Another beautiful thing to tuck into his empire.
But she wasn’t made to be owned.
Not by Blackwell.
Not by anyone.
The realization hitlike heat under the skin.
He needed to understand her.
To see how she moved when no one was watching.
To hear her voice when it wasn’t wrapped in performance.
To understand that look—the one that said nothing touched her unless she let it.
And he wondered. Had she ever let anyone in?
Because if she had, it sure as hell wouldn’t be Gideon Blackwell.
Not if he had anything to say about it.
And he would.
For now,he’d stay in the shadows.
He would wait.
Watch.
Learn.
But soon…
She’d see him, too.
CHAPTER 10
Behind the Velvet Curtain
The club thrived on money and secrets.
Jazz unfurled from the corner piano, curling through conversations that rose and fell, caught in the hush between indulgence and intention. Crystal refracted light overhead, stolen stars flickering in every chandelier, casting gold across polished marble and velvet green.
It had been three weeks. Arden knew its rhythms by heart.
The early evening was all sharpness: deals struck between sips of bourbon, ambition cloaked in silk and bespoke suits. But past midnight, the edges blurred. Truth leaked in—soft and sticky, staining everything by morning
She’d memorized each regular’s patterns:
Mr. Rochester, always at eight, always a Macallan neat on a black napkin.
The hedge fund clique in the corner booth until ten, their laughter louder once international markets closed.
Harrison Palmer with his cocktail riddles, always trying to catch her off guard.
And the woman in sequins who never ordered the same drink twice, or gave the same name.
