A Dance with Danger

Chapter Eighteen

>>Tiberius’ POV<< 

Work doesn’t pause for anyone. Unlike some people who prefer to work from home and treat their days as leisure, I find solace in the chaos of the office. Here, control is mine. Or at least it would be if interruptions weren’t as inevitable as breathing. 

Seth’s call came early this morning, letting me know Amiro returned with unsigned papers. My patience with that fool is already running thin. Still, it wasn’t Amiro who lingered in my mind. The faint scent of lavender haunted me—leftovers from last night, when Estelle laid beside me, her breathing soft and even as she slept. 

That peace didn’t last. 

The sound of my office door creaking open broke through the quiet. Skylar strolled in, his signature frown firmly in place. 

“Well, good morning to you too,” I muttered without looking up from the papers. 

He flopped onto the sofa with dramatic flair, legs hanging over the armrest as if this were his personal lounge. 

“Oh, Tiberius!” 

And there it was. The voice of chaos itself: Milan Aresco. My cousin from Papa Ilya’s side of the family and a perpetual thorn in my side, Milan breezed into my office like he owned the place. 

Skylar glanced between us before sinking further into the sofa, clearly planning to spectate the unfolding circus. 

“How may I help you, Milan?” I asked dryly, pen poised over yet another document awaiting my signature. 

Milan’s grin widened to Cheshire levels. “A little birdie told me that your favorite gold digger—oh, sorry, I mean Chloe—is talking to the Turkish mafia leader.” 

I shot a glance at Skylar, who rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t look at me!” he exclaimed, hands in the air. “She’s not my wife—*ex-wife,* thank God.” 

“And?” 

“And,” Milan continued, undeterred, “I also heard from my mother that you’re getting married in a month. Which, might I add, I’m deeply offended you haven’t told me about.” He pressed a hand to his heart, pouting like a wounded child. 

“I’m hurt!” 

I ignored his theatrics and returned to my paperwork. “Anything else, Milan?” I ground out through clenched teeth. 

“Yes!” Milan’s voice rose with excitement as he slapped a folded newspaper onto my desk. “I’d like to meet her. You know, welcome her into the family. And might I say, she’s quite the *beautiful black beauty.* Meanwhile, you’re…well, the Beast. So this really is a ‘Beauty and the Beast’ situation, huh?” 

My grip on the pen tightened, the urge to snap it in half rising with every word he spoke. 

“You’re not going to see her,” I said flatly. 

“But I came all the way from Manhattan just to see you guys!” he whined, throwing his arms in the air for emphasis. 

Before I could stop myself, the words escaped. “And I could care less about how long it took. What I *would* care about is how long it takes for you to step back from my desk.” 

Skylar snorted, clearly enjoying the show. His midnight-blue eyes glinted as he absentmindedly flipped the dagger in his hand. 

Milan raised his hands in mock surrender, taking a step back. “No killing today, Tiberius. Mother’s orders.”