Fear flashes in her eyes before steel slides into place. She doesn’t hesitate. “This way.” Gripping my hand, she leads us through the crowd.
No questions. Just immediate protection.
Kirill shadows us, his every step certain as predatory alertness hums off him. He’s snapped straight from reluctant guest to the man with a mission.
We slip through a hidden door, leaving behind the glittery ballroom.
I glance back, once, at the universe I ran from, which seems so much smaller and less dangerous now.
Or maybe I just became bigger and grew sharper teeth.
Chapter 31
Jordan
The blinding white hallway stretches in front of us, causing the ballroom to seem like a fever dream. The gala noise fades fast, swallowed by the quiet of endless marble and climate-controlled air.
My mother’s heels beat a crisp, relentless tune. Kirill follows, silent but palpable, pressed close to my spine. They’re on either side of me.
I admit, when I asked the universe for a path forward, I never could have imagined I’d wind up here, thrust between my past and present.
But, honestly, even with the mess this has been, with Kirill’s warmth firm against my back…I don’t think I want to be anywhere else.
We wind through turn after turn, delving deeper into private hallways. I’m starting to wonder how much farther, how many more lefts and rights, when someone blocks the path ahead.
Damian, the estate’s head of security. The same man I had to learn to outsmart as a teen. I hope he doesn’t hold a grudge.
He’s tall, all square edges and broad shoulders, his gray hair trimmed over a face that’s used to dealing with more than polite socialites. His perfect, expensive suit fits him like battle armor,not party attire. His stare zeroes in on Kirill as if he recognizes a fellow predator.
But above all else, he’s a professional. “Mrs. Hearst, there’s a Detective Colvin at the service entrance who insists on speaking with you.”
The name jolts me. Detective Colvin. The cop who questioned me at the hotel. The one I turned away from for Kirill. For this.
Shit.
Goosebumps prickle up my arms. “The detective’s here?”
This is no accident. He followed my trail, and he won’t stop until he gets the truth out of me.
My mother doesn’t waste a second. Her gaze flicks from me to Kirill and back, calculating lies, lining up the story, and setting the chessboard for trouble.
“Mom, please.” I step in close, urgency strangling every word. “It’s a long story, but we can’t talk to him again. He’ll just slow us down. We have to get to Dad’s safe. It’s the only way.”
“Talk again?” She doesn’t argue or ask why. “Jordan, you and your friend should wait in there.” She points to a side door that leads to a storage room. “I’ll deal with the detective.”
Kirill finally joins the conversation. “How long?”
Her eyes reveal nothing. “Five minutes. Maybe less.” She glances at Damian. “Bring him here. Stay visible but out of earshot.”
His mission accepted, Damian vanishes.
My mother gives us both a final, chilling stare before narrowing her eyes at Kirill. “I don’t know what you’ve dragged my daughter into, but we’ll discuss it later. For now, get in here.” She opens the storage room and guides us inside.
The tight, claustrophobic space swallows us, the air thick with the scent of cleaners and starched tablecloths. With adecisive snap, the door closes, sealing out light except for a thin strip beneath the frame.
Kirill plants himself by the door, ready to explode into violence if necessary. I hover next to him, hyperaware of his heat and heady scent.
His hand finds mine, and he tightens his grip.
