“Thanks, Luce.”
Drogo was at the bar, settling the tab. The brunette had finally left—or maybe he’d sent her away. I couldn’t tell.
Didn’t care.
Liar.
I walked past him toward the door.
“Alena.”
His voice stopped me. Low. Rough. Like it cost him something to say my name.
I turned slowly, one eyebrow raised. “Yes?”
He looked at me—really looked—for the first time all night. Eyes tracing my face like he was memorizing it. Like he was already saying goodbye.
“You were…” He stopped. Jaw working. “You were incredible tonight.”
The words should’ve meant something. Should’ve filled the hole his coldness had carved out.
But they came too late.
And they didn’t explain the distance. The stiffness. The way he’d turned his back.
“Thanks,” I said, voice flat as his had been earlier.
Two could play that game.
I walked out into the night, coat pulled tight, and didn’t look back.
But I felt his eyes on me until the door closed.
A chill ran down my spine—not from the cold. Sharper. Familiar. The shadow, stirring in the dark spaces between streetlights.
It always got worse when he pulled away.
Oh… is that fucking so?
Fine. If he’s pulling away, I’ll pull harder.
Tomorrow, he doesn’t get to hide.
Tonight proved I could bare myself in front of a hundred strangers and own every second.
Tomorrow, I’ll bare myself to him—all of me—and make him admit what I saw in his eyes when the lights went down.
One way or another, this ends.
Even if it breaks us both.
9
DROGO
I left her in the cold night air after the show, her back turned to me like I'd turned mine. I rode home hating myself. But I couldn't stay away. One last night. One last chance to hold her before I disappeared.
I killed the engine under her building, the Ducati ticking as it cooled in the night air.
