Veil drones hummed overhead, capturing every sovereign outfit.
People stepped aside before they even realized why.
Roman Crow descended the staircase like a storm in a perfectly tailored suit. Tattoos along his neck and scalp caught the chandelier light. His jaw was clenched so tight I wondered if his teeth would crack under the pressure.
Straight through a cluster of heirs who scattered like pigeons avoiding a hawk.
Roman reached behind the bar, gripped an unopened bottle by the neck, and yanked it free.
The bartender took half a step forward, brave for exactly one second.
Roman turned his head.
The bartender froze mid-breath.
“Try it,” Roman growled.
No one moved.
Rome muttered under his breath—something like, fucking women, then uncorked the bottle with his teeth and strode toward the stairs leading to the upper floors.
Two minutes later—barely, Luca and Bastion Crow followed.
Luca was icy stillness, the kind of calm that made people instinctively step back. Bastion radiated a heat that felt like violence barely leashed.
I heard Luca’s voice quietly as they passed.
“We need to calm him down.”
Bastion’s jaw flexed. “I know.”
They disappeared up the same staircase as Roman.
I realized then that the rumors didn’t do the Crows justice.
Dynasty heirs played at power.
Crowsworeit.
I slipped my hand under the bar counter and looked at my phone again, tapping it to wake the screen.
Still no message.
I needed to leave discreetly—Veil drones had four angles on every main exit. If I left through one of those, my departure would be broadcast internationally before I even reached the curb.
My phone buzzed
Driver:North exit clear. Waiting outside.
Finally, I gathered my skirt, smoothed my hair, and kept my head down as I walked toward the service hallway.
For the first time since our dynamic started. I doubted if I would send a night time debrief.
26
Vince
Rome walked straight down the hotel corridor like the whole floor belonged to him, which, technically, it did, and shouldered the suite door so hard the lock gave way.
