“I can't leave her.” The words hang in the frozen air between us, each syllable a perfectly placed blade. “I shouldn't have let things get so carried away, and we probably shouldn't have.Fuck.”
I laugh, stepping close enough to catch his expensive cologne.
Patting his chest, the muscle beneath my palm twitches. “I know.”
His brow furrows. “You know?”
“Of course I know.” Another drag, another cloud of smoke between us. “I'm not asking you to leave her, Asher. I'm not asking you for anything.”
“But—”
“What? You thought I'd beg? Cry? Make demands?” I flick ash onto the pristine snow. “That's not who I am.”
He studies me like I'm written in a language he can't understand. “I don't get it.”
“You don't need to.”
“Camille—”
“Is none of my business.” The cigarette burns down to my fingers, but I don't flinch. “Whatever hold she has on you, whatever game you two are playing—” I crush the ember under my heel. “It has nothing to do with me.”
“Doesn't it?” The question cracks something open between us.
I could ask. Could dig into whatever twisted history keeps him tethered to a woman he doesn't love. Could demand explanations for the way he looks at me like I'm salvation and damnation wrapped in one. But questions only delay the inevitable, and I've already wasted too much time pretending this could end any other way.
“The ceremony's starting.” I move past him, but his hand catches my wrist.
“Venom.” He stops, searching for words that don't exist. “This could have been different.”
I pull free, my skin burning where he touched. “You should get back inside. Your fiancée will be looking for you.”
I don't wait for his response. Can't. The door swallows me back into the warmth and noise, but his heat brands my back through the open doorway, a ghost press that lingers long after the latch clicks shut.
Chapter 24
Ivy
Thirty years of breathing, and somehow this birthday feels like a funeral. Every birthday feels like a damn funeral. This one in particular can simply go fuck itself.
White lace clings to every curve on my body, like some virgin sacrifice. Fitting. Honestly. In some ways more than others.
The crowd parts as I reach the bottom step of the patio. 888 Veilarath Lane has been transformed into a nightclub. Faces blur together, none of who I really know.
White lace clings like a second skin, and suddenly I'm thirteen again, a maiden painting my face, making me beautiful for monsters.
The crowd watches.They always watch.
Somewhere in this chaos, Parker plays the devoted husband, already three whiskeys deep and charming some socialite half his age.
My eyes find Asher without meaning to.
He's leaning against the far wall near the canopy, drink forgotten in his hand, wearing all black. The contrast makes his eyes sharper, more dangerous. Camille hangs on his arm, red lips moving with whatever story she's telling, but Asher isn't listening.
He's staring at me.
My pulse kicks up despite every defense I've built against this exact reaction. We haven’t spoken since last night. Since both of us decided to self-destruct instead of fight. I know why I have, but why has he? Or that’s it. I really was just a play thing to live out his mommy issues.
Punk appears at my elbow with champagne. “You okay?”
