She didn’t belong here. Not in this room. Certainly not at this party. Where everyone else was draped in money and menace, she was all wrong. Leggings, an oversized jumper, honey-blonde hair scraped into a messy knot. Dark crescents under her eyes. And in her arms, an accessory that shouldn’t be there. A baby. Crying, restless, wholly out of place in a house where every glass surface glittered with cocaine.
Piper. Piper Webb.Freddie’s sister.
The recognition hit like a fist. Jude’s stomach dropped, blood rushing in his ears.
Piper’s voice cut sharp through the bass of the music. “Why the fuck did you tell me to come here?” she spat, jiggling the baby as he squirmed into her chest. “Now, when you’re—” she flung her free hand at the glittering chaos around them “—entertaining.”
Radley lifted his gaze with a scowl. “I didn’t. I have no idea why you’re here. And why the payments keep bouncing back.”
“I don’t want your fucking blood money.” Piper’s voice cracked, raw and shaking.
“Then why did you come?”
Vivienne Radley swept in like smoke, every inch immaculate. “Because I asked her to.” Her black dress shimmered with sequined scales catching the light as she moved, elegant, lethal. She laid a hand on Piper’s arm, her smile all ice. “Piper. A delight. And what a beautiful child. How old now?”
Piper swallowed. Stepped back. “Mrs Radley. Ryan’s nearly one.”
“Ah, lovely age.” Vivienne stroked a long finger down the baby’s cheek, her smile deepening at his fuss. “That would put you getting pregnant around the time you worked for me, wouldn’t it? When you left suddenly?”
Piper paled, words catching. Jude’s chest constricted. Every fibre of him wanted to cross the room, take the baby from her, shield her from the vipers circling. But Callum’s hand closed around his arm, dragging him back against the wall. He pressed Jude there, close enough to make it look like intimacy, for his breath to slide hot into Jude’s ear.
“Relax,” Callum whispered. Deep. Coaxing. Seductive. Every syllable designed to carry down the wire, to slither into the ears of the officers listening. “Breathe, lamb. Breathe.”
Then he nuzzled into Jude’s throat.
Jude froze, spine rigid, eyes snapping to Piper, her baby fussing over her shoulder, Vivienne’s elegant shadow closingin. The sight made his chest lurch, but before he could move, his gaze tracked further across the open-plan space. To Naomi. She stood near the kitchen threshold, half-hidden in the crowd. Sharp posture, eyes locked on him, her expression a mask of calm authority. She gave the smallest nod.Hold steady.
Jude forced a breath, but when his gaze shifted again, it caught on Warren.
He stood by the far wall, where the open-plan living room bled into the glass doors leading onto the terrace. A tray of champagne flutes balanced effortlessly in one hand, black trousers, crisp white shirt, waistcoat cinched neat around his torso. Hair loose, eyes hard. He played the part. Anonymous waiter, silent, serviceable. But his stare didn’t belong to the role.
It belonged to Jude.
And Warren didn’t look away when Callum tilted Jude’s chin and pressed his mouth to his jaw. Didn’t blink when Callum dragged his lips towards Jude’s.
So Jude let it happen.
Callum’s kiss landed possessive and cruel, but Jude refused to close his eyes. They stayed fixed on Warren across the room, his anchor in the storm of heat and noise and smoke. Warren held the stare, unflinching, silent, all fire contained in the stillness of his gaze.
Then a new voice sliced through the din. Naomi’s. Calm, professional, entering the scene as though she’d been there all along.
“Mrs Radley, would you like me to handle this?”
Vivienne’s smile curved sharp. “Ah, Naomi. Wonderful. Yes. Could you take Ms Webb and her darling boy through to the kitchen? I’m sure we have something more suitable for little ones. He must have a healthy appetite by now, hm?”
Piper clutched her baby tighter.
“Of course, Mrs Radley.” Naomi took Piper by the elbow, easing her towards the kitchen. Piper resisted, just for a moment, her gaze snagging on Jude. Wide, startled, her lips parted—
“Jude?”
The name struck like a blow. His body locked, blood hammering in his ears. Recognition here, of all places, was the last thing he’d braced for. His throat worked, words rising and catching hard, choking back before they could escape.
And then another voice cut clean through the noise.
“Ah, Mr Ellison. I am so very pleased you could join my little gathering.”
Graham Radley’s words rolled smooth as oil, carrying across the space with an authority silencing a room without effort. Suddenly he was there, closing the distance as though the air itself bent to make way. His tumbler swung loose in one hand, his smile drawn thin and sharp, and he fixed is gaze on Jude, bright with amusement, dissecting him. As though the weakness he wanted had already presented itself. He didn’t offer his hand to shake. He extended it like a command, summoning Jude forward as though calling a servant to heel.
