The knock was crisp—too perfectly timed to be a coincidence.
Edward didn't flinch. He just sighed, added a fourth set of cutlery with the mechanical grace of a man who had long accepted the inevitability of divine punishment, and muttered, "I should have set the table for five."
"Why five?" Max asked, mouth full.
"Because Irina's probably attached to Alexandra's hip like a decorative brooch," Gabriel answered, already pushing his plate aside like he knew the moment for peace had expired.
Damian didn't move. "Let her in."
The guard entered, breathless, with the look of a man who had witnessed something far beyond his pay grade. "Lady Alexandra von Jaunez and Lady Irina Blake request an audience—"
"We're having breakfast," Max interrupted. "They're late."
Gabriel exhaled slowly through his nose. "They'll still come in."
And they did.
