"Ah, but I'm not alone," she sing-songs. "You see, vampires have this charming little talent calledinfluence. Makes people do all kinds of things. And as it turns out—I've got it too."
Her gaze flicks between us, one by one. "I have twenty of them. Right here. Party guests, staff, friends of friends. And in exactly twenty minutes, unless I say otherwise, they'll go feral. Tear this place apart."
My stomach drops.
"Asher," I mutter, but he's already signaling for our people to hold. Jace freezes mid-step, watching us confused as hell.
Sage swirls her glass like she's announcing the weather. "But hey, if you agree to my terms, I'll point them out. We can work together and prevent this tragic bloodbath before it begins."
Asher's jaw clenches so tight it could shatter. Darius doesn't flinch. I'm cursing under my breath and trying not to think about how goddamn beautiful she looks when she's threatening to kill everyone.
She plucks another glass off a passing tray like she's here for networking. Like this is some startup gala, and she's scoping out her next investor. Then her expression shifts by a flicker.
I follow her gaze. Lydia Bright glides in first, all polished smiles and pearls. Behind her, Donna looks like she's walking into a funeral. And flanking them, a man and a woman Sage clearly knows.
Lydia opens with that crisp, diplomatic chirp, "If we may intrude, there's someone here who'd like to say hello to Sage."
"Mother. Father," Sage says, all icy composure, but I catch the glint in her eye.
Murder.
Yeah, that's a familiar feeling.
Donna, trying to bridge the awkward chasm, clears her throat. "Yes, Mother was kind enough to reach out and… invite them."
"Indeed." Lydia beams. "Since Sage and Mr. Hawthorn are working with us now, I thought it only prudent to extend a greeting to the Quinns."
Of course she did. Never misses a chance to rub shoulders with the crème de la fucked-up crème.
"It was such an unexpected pleasure," the man says—Mr. Quinn, apparently. "Thank you, Mrs. Bright."
"Please, call me Lydia," she chirps.
"And you may call us Samantha and John," the mother adds, tone careful. "Sage, dear, you look wonderful. We didn't know you were… working with Mr. Hawthorn."
Trying to spin it like everything's fine. Like they didn't disown their daughter and had no idea what she was up to, or even if she was alive.
"It's more than work, Mother. Darius and I were engaged," she says smoothly.
Bomb. Dropped.
Every face around us freezes like they've been slapped with a champagne flute. Even Darius's mask slips for half a second.
"However," Sage continues with faux sweetness, "I found someone better. Two someones, actually. And I married them. Broke it off with Darius. But no hard feelings, right?" She flashes him a dazzling grin.
I have to fight not to cackle. Evil or not, the drama is pure art. The expressions around us? Gold. Even Donna's doing a cartoon double-take likedid she just say that out loud?
"Well… that's quite eventful," Lydia says, voice tighter than her smile.
"You have no idea, Mrs. Bright," Sage replies with a singsong edge. "This is such alovelyevent, truly. I can already tell it's building toward a spectacular climax."
Subtlety is dead and buried. Right next to whatever was left of her empathy.
Lydia blinks, floundering. "Thank you, Sage. I… apologize, Mr. Darrow, but may we borrow Sage and Mr. Hawthorn for a moment? There's someone I'd like them to meet."
Darius inclines his head.
Asher replies, "Of course."
