NATHAN JANG
Vanessa's lips were still swollen from mine when I pulled away to make the call. The taste of her lingered—sweetness, but with a sharp undertone, like the burn of expensive whiskey. She watched me with those beautiful eyes as I dragged my thumb over my bottom lip. What was left of her lipstick stained my thumb.
Someone picked up on the third ring. "Get me the head of the Civil Registration Bureau. Now."
The man on the other end of the line hesitated. "Mr. Jang, it's after hours—"
"And my patience expires in five minutes." I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to. The silence that followed was answer enough.
I hung up.
Vanessa arched a brow from where she lounged against the pillows, her blonde hair fanned out like spilled ink. The sheets were tangled around her waist, her bare skin glowing in the dim light of the suite.
"That sounded expensive," she mused, tracing idle patterns on the silk sheets.
