Luce slides into the backseat first, her dress pooling around her like liquid gold. I follow, the door shutting with a finality that settles in my chest. The car smells like leather and something faintly metallic—gun oil. Or blood. Hard to tell.
Daniel doesn’t look at me in the rearview. Doesn’t speak. Just starts the engine and pulls away from the house, the tires crunching over the frozen driveway. The silence is thick, the kind that presses against your ribs until you can’t breathe.
Luce exhales, her fingers tapping against the window. “You think he’ll show up?”
I don’t have to ask who she means.
“No.” My voice is steady, but my pulse isn’t. It’s hammering against my throat, a traitorous rhythm. “I doubt this will pull him out of the shadows.”
She turns to me, her dark eyes searching. “And if he does?”
I don’t answer.
“Ivy, listen,” Luce starts, but then her eyes shift over my shoulder, watching the streets pass. “Look, just be careful. Parker is clearly on edge, and I just think that…” she leaves her sentence out in the open, because we both know what she's saying.
My fingers twitch against the seat, itching for something to hold onto. A gun. A knife.Him.
Daniel’s eyes find mine in the rearview mirror. He squeezes the wheel before going back to the road. The tension crashes back into us ten fold. The days leading up to this point mean nothing.
Nothing.
I shouldn't have let myself get lost in him.
“I fucked up.” I don't move, don't breathe. “I don't deserve him, Luce. Why the fuck did I allow myself to think I did?”
Luce leans forward, her hand on my thigh. Usually Jord would be in here with us, but he made sure to be there extra early to case the place out.
“You do, Ivy. More than anyone you deserve a little bit of what he gave you.” She rests back against the chair as he phone buzzes in her clutch.
She looks up at me from her phone. “It's Jord. Camille's there.”
As she should be.
The car slows, and I watch the château materialize through the windshield—all stone and pretension. It reminds me of Leon, in a way. I've never thought much about Leon this holiday until thismoment. Until I've felt my emotions threaten to derail. Veilarath is a town that swallows secrets whole and never spits them back out. It's why I love it so fucking much.
Daniel kills the engine. The silence hits harder than the cold when I step out.
Inside, the château bleeds wealth from every surface—crystal dripping from ceilings, marble that's important from Europe. Bodies press together in designer gowns and tailored suits, their laughter like nails on a chalk board.
I grab champagne from a passing tray before anyone can notice I've arrived. The bubbles burn going down. Good. I need something to cut through the numbness spreading through my chest.
I chose a dress that keeps me blended, tight around my body, but the mesh lace offers almost nothing left to the imagination, yet enough to distort the parts of me that I don't want visible.
People don't bat an eye. It's what they see every day, even when husbands stare with hunger and their wives glare with envy. They'd throw me at their husbands like meat to starving dogs if it meant they could purchase the latest Tesla. I'd rather burn my eyeballs with a scalding pitchfork than be seen anywhere near a car that screams desperation louder than an under-fucked husband who plays with his own balls more than he touches his wife.
I dressed to torment. If tonight is going to be the last time I see Asher, I'll make sure my image is burned in his brain for years to come. At least while he’s fucking Camille.
Gag.
I turn, bored with the theatrics and forcing myself to stay grounded.Stick to the plan.
My body freezes, breath abandoning my lungs like a coward. I'm so used to seeing him in snowboarding gear or casual clothes that the suit knocks the air from my lungs. He still looks his age,but something about the way that Armani wraps around every muscle, leaving the two buttons undone at the collar, enough to reveal the ink that slithers the side of his throat. His hair falls in short careless waves, once again proving he doesn't need to lift a finger to be devastatingly gorgeous.
The sight of him steals something from me I didn't know I had left to lose.
My thighs clench when I focus on his lips, because I know exactly how they feel. How they branded his name over every inch of my body.
“Jesus, it's fucking hot in here,” Jord murmurs from behind his glass, but notices me not paying attention and follows my starved gaze. “Ah, I see. I must admit, the boy can slay a suit.”
