Nobody warns women about ancient men.

Not rich men.

Not successful men.

Ancient men.

The kind who have seen empires rise and collapse.

The kind who speak softly because they've already had every argument possible.

The kind who know exactly who they are.

Which is profoundly unfair.

Because confidence becomes dangerous when it's earned.

Sovereign wasn't young.

Not really.

His face suggested forty.

His body suggested perfection.

His eyes suggested he remembered things history forgot.

And that should have concerned Ra more than it did.

Instead she found herself wondering ridiculous things.

Like why his gaze felt heavier than everyone else's.

Or why every conversation somehow felt like a chess match disguised as flirting.

The problem wasn't attraction.

Attraction was manageable.

The problem was curiosity.

Curiosity kills better than desire ever could.

Because desire burns fast.

Curiosity lingers.

It follows you home.

Keeps you awake.

Makes you replay conversations at three in the morning.

Ra hated curiosity.

Especially when it involved him.

Because Sovereign never answered questions directly.

He answered the question underneath the question.

Which was infinitely more irritating.

"How old are you?"

Old enough.

"What does that mean?"

Exactly what you think it means.

Infuriating.

Absolutely infuriating.

And somehow funny.

The worst combination.

The Federation didn't trust him.

Ancient gods watched him carefully.

Powerful people avoided crossing him.

Meanwhile Ra was trying not to think about how attractive intelligence could be.

Failing spectacularly.

Because the more she learned about Sovereign...

The less human the situation became.

And the more she suspected his interest in her had started long before they officially met.

Which raised a much larger question.

How long had he been watching?

And what exactly was he waiting for?

Next week: The night Ra discovers Sovereign knows her secrets before she tells him.