She nods, eyes darting down like she’s ashamed to even admit it.
Then, with a tiny breath that sounds like rebellion itself, she picks the fork back up.
Takes one cautious bite. Then another—bigger this time.
“F-fuck him,” she stutters, barely above a whisper.
The mouth on her…
I really must be rubbing off on her. I feel like a proud parent. I’m already her daddy…
The whole table loses it—Chace snorting into his beer, Sam choking on rice, Mac clapping like she’s just witnessed a miracle.
But me? I can’t stop smiling.
“Baby,” I murmur, leaning close enough that my breath brushes her ear, “you talk dirty to me like that again and I’ll make you my prawn-star.”
She gasps, swatting my chest, cheeks flaming, while the others howl with laughter.
For the first time since we’ve been married, she’s not the preacher’s daughter trying to be good. She’s just Sera….and damn if that doesn’t taste better than anything on this table.
The SUV glides to a stop at the curb, bass already pulsing through the pavement like a living heartbeat. Neon light spills across the sidewalk—electric pinks and blues flickering over the crowd snaking around the block. Cameras flash, a few phones lift, voices rise above the music.
“Holy shit, it’s Burnt Ashes!” someone shouts from the queue.
Another voice—female, breathless.
“Trey Baker, I love you!”
I grin, throwing a wink in their direction as our security team fans out, guiding us forward. The crowd parts like the Red Sea—drunken, glitter-drenched, loud. Seraphina walks besideme, hand tucked in mine, her gaze sweeping everything—the line of people, the shimmer of dresses, the way the doorman waves us past the velvet rope like royalty. We skip the line. Always do. But this time it feels different. Because she’s seeing it.
The thud of bass grows louder as the doors open, hot air spilling out thick with perfume, sweat, and smoke. Lights spin overhead—purple strobes, silver beams slicing through the darkness. Sera’s eyes go wide, pupils blown wide from the sensory overload. She looks like she’s watching magic happen. Her lips part slightly as she takes it all in—the music vibrating up through the floor, the rhythm moving through her like she’s feeling the world for the first time.
“You okay?” I lean close to her ear.
She nods, voice lost to the sound. Her eyes are bright, cheeks flushed from the heat and the thrill of it. Men notice her instantly. Glances follow her as we cut through the crowd, and every muscle in my body goes tight.
I slide a hand to her lower back, steering her gently but firmly through the chaos.
Logan, Chace, and Sam trail behind us, already laughing, already recognized. People slap their backs, shout song lyrics, hold out napkins for signatures. The security guys close in, clearing a path as the host leads us toward the VIP booth—black leather tucked into the far corner, champagne already chilling on ice.
I guide Sera into the booth first, my hand lingering on her waist. Her head tilts up toward the dance floor, lights flashing over her face like a kaleidoscope.
Fuck me, she’s beautiful.
I can’t tell if I want to show her the world or keep it from touching her.
The booth wraps around us in a crescent of black leather, half-hidden from the chaos below. The ice bucket glitters under the neon, champagne sweating down the side like liquid gold.
Chace pops the cork with a loud crack, foam spilling over his fingers. He grins like a man who’s been waiting all night for the excuse.
“To the newlyweds,” he says, lifting the first glass and filling it to the rim before sliding it across to Sera. She hesitates for half a second, fingers brushing the stem delicately before bringing it to her lips. Her eyes flutter shut as the bubbles touch her tongue, and when she opens them again—those bright, innocent eyes meet mine. My chest squeezes
“To new beginnings,” I add, clinking my glass against hers.
“To Seraphina,” Logan smirks, always the romantic menace.
Chace and Sam echo him, loud enough to make her blush.
