I nod once, fingers tightening on the shopping bag in my lap. “Thank you, Wraith.”
His lips twitch in something that might be a smile before he looks away. “Go on. Get ready. You’ll want to impress the King tomorrow.”
I open the door, stepping into the chill night air, his words still echoing in my head long after I’m gone.
Chapter 33
Rook
The townhouse is alive with movement. Footsteps on polished floors, the low murmur of conversation bleeding through from the hall, the clink of glass as Saint pours himself a drink he doesn’t need.
I’m at the head of the long mahogany table, jacket draped over the chair behind me, cuffs rolled. The air smells like cologne and rain, expensive whiskey and anticipation. The others filter in one by one, dressed sharp, all pretending not to care that tonight’s dinner isn’t really a dinner at all.
It’s a test. And everyone knows it. For us, for her. Will she fit into our world, and can we maintain composure in her presence? Then she walks in, dressed in Emerald.
The kind of green that catches light and bends it. The dress fits her like sin tailored in silk—elegant, precise, meant to draw attention. It does. Every head turns, including mine.
For a heartbeat, I forget to breathe.
Then I see it—the necklace. Gold chain, a single stone surrounded by tiny diamonds catching the chandeliers’ light. It’s too delicate to be anything from the estate. Too new to have come from me.
My jaw tightens.
She doesn’t notice. Or she pretends not to. She moves with that careful grace she’s learned to weaponize, all poise and hidden defiance, until she’s standing across from me.
“You clean up well, Red,” I say, voice husky with a longing I’m growing tired of pretending isn’t real.
Her eyes flick over me, cool and assessing. “You don’t look half bad yourself, King.”
A smirk ghosts across my lips. “Half bad? I’mwounded.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she says, sliding into the chair beside mine.
The room hums faintly around us—the scrape of chairs, Vale’s low whistle, Saint’s muttered curse in Greek. But it’s background noise. It’s always background noise when she’s in the room.
I clear my throat, pushing a small black box across the table toward her. “For you.”
Her brows lift. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She does, cautious, fingertips brushing the velvet interior. Inside is a ring—thin, understated, gold band with a small emerald set in the center. It’s not about beauty. It’s about belonging.
Her expression flickers—surprise, suspicion, something else. “What’s the occasion?”
“Tonight’s dinner.”
She looks up sharply. “You’re giving me jewelry for a meal?”
“For cover.”
Her lips part, but I go on before she can argue. “We’re meeting a Syndicate contact. I need you to play a part.”
Her voice goes cold. “What part?”
I meet her gaze evenly. “Mine. My fiance’.”
The silence that follows is sharp enough to draw blood.
