The lavish penthouse suite exuded opulence, its leather couches and crystal chandeliers casting a soft glow in the dim light.
Jackson, Anabella's stepbrother, lounged on the velvet sofa, a glass of whiskey dangling loosely in his hand. His tie hung undone around his neck, and his jacket lay discarded on the floor. He was humming to himself, clearly inebriated and basking in his own indulgence.
An omega, draped in silk sheets, reclined on the plush bed behind him, watching Jackson with a lazy smile. "You seem happy tonight," she purred, stretching languidly.
Jackson smirked, raising his glass in a mock toast. "Why shouldn't I be? Everything's falling into place."
But his smug demeanor shattered when his phone buzzed violently on the coffee table. He frowned, the glow of the screen revealing an unnamed number. With a low grunt, he answered.
"Speak," he demanded, his voice slurred but sharp.
