Marshall didn’t—not for a beat.
He looked at Norah. Really looked. There was fire in her eyes—not fear, not confusion, just pure conviction, aimed squarely at him. Conviction he hadn’t earned tonight. Conviction she’d handed to someone else.
Whatever tremor she’d had before was gone. She was holding herself together just fine without him.
“Good luck,” he said, his voice stripped clean of softness.
Her breath hitched like she’d been slapped. Shock flared, then anger—bright and sharp.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
He turned. Walked.
Let the guards crowd him, guide him, treat him like the risk in the room. Let Hale’s oily reassurance skim past his ears. Let Norah watch him go and believe exactly what Hale wanted her to believe.
And somewhere between one step and the next, something inside him shut down. Clicked into place with a cold finality he hadn’t felt in years.
If Norah wanted to put her faith in Hale tonight, he wasn’t going to stand in her way. If she looked at him and saw a threat, he wasn’t going to argue.
Not anymore.
Hale had made his move. Drawn his line. And Norah had made her choice.
And Marshall, however hurt and angry he was, had been stripped of illusion. Norah wasn’t his. He wouldn’t step back from the fight that was coming.
Not when the stakes were this high. Not when the woman he loved had just stepped onto the wrong side of the board. Her loyalties were clear. And his hadn’t changed.
Tonight, he let them escort him out.
Tomorrow, he’d start taking them apart.
CHAPTER 22
NORAH
Norah barely remembered the walk.
One moment, Marshall was standing in front of her with fury in his eyes and a gun pointed at his chest. The next, he was gone.
Security peeled him away down the corridor, and Hale’s hand settled at the small of her back, steering her in the opposite direction. “Come,” he murmured. “There’s someone you need to meet.”
Her feet moved because they were told to. Because the world had shrunk to the pressure of his palm and the roar in her ears.
She shouldn’t be upset that he was gone. After all, it had been her choice. She could have let him investigate Hale, but she couldn’t fight the feeling that she should be more loyal to Hale. She’d been foolish to let Marshall impact her decisions so thoroughly. Hadn’t she become a different woman since she’d watched Marshall walk away all those years ago—taking her romantic hopes and dreams with him?
Marshall was gone. She sent him away. She chose Hale. Marshall used her and nearly turned her against the man she’d trusted for a decade. The thoughts circled in her head like they belonged to someone else.
They passed through a service hallway lined with bland beige doors and industrial carpet that didn’t fit the glitter of the gala. The music from the ballroom faded behind them, replaced by the low hum of vents and distant clatter from the kitchen.
“I’m...sorry about that,” Hale said, voice pitched low and regretful, as if Marshall’s removal had pained him personally. “I had hoped your evening would be more enjoyable.”
Her throat felt scraped raw. “He shouldn’t have been here,” she managed. It sounded like agreement. It sounded like betrayal. She didn’t know which was worse.
Hale’s hand squeezed lightly. “Men like that,” he said, “forget that there are lines. That the rest of us have to live with consequences long after they’ve pulled the trigger and moved on.”
She thought of Marshall on her couch. Marshall in her ruined apartment, then carefully arranging brand new pillows. Marshall with his voice rough in her ear, telling her she wasn’t alone.
And then she thought of him tonight, slipping Hale’s phone out of his pocket like she was just...an angle. A route. A tool.
