The polite applause barely registers as I make my way back to my seat. I feel detached, like a ghost in my own body. Hollow and entirely too focused on the woman sitting just inches away.
The rest of the night is a blur of handshakes and thank-yous. Arden acts the part of the perfect date, doling out polite smiles and compliments.
She goes silent again on the trip home, but I can feel her watching me. The car is a dark, quiet sanctuary after the sensory overload of the gala. The streetlights flicker across her face in rhythmic pulses of color and shadow. I look over, and her eyes meet mine. She doesn’t look angry anymore, just tired. She gives me a faint, uncertain smile, like she’s trying to bridge the gap I forced between us earlier.
I nod and pat the leather seat, motioning for her to scoot into the space beside me. She hesitates for a heartbeat before sliding over. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her firmly against my side. She rests her head on my chest, her hair smelling like the night air and the expensive perfume she wore for another man’s benefit. We stay like that for the rest of the drive, the silence finally softening.
I don’t understand this girl, not even close. But as I tighten my grip on her shoulder, I realize I’m starting to care for her a little too much.
Chapter 19
ARDEN
It’s almost 11 when we walk through the door to Locke’s mansion. My feet ache from the ridiculous heels, my head buzzes from too much champagne, and my skin is drenched in the scent of perfume that isn’t mine.
The events of the last few hours have left me feeling drained, both mentally and physically. I should sleep. I should lock the door and let the world go dark. But Locke’s voice is a splinter in my mind, incessant and impossible to ignore. ‘You’re not going anywhere near his place.’
Honestly, who is he to tell me I can’t go?
‘You’re never off the clock with me.’We’ll see about that.
Locke disappears down the maze of hallways leading toward his room, distracted by an oddly-timed phone call, and the silence in this house instantly feels suffocating. I stand there, my hand hovering over the bedroom doorknob, my vision blurring with exhaustion. Every muscle in my body is screaming for the mattress, or a hot bath, but my pulse is doing something else. Racing with frantic, and quite possibly stupid, curiosity.
I don’t give myself time to change my mind. I peel off the gown with shaking hands, and slide into an outfit that feels more like a weapon: my favorite pair of faded ripped jeans and a black tank top. My usual boots with chunky heels finish the look, and I’m out the back door in a matter of minutes.
My pulse hammers in my chest as I sneak past the pool. Not from fear, but excitement… pure adrenaline. Every shadow feels like it’s watching, every step dares him to catch me. I inspect the perimeter of the house as I sneak past. Are there cameras? Probably. Do I care? Not even a little.
I tell myself it’s just curiosity, and that I’ll only peek in. I just need to know what kind of man I’m really up against. A few minutes. Pure research.
My boots hit the pavement, one after another, until I’m sliding into the backseat of a rideshare. The city blurs by, and with every flashing light, reality sets in — there’s absolutely no turning back now.
The car crunches up the gravel drive of Luke’s sprawling mansion, stopping to let me out before continuing back down to the main road. The house is dark, but bursts of color flash in the windows. Red, violet, gold, blue, like the house itself is breathing in time with the bass I can hear from outside the front door.
I don’t bother knocking, just push the door open and step over the threshold. To my surprise, there are two security guards dressed in black suits flanking the entrance. The top halves of their faces are hidden behind ornate gold domino masks.
“Phone,” one of them says, shoving a small plastic bin in my direction.
“Phone?” I echo. My voice is a combination of shock and bewilderment.
The guard on my opposite side leans in and whispers, “Put your phone in the basket.”
A giant knot instantly forms in my stomach. Not just because they want my phone, but also because what he said came dangerously close to, “It puts the phone in the basket.” Not a great vibe.
With a shaky breath, I ignore the sinking feeling and reach into the back pocket of my jeans. I glance down before handing the phone over, and my eyes snag on the screen. It’s flooded with notifications: calls, text messages, even a video call — all from Locke.I guess he’s their problem now.
The chaos inside the house is all-consuming, beckoning me in. The air is hot and thick with the scent of perfume and sweat and somethingelse… metallic. I scan the room, trying to orient myself or find a familiar face, which seems to pose a problem because every headline I’ve ever read is staring back at me. Actors, models, pro athletes… they’re all here.
Every one of them wears a smile that doesn’t quite reach their glassy eyes, and their movements are loose in a way that sends prickles down my spine. Whatever’s in the punch, I’m staying far away from it.
I inch forward, circling the perimeter of the room, eyes fighting to focus with each flash of light. I’m not sure if my head is spinning from the aftereffects of the alcohol I drank earlier or the music I can barely hear myself think over.
Female servers weave through the crowd in matching black silk slips that cling to their skin and look far too short to be uniforms. The same ornate gold masks the security guards wore obscure their faces, too. Other girls, dressed the same, stand scattered in corners, completely silent, their gazes fixed on nothing. Like they’re decorations, rather than guests.
A tall, muscular man reaches out as he passes one of them. He casually runs his hand up the length of her thigh, lifting the dress slightly to reveal a barely-there lace thong underneath. His gaze roams over every inch of her body as he licks his lips. She doesn’t react to any of it.
What the fuck is this?
My heart beats like a war drum in my chest, and I feel like I might be sick. I turn my head, desperately needing a distraction.
