“Deirdre.”

Hoyt mustered his courage and interjected, “Didn’t you hear what the lady said? She wants you gone, mister!”

A patina of steel seemed to form in Kyran’s eyes. He typed, “This is between Deirdre and me. Please don’t meddle in our affairs.”

He managed to put up the exterior of courtesy, but the glare he wore betrayed an unyielding, domineering aura hellbent on making sure nobody could look him in the eyes.

It was a lot for Hoyt—a country bumpkin with zero brush with the rich and pow