Their grins were easy, practiced—old money and older games.
She didn’t trust the camaraderie. Not from them. Not here.
Sebastian was tucked into his usual corner, flanked by a brunette Arden didn’t recognize—elegant, sharp-eyed, and clearly bored.
He murmured a line Arden couldn’t catch, coaxing a faint smile from the woman as she reached for her drink, but his attention never quite stayed where it should. One arm draped loosely along the back of the booth, the other curled around his glass—his posture too calculated to be casual.
Arden didn’t flinch when she felt his gaze sweep toward her. She met it evenly, letting the moment stretch longer than polite. Then she turned away. No rush. No rattle. Only resolve.
Beside her, Fatima moved in sync; a rhythm built over long nights, shared shifts, and wordless trust.
“I’m thinking of a twist on a classic,” Arden murmured, reaching for the lavender syrup. The scent bloomed gently, floral and calming. “Gin, lavender, chamomile. Hit it with citrus. Clean, unexpected. Smooth.”
Fatima’s brows lifted. “Goddess-tier. If that’s your vibe, you’ve gotta try Delancey’s. Lavender-chamomile tea, loose leaf. It’s like a spa in a cup. Tiny place, overpriced as hell, but you’ll want to frame the box.”
Arden chuckled, tension easing from her spine. “I’ve walked past it. Always figured it was too bougie for me.”
Fatima grinned. “You’re bougie now, babe. Own it. After dealing with…” she swept a hand around them, “…this? You deserve all the overpriced nonsense your heart desires.”
Arden felt the shift before she saw him.
Gideon.
He appeared at the far end of the bar, silent and intentional, as if summoned by the change in her pulse. An untouched espresso and a precisely stacked folder of documents marked his spot. His collar was open, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms corded with quiet strength—no performance, just presence.
Her breath stuttered for a moment before she forced it steady again.
Gideon’s gazeswept the lounge like a scalpel, precise and methodical. It passed over Alex and Harlan, paused briefly at Sebastian’s table, and continued on.
A silent inventory.
Enough to register the players without revealing his hand.
Then, his eyes found hers.
Heat curled low in her stomach.
He claimed her with a glance. Different than before.
This wasn’t the simmering pull of stolen glances or backstage flirtation. This was control wrapped in devotion.
A quiet declaration forged in shadowed moments and the heat of his sheets. In the way he had held her after. In the way she hadn’t pulled away.
He leaned forward, elbows braced on the bar.
To the room, it was a relaxed pose. Intentional. Nonchalant. But to her, it was a shield.
Without a single word, he’d put himself between her and everything else.
Sebastian might posture with smirks and curated charm, but Gideon didn’t have to perform. Period.
He was power. Quiet. Watchful.
And for the first time in a room full of eyes, Arden didn’t feel exposed. She felt claimed.
This was different.
Because this time, she wasn’t navigating the storm alone.
