Talon.
He’s alone. One hand braced on the marble railing, his head bowed slightly. Even from here, I can tell by the tense line of his shoulders—he’s still fuming.
I don’t know why he’s pissed off. He’s the one that just announced my virginity to an entire room.
Then, a flicker of orange—a lighter—followed by a cigarette pressed to his lips. The inhale pulls his jaw taut, illuminates his cheekbones.
I glance over at Chase. He’s chatting with some woman near the bar, half-watching me from the corner of his eye, like I mightcause another scene. Like he’s already rehearsing how he’ll spin it to my mother if I do.
And maybe I should cause another scene.
Because the truth is, I don’t want this life. I don’t want Chase. I don’t want to smile on cue or wear fucking pearls or play the daughter doll anymore.
I want out.
And maybe the fastest, messiest way to blow this whole charade to hell is to give them exactly what they fear: a scandal.
My heart thuds like a war drum in my chest.
I don’t need a boyfriend, I need a weapon. Someone just as sharp, just as charming, just as dangerous. Someone my parents would loathe. Someone who can help me flip the script.
Even if he’s an enemy.
Especially if he’s an enemy.
My gaze cuts back to the balcony. I know it’s reckless. I know I should stay away. But maybe I’m done playing by their rules. Maybe I want to make a new one.
One that ends with their perfect daughter in the arms of a man who’d burn their legacy down just for fun.
Before I can talk myself out of it, my feet are already moving.
I don’t care that every rational thought in my head is screaming.
I want him to see me walk out those doors.
I want him to wonder what the hell I’m doing.
And I want him to know: I’m done being their good girl.
I slip through the French doors into the cool night air, every step closer to him a declaration.
Let the games begin.
ELEVEN
TALON
As soon as I stormed off, I ended up stealing a bottle of bourbon from behind one of the bars, and ended up on some fancy-ass balcony with a cigarette burning to the filter between my fingers.
Nasty habit, but fuck it. I inhale the smoke and hold it in my lungs until it aches.
She doesn’t get to talk to me like that, but rage looks so damn good on her. The heat in her voice was enough to fill my dick. I lean against the railing and take another sip straight from the bottle.
Behind me, I hear the click of the French doors opening, the roar from the party, then it quiets down again. I turn around and see Mara walking toward me.
“Come to slap me again, Princess?”
“I didn’t come to slap you.” She scoffs, making her way over to me, her arms crossed over her red dress. “Not unless you give me another reason.”
