There are too many cars. Too many people in things that shimmer. Too much everything.
I sit there for one beat, the engine ticking, the air-conditioning dying out, wondering how the hell this is my actual life.
Then I breathe, grab my tiny clutch, and step out.
The evening is warm enough that the air clings to me, especially with this dress hugging every inch of my body. The royal-blue fabric catches the light, glittering across my chest, the slit flashing my leg every time I move. My hair is twisted up into a messy-glam bun—loose curls, soft layers framing my face, earrings heavy and gold.
I look good. I know I do. That isn’t the problem.
The problem is I’m dressed like this forAbi.
I crouch and adjust the strap on my heel, lace-up stilettos that are sexy in a dangerous kind of way, then straighten and force myself toward the front door. If I can survive one night, tomorrow I get to see Silas and Gideon.
Neutral ground. Safe ground. My ground.
And I will survive Talon too. No sneaking away. No slipping into dark corners. No giving in to him, even if his mouth looks sinful and his hands look worse. I even told myself out loud in the car:Penelope, keep your panties on. For once in your life, keep your panties the hell on.
Inside, the air shifts immediately—cooler, scented with lemon, flowers, and the sharp tang of polished wood. The foyer is ridiculous in that country-club old-money way, with gold candlesticks and fresh lilies everywhere. The dining room off to the right has been transformed with crisp linens, champagne towers, and enough candles to burn the entire place down if someone sneezes.
I’m still taking it in when I catch sight ofhim.
Talon.
Black slacks. Black button-up that fits like it was painted on. Glasses perched low on his nose, hair pushed back, a smug dark-eyed gaze scanning the room.Tattoos peek at his collar, curling up his throat like temptation. He looks edible in that reckless, bad-decision way.
His eyes flick toward me and flare just enough to make my stomach jump.
Nope. I’m going to be a good fucking girl tonight. I grab a flute of champagne from a passing server and drink the entire thing in one gulp.
And then I choke.
Because over Talon’s shoulder—I seeanothertall frame. Broad chest. Familiar hair. Familiar stance. Familiar everything.
Silas.
Silas is standing in my father’s dining room. In gray slacks… blond hair slightly tousled, sea-glass eyes lighting when he laughs with some stranger, shoulders relaxed in a way that always undoes me.
My brain stops working.
What.
The.
Fuck.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I don’t even blink. My fingers go numb around the empty flute. My whole world tilts sideways like I stepped straight off a curb into traffic.
His eyes slide across the room, lazy and unhurried, until they find mine.
Silas goes still.
He looks at me as though he’s been slapped. Then he mutters something to the man beside him and strides over with that determined walk of his, the one I feel in my knees every time.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice too low and too stunned to hide anything.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out, because I barely know my own name right now.
Before I can try again, a bright laugh cuts between us. A familiar, grating one.
