Rhysand’s POV

The door opened before I could finish my drink, and the familiar sound of lazy footsteps echoed through the room.

“Fucking hell.” Rhett muttered as he strolled in, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder. “You’d think the old man’s death would’ve earned me a quiet night, but no, everyone is out there whispering like vultures.”

He went straight for the bar without asking, of course. Same old Rhett. He grabbed the whiskey bottle out of my hand and poured himself ...