I take the glass from him, careful not to touch his fingers, raise it between us, and sip, letting the fizz pop across my tongue. When I lower the flute, his eyes meet mine.
“Happy now?“
“For now. To surviving an evening of lies.” He toasts his glass against mine, making a clinking noise.
“Well, well.” A familiar figure breaks into my peripheral vision as Chase comes into view. I don’t understand why on Earth my mother would try and force him on me. But either way, I justsmile and nod. “Didn’t expect to see Omega Chi trash here tonight.”
God. Of course. I suppress a grimace as Chase moves beside me. Before I can sidestep him, his arm snakes around my waist, claiming me. My entire body goes stiff. My hip burns where his hand lands.
“This guy bothering you, Mara?” he asks, like Talon isn’t even a person.
Embarrassment burns up my neck. Everyone here sees Chase as a golden boy. He’s wealthy, politically polite—my mother’s dream son-in-law.
But right now, all he’s doing is dousing kerosene on a fuse that I really don’t need lit. I step out of his grasp, carefully prying his hand off my waist. “Chase, it’s okay,” I say under my breath. “Everything is fine.”
He doesn’t listen. Or just doesn’t care.
“I didn’t realize the Reeds were on the guest list tonight.”
I don’t need a translator to hear the insult laced beneath that. Talon’s polite mask slips. “Didn’t expect to see a blow-up doll with shitty conversation skills either,” he replies as he gives Chase’s perfectly-tailored frame an exaggerated once-over. “Yet… here you are.”
My heart stops. Holy shit.
He didn’t.
He did.
Chase turns a color I’ve only ever seen on raw steak. “What did you just call me?”
Talon doesn’t even flinch, just swirls his champagne like he’s mildly bored and amused. “You heard me.”
The energy around us shifts. People are noticing now.
I slip between them fast, placing a hand on Chase’s arm to anchor him. “All right, that’s enough. Both of you. Please.”
Chase barely spares me a glance. “Mara, step aside. Let’s handle this outside like men?—”
“No.” My hand tightens. “Don’t ‘handle’ anything. Let it go.”
Helooks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Like he can’t believe I’m not letting him puff his chest and play the hero. But before he can argue, Talon lets out a low, mocking laugh.
And that’s when he turns on me.
“So, this is your type,” Talon says, loud enough now that I know people are hearing every word. His gaze skims over Chase with venomous disdain before landing back on me. “Daddy-approved, plastic, and emotionally neutered.”
Rage flares in my chest. It’s too much. Talon’s sneer. Chase’s smugness. The heat of being watched—judged. Torn between two people who don’t actually see me. No one ever sees me.
I know I should let it slide.
But I don’t.
I look him dead in the eyes, lift my chin, and say, cold and clear:
“At least he doesn’t make people beg to be humiliated.”
Silence drops like a fucking anvil.
Talon’s face goes blank. Completely, terrifyingly blank.
