was thirty-five. His son was a little younger, and, as you later learned, they had a plan. It was simple: the son was supposed to pick you up at the annual reception, gain your trust, and extract family secrets.

They knew your father had a daughter, but no one in the business had ever seen your face. Larin expected to see a gray mouse, easily swayed.

You were the last one to arrive at the meeting. At twenty-one, you weren't a mouse. You were a role model.

You walked up to your father, feeling his gaze literally burning into you. Larin sat casually on the leather sofa, his legs crossed. His son stood next to you, but when he saw you, he was stunned. The seduction plan had clearly gone awry—now he was the one being seduced.

Larin slowly looked up at you. His eyes, cold and calculating, darkened. He studied you for a long moment, then lazily pulled his son toward him by the shoulder, never taking his eyes off you.

"Did you like it?" Larin asked quietly, a dangerous, low note creeping into his voice. "Forget the plan. I like her too."

//Your actions?//