Good.
Let her walk.
Let her gather her friends and whisper about how cold I am.
Let them all wonder what changed.
They don’t know the version of me Jade built.
They don’t know the version of me Jadedestroyed.
They don’t know the version of me that’s coming for all of them.
I sip my drink, stare down at the green felt, and feel the rage settle into something sharp.
Focused.
Controlled.
Weaponized.
Tonight, I’m not the king they worship.
Tonight, I’m the storm they never saw coming.
I’m still lining up my next shot when my eyes land on a little glass humidor on the sideboard. Rows of expensive cigars, all lined up like soldiers.
Of course Rosalie’s dad has these.
Of course he keeps them out in the open.
Old money loves showing off its vices.
I flip open the lid, pick the fattest one, and clip it.
I don’t even ask permission.
Rosalie’s hovering minions gasps softly.
Good.
Let them watch.
I spark the cigar, inhale slow, and lean back against the table. Smoke curls upward in rich gray ribbons.
That’s when Vivian struts in.
Her heels click across the parquet floor like punctuation marks. She sits beside me on the leather bench with practiced boredom, reaches over, and plucks the cigar straight out of my mouth.
She takes a puff.
Very dramatic.
Very “look how adult we are.”
I raise a brow. “Is that supposed to be sexy? Because it’s really not.”
She scoffs. “You’re such an ass.”
