Jameson finally pulled away, his hands lingering on her shoulders as if reluctant to break contact completely.
“I love you,” he said, the words simple and unadorned. “I will always love you, no matter what happens next.”
The declaration hung between them, simple and honest. She’d always known, had seen it in his eyes a thousand times, in the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. But he’d never said it, not directly, not like this. The words were a gift and a burden, beautiful and terrible in their timing.
Jameson reached for his helmet, placing it back over his head. The reflective faceplate slid down, hiding his expression, transforming him back into a Veyra officer. Anonymous. Untouchable. He retrieved her mask from where he’d set it aside, handing it to her with a gentleness that made guilt flare in her chest.
A sad smile graced her lips as she looked from the mask to him. As he moved toward the door, she said his words back to him. The same ones she’d heard before she left the Boundary. “Don’t die on me, Ghost.”
Jameson let out a small chuckle as he looked back at her. “I’ll try, but no promises.”
Then he was gone, stepping out into the crowd beyond the threshold, the thumping music filtering through the door as it slid closed behind him.
Chapter twenty-five
Do Your Fucking Worst
Thebottlefeltheavyin Greyson’s hand, the expensive liquor burning a path down his throat that did nothing to dull the rage pulsing beneath his skin. The town car’s interior pressed in on him, too small to control both his fury and the woman sitting beside him. She hadn’t spoken since Jameson left the club. Neither had he. Words seemed futile in the wake of what had just happened—what she’d almost done.
Shadera sat with her body angled away from him, one leg drawn up beneath her, creating as much distance as the back seat would allow. The whiskey bottle in her hand tilted toward her lips, her throat working as she swallowed. Her mask caught the shifting lights from outside, shadows dancing across the skull’s hollow eyes as they passed through the Heart’s gleaming streets.
He took another drink, letting the burn distract him from the images that kept flashing through his mind—Shadera in Jameson’s arms, her body pressed against his, the way her fingers had lingered on him. The fucking way she’d looked at him.
Chapman’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then quickly away. Smart man. He had served him long enough to recognize when silence was the safest option.
Greyson’s jaw clenched as the car hit a small bump, forcing his shoulder briefly against hers. She shifted farther away, pressing herselfagainst the door. She’d been ready to leave. To walk out that door with Ghost and disappear into the night, knowing exactly what it would cost. Knowing what his father would do to the rings, to Lira, to Callum. Knowing what he would do to Greyson.
The realization came with a bitter taste that even the alcohol couldn’t wash away. She’d rather risk everything—risk everyone—than remain with him. The thought dug hooks into his chest, tearing at something he couldn’t name.Wouldn’tname.
He drank again, deeper this time.
Outside the window, Serel Tower loomed ahead, platinum spires reaching toward the sky like accusing fingers. Home. Or the closest thing to it now. Except it didn’t feel like home anymore—not with her in it, bringing chaos into his carefully ordered existence. Not with her betrayal still bleeding between them.
The car pulled into the private garage beneath the tower, the transition from street to underground marked by a sudden dimming of light. Chapman brought the vehicle to a smooth stop and Shadera was out before Chapman could open her door, striding toward the elevator without waiting. Greyson followed, his movements controlled despite the alcohol making the edges of his vision swim.
The elevator ride stretched, eternal, silence broken only by the mechanical hum of their ascent. She stood in the corner, still clutching her bottle, mask firmly in place. He could feel the heat radiating from her body despite the distance between them. Could smell the mix of club smoke and her skin. Could hear each controlled breath she took.
The elevator doors slid open and she could feel his eyes on her back as he unlocked the door to the apartment and stepped inside. She pushed in beside him, moving with purpose toward the hallway, toward her room—away from him. Away from the conversation they needed to have.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice low as he followed her into the apartment, not bothering to turn on any lights.
She paused mid step but didn’t turn.
“Don’t walk away from me.” Greyson set his bottle down on the entry table with enough force that liquid sloshed over the rim.
Shadera’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath before she turned to face him. Her mask stared back at him, impassive and cold.
“Take it off,” he commanded, reaching up to remove his own. The mask came away with a soft sound, the apartment’s air cool against his exposed skin.
For a moment, he thought she might refuse. Then her fingers found the edges of her mask, lifting it from her face carefully. Her eyes met his, green and defiant and beautiful in their hatred.
“What do you want me to say?” she asked, her voice flat.
Something inside Greyson snapped. The control he’d maintained since the club, the restraint he’d forced upon himself during the drive—it all collapsed beneath the weight of her indifference.
“It’s really that easy for you?” The words tore from him, alcohol making his voice rough. “To just betray whoever you need to on a whim?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Betray you? I can’t betray someone I’m not loyal to in the first place.”
