Martial Lilies

Aria and Lena stepped into the elevator just after 8 a.m., the soft chime announcing their arrival on the twelfth floor of the hotel. Aria wore a fitted black crop top that left a strip of toned midriff visible and a short pleated skirt that swayed with each step. Her feet were bare against the cool marble floor of the corridor, toes painted a deep burgundy. Lena, beside her, had chosen a soft cream blouse tucked into dark jeans and simple white sneakers. They were headed down for breakfast, trading quiet remarks about a conference session neither had particularly enjoyed the day before—something about supply-chain logistics that had dragged on far too long and left them both restless.

A few floors lower the doors opened again. Ethan stepped in, heavy black boots thudding lightly on the elevator floor. He wore dark jeans, a charcoal button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled once, and a slim watch that caught the overhead light. He was also going down ...