I take another sip of champagne even though my glass is already empty.
He flags a waiter with a glance, replaces my flute with a fresh one before I can protest. “Pace yourself,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the inside of my wrist as he passes it to me. “You don’t need the extra nerves.”
I want to tell him I don’t need him managing me.
I don’t.
But the words stick in my throat.
Across the room, the doors shift as someone enters late. There’s a subtle change—heads turning, conversation faltering for half a beat. Not enough to draw attention. Enough to be felt.
My heart slams.
Noah’s gaze flicks up, scanning automatically, assessing threats the way he always does. His jaw tightens when he looks back at me.
“Did you invite anyone else?” he asks casually.
“No.”
The answer comes too fast.
He studies me. “You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.”
He doesn’t argue this time. He pulls me closer instead, arm banding around my waist, drawing me into his side like he’s shielding me from something only he can see.
Or something he’s finally starting to believe.
“I know tonight is difficult,” Noah says quietly. “But you don’t need to be afraid.”
I almost laugh.
Afraid isn’t the word.
Fear implies I want to run.
What coils low in my stomach, what hums beneath my skin every time I imagine Kai out there somewhere—free, watching, remembering—isn’t fear.
It’s anticipation.
The realisation hits me hard enough that my knees weaken.
Noah feels it again. His grip tightens, fingers biting into silk. His voice drops, losing its polish.
“You’re with me,” he says, slower now. Firmer. “Say it.”
I swallow. “I’m with you.”
“Louder.”
“I’m with you.”
Satisfied—or close enough—he relaxes just a fraction. But his eyes stay sharp. Tracking. Guarding.
The auction begins. Applause ripples through the room as items are announced, numbers called out, money exchanged like it’s nothing more than a game. I barely hear it. My focus keeps snagging on movement at the edges of the room.
A man stepping back into shadow.
