"Here," he says, shoving another flute of champagne into my hand. "Drink." I arch a brow at him, lips pursed, but he only grins, plucking a tiny canapé from a passing tray and pressing it to my lips. It smells like truffles and something expensive I can’t quite place. "And eat. We can’t have you drinking on an empty stomach."
I sigh but let him push it into my mouth, chewing absently. The rich, buttery taste barely registers. He’s already turned back, relieving the waitress of her tray and telling her to ‘jog on’. This time, he feeds me something wrapped in prosciutto, and I take it without argument. It’s easier than telling him I don’t have much of an appetite when my stomach is a twisting mess of nerves.
“Good girl,” Garrett whispers, but his usual flirtation lacks heat. He’s distracting me the only way he knows how. Wyatt nudges Garrett with his elbow, muttering into his own champagne flute.
“That’s my line.”
My gaze drifts to the double doors again, hoping I can will Hux into walking through them. Instead, a man walks past, following the hallway towards the gardens. My brow twitches, but I can’t decide why. A moment later, he’s back, clearly lost, and this time, he pauses for a second to peer inside and then quickly strides away again. Something about him feels familiar, although the champagne is making my brain sluggish. I feel like I should recognize him, but not in this setting. He just feels wrong.
A touch at my wrist makes me flinch, the glass flute dropping from my hand to smash at my heels.
"Fuck, Peach," Garrett gasps, his hand on my wrist tightening. He drags me a step to the side, still balancing his tray in his other hand, and lets Wyatt scrape the glass aside with his dress shoe. Dax steps into me, his blue eyes glistening with concern.
“Is everything okay?” Dax tilts his head, careful not to crowd me. My chest is heaving slightly, panic rising, although I don’t know why. Convincing myself I’m being an idiot and that I am in fact just a bit tipsy, I nod.
“I’m fine, I just thought I saw… I don’t know, he looked a bit like?—”
Dax’s phone starts to buzz loudly from inside his jacket pocket. He frowns, excusing himself before stepping away to take the call. Wyatt’s nostrils flare as he rejoins us, the air growing thick around us. I feel it, Wyatt feels it, and Garrett seemingly does not. He pops another canapé in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he glances down at my heels.
“You know if the whole ballet thing doesn’t work out, have you thought about becoming a foot model? There’s a whole market out there for cute dainty feet pics.”
Wyatt looks to the ceiling for patience. I’m sure his response would have involved the market of sweaty old men with foot fetishes. Mine would have been a sarcastic comment about a ballerina's feet being the least ‘cute’, given the blisters and sores I sport after grueling training sessions.
But neither of us gets to voice them.
“Thiago’s seen something,” Dax returns to whisper harshly. “We need to go.”
“Go… to go where?” My eyes widen. He could have said leave the ballroom, return to Axel, and retire to bed. But he didn’t. He just said ‘go’, in a decisive tone I don’t hear from Dax often. Dread seizes my spine, my entire body running cold in an instant. Dax turns to Wyatt, leaning in to keep his voice quiet.
“Plan D,” he mutters. Wyatt’s eyes flash, then return to their steady coolness. He nods and removes the platter from Garrett’s hand with unnerving calm. Placing it down, his hand then touches my lower back, and he smoothly urges me out of the ballroom.
“Wyatt, what?—”
“Trust me,” he interjects. Dax and Garrett, who is suddenly back in bodyguard mode, flank us as we turn out of the ballroom. Our steps are unhurried, a false pretense of the terror grappling inside my chest. I thought we’d go straight back to Axel, but instead, we veer right and step into an empty billiard room along the hallway. The door is pressedclosed with a click, and suddenly, Wyatt rounds me, his hands clasping my upper arms.
“Do not fight me on this,” he says sternly, but where I previously would have taken his tone as hatred, I now know it to be fear. Wyatt is scared, and that’s enough to make me nod along.
“Please, just tell me whatever it is,” I beg. Wyatt releases my arms, pulling me into a brief yet firm hug, his lips pressing against my forehead.
Oh, fuck. This is bad.
“Thiago caught something on the ballroom security feed just now,” Dax steps forward, his face ashen. “A face he didn’t recognize, so he ran it through his software.”
“And who is it?” Garrett folds his arms, the leather jacket squeaking in protest. Dax rolls the words around his mouth before parting his lips to speak.
“Thiago said it’s Avery’s dad. He’s here in the mansion.”
My pulse spikes. Fredrick is here. As if he can preempt the direction of my thoughts, Wyatt steps into my eyeline again, blocking out everything except his green eyes.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growls. Two other bodies cage me in, which is all that keeps me from crumbling to my feet. “Fredrick won’t come alone. We can’t risk sitting here for his men to storm the mansion. I’ll find Huxley, and we will search for Fredrick together. Gare, help Avery to get Axel ready for moving.”
“We could take one of the minibuses,” Dax adds thoughtfully. “There will be enough space for everyone, and the seats will recline for Axel to lie down. I’ll convince the doctor to pack up and come with us.” Even Garrett seems in agreement, and as the silence settles like a weighted blanket on my shoulders, I realize they’re waiting for me to speak. Licking my lips, my throat is suddenly dry, my limbs numb.
“I have to see him,” I whisper, already anticipating their response. Wyatt growls, Dax almost whimpers, and Garrett curses, but at least the three of them step back to give me some room to breathe. I notice too late how I’ve walked into their trap, an empty room with a closed door. They knew I’d try to run. So, instead, I try to find Wyatt’s soft spot for me. “He has Meg. This could be my only chance to get him to give her back.”
“At what cost?” Wyatt hisses, knowing the answer. At any cost. He’s shaking his head, but Dax steps into my side, running a hand over his face.
“We’re losing time. Gare, get Axel ready. I’ll grab the Doc and Thiago, and we’ll be right there. Wyatt, take Avery with you.” Wyatt glares venomously, but Dax doesn’t back down, his fingers linking with mine. “She will do this whether you permit it or not. At least if you agree, you’ll be there to protect her.” Blinking up at Dax, my eyes fill with tears that I refuse to let fall. He kisses my cheek, his lips remaining against my skin.
