“She knows enough,” Jett says. “Savannah hired her. So either Savannah knows and doesn’t care, or she knows and thinks cash is worth more than the fallout.”
I nod, slowly.
“Sharon doesn’t know,” Cassian says. Not a question. He’s watched her, read her, picked her apart the way only he can. “She was a mess because the bride’s ghosting her. She has no idea they’re running a con on our grandfather.”
“She’s incredibly hot when she’s a mess,” Jett says, voice lifting at the edges.
Cassian grins, stretching back in his chair like he might fall right out of it. "Did you see her face when she took off her sweater, and her pupils went wide?"
“Her scent shifted,” I add. “Strawberry panic to honey. Heat.”
“She was slipping,” Jett agrees, satisfied. “Mini heat.”
Around us, someone drops a glass. A burst of laughter from the bar. The place smells like lemon cleaner, whiskey, and the faint sweetness only alphas notice. We’re not the only ones who caught it.
“The point,” Cassian says, working it through, “is we kept it contained. She was safe. We—”
“We were about to do something she’d have to live with afterward,” I cut in. “Jessica walked in and saw her omega planner surrounded by three half-dressed alphas. Doesn’t matter what actually happened. The optics are shit.”
Jett rolls the beer bottle between his palms, thinking. “You think Jessica thinks we were taking advantage?”
“I think Jessica saw her boss in a vulnerable state with three alphas who should know better.” I keep my voice low. Someone in the booth behind us is trying to listen.
This is always my role. The brakes. The one with the long view. Sexy, I know.
Cassian tosses back the rest of his whiskey and sets the glass down.
I lean back in my chair, the leather of my jacket creaking as I shift my weight. My own glass sits half-full on the scarred wooden table between us. Jett is standing by the window, one shoulder against the frame, watching the street outside like he's tracking something specific.
"Saw something interesting yesterday," Cassian says. He's picking at the label on the whiskey bottle left on our table. His fingers work at the edge, peeling it slowly. "Ben coming out of his house. Tuesday afternoon, middle of the day."
I wait. Cassian always takes the long way around a point.
"He wasn't alone." Cassian looks up, his gray eyes sharp despite the casual tone. "Two omegas. Both of them looking satisfied, and leaving at the same time."
Jett turns from the window, his expression unchanged but his attention locked. "Penelope was at the hardware store last week. Buying paint samples with some alpha from Timber Ridge. Tall guy, clean cut. They were standing too close for it to be professional."
I pick up my glass and take a slow drink, letting the whiskey burn down my throat while I process this.
"Ben and Penelope have an open relationship," I say, setting the glass down and meeting Cassian's eyes. "Everyone knows that. They've never pretended otherwise. So why the hell are they bothering to get married?"
Cassian stops picking at the label. His jaw tightens, and I can see him working through the same calculation I am. "Because it's not about love."
"It's about access," Jett says from the window. His voice is quiet but certain. "Maybe marriage gives Ben legal standing in Penelope's financial empire."
I push back from the table and stand, needing to move. The chair scrapes against the worn floorboards as I pace toward the bar and back.
“Nah. They are both broke,” Jett says. “They're up to something. This whole wedding is a setup for something bigger."
"Agreed," Cassian says. He's on his feet now too, rolling his shoulders like he's getting ready for a fight. "Ben doesn't do anything that doesn't benefit Ben. And Penelope is too smart to tie herself legally to a man she's actively cheating on unless there's a payoff."
Jett moves away from the window and joins us near the table. He picks up his beer bottle, turns it in his hands, then sets it down without drinking. "So what's the play?"
I stop pacing and face both of them. "We find out exactly what they're planning. We dig into the wedding arrangements,the financial transfers, the timeline. We figure out what they stand to gain and who gets hurt when they make their move."
"And Sharon?" Cassian asks. His voice has gone serious, which is rare enough that it makes me look at him closely.
"Sharon is standing in the crossfire." I move back to the table and plant both hands on the surface, leaning in so they can hear me clearly. "She's organizing this wedding, which means she has access to all the details. Guest lists, vendor contracts, financial arrangements. She might not realize what she's seeing, but she's seeing everything."
