Valentina lifts her glass in a mock toast.“To instinct.”
Adena mirrors the gesture, calm on the surface.
But her win didn’t close the door.
It cracked it wider—and Valentina never lets a door close once she’s put her foot through it.
The table resets for the next round.
Only this time, the stakes aren’t cards or chips.
They’re us.
Twenty-One
Adena
Jagger’s still asleep when I slip out, easing the hotel door closed until it latches with the softest click.He needs the rest, and I need room to thank God for answering my frantic prayers last night.
The hotel gym sits on the mezzanine behind a wall of glass, bright and sterile.The overhead lights glare against the mirrored walls; each reflection looks sharper, harsher, like it’s evaluating me.
By the time I finish my workout, sweat slicks my spine, and the buzzing anxiety under my skin hasn’t settled.I shower quickly, barely toweling my hair dry before my phone vibrates sharply against the counter.
A text message that makes all my muscles clench.
Meet Valentina downstairs in ten minutes.
I scribble a note to Jagger, leave it on the bar, and dress as quickly as I can.
When I reach the lobby, she’s already waiting—composed, immaculate, not a strand of hair out of place, like she’s been sitting there for an hour, rehearsing exactly how this morning will go.
She doesn’t ask how I slept.Doesn’t ask about Jagger.Doesn’t mention my winning the hand last night.
She simply takes my arm—light, elegant, impossibly firm—and guides me toward the waiting car.
Silence thickens in the cabin as the car pulls away from the hotel.I fold my hands in my lap, keeping them perfectly still even though my pulse flutters unevenly beneath my skin.Valentina watches the city through the tinted glass, face serene as a painting.
Finally, she speaks.“You adapt quickly.”
I force a small nod.“I try.”
“Mmm.”She studies me with unsettling calm.“Many women struggle when they are brought into this world.They break.Cry.Panic.But you…” Her gaze lingers on my face.“You hold yourself well.”
A chill tightens around my spine.“I’m doing my best to fit in.”
“Of course you are,querida.”Her voice flows smooth as warm honey.“It is why certain decisions have been made.”
My breath catches, but I keep my expression neutral.“Decisions?”
“Men like Jagger do not bring women close on a whim.And Marquez?”A soft, knowing smile touches her lips.“He does not invest in uncertainty.”
I swallow hard.“I don’t presume anything.”
“No,” she agrees, “you do not.And that is good.Modesty becomes a woman in your position.”
My position.She says it like it’s already established, unchangeable.
Valentina’s gaze lingers, assessing.“A man in his line of work requires a certain… steadiness.”Her fingers tap once against her clutch.“Some women mistake proximity for suitability.”
