Satisfied.
Triumphant.
He lifts his glass, addresses the table again, basking in approval, praise, attention.
I sit frozen beside him.
Silent.
Suffocating.
Dying.
When the conversations resume, music swells from hidden speakers near the torches — something slow, expensive, romantic.
A lie of a song.
Noah places his empty glass down and straightens his suit jacket.
“I have business to handle with the investors,” he says, tone clipped and final, “and you?—”
He brushes a finger along my jaw.
It feels like a leash.
“—are going back to the room.”
I blink.
“What?”
His hand grips the back of my neck.
Just for a second.
Just enough to steal the air from my lungs.
“Don’t embarrass me,” he murmurs.
“Don’t argue.”
“Don’t run.”
He releases me.
Steps back.
Adjusts his cufflinks like nothing happened.
“Go wait,” he says, smiling for the table as he dismisses me without looking again. “I’ll come to you when I’m done.”
I stand.
My legs shake.
The beach sways beneath me.
Heat presses against my skin like a second punishment.
