“Fine.” His voice is tight. “But I’m keeping this.”
He picks up the velvet box.
Every instinct inside me screams.
No. No. No?—
But my face doesn’t show it.
He tucks the box under his arm like he’s decided the issue is his now, not mine.
Then he leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead—soft, sweet, proprietary.
“Go get dressed,” he murmurs. “We’re going to the club today. You need a distraction.”
I smile.
Perfectly.
Calmly.
Utterly hollow.
“Of course.”
And as he turns away, knife in hand—I swear I feel the walls pulse.
Like the house is whispering:
He took what Kai left for you.
He won’t like that.
Scarlett
The club is the kind of place Noah loves—all polished chrome, curated lighting, velvet ropes, and people who pretend their money makes them untouchable.
It smells like champagne and sweat and ego.
It looks like a kaleidoscope of wealth—crystal glasses catching strobe lights, glitter dripping from dresses, expensive cologne clinging to the air like hunger.
It feels like a place where everyone knows their role.
Except me.
I’m not playing mine tonight.
I can feel Noah’s hand warm at the small of my back as we enter, a silent command disguised as affection. His grip tightens whenever someone looks too long, too hard, too interested.
The real problem is me because I woke up angry.
I walked into these woods pissed off at the world.
A knife with LIAR engraved on it is lodged in my ribs because Kai is out there breathing my air.
I’m done pretending to be perfect.
The moment we reach the VIP booth, Noah orders drinks.
