“Jealous people make sloppy mistakes, West. And Scarlett Thorne is about to be very, very jealous.”
“Trust me?”
He looks at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Something that looks dangerouslyclose to what I’m feeling—but neither of us will name it.
Then he nods. “Always.”
The word lands between us like a vow.
“Tonight, then,” he says, voice rough. “We light the fuse.”
“And see what explodes.”
His hand tightens on my hip. Possessive. Protective.
“Whatever happens,” he says quietly, “we do this together.”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Standing here—planning to weaponize a woman’s heartbreak while pretending my own isn’t at risk—
Professional Jane would call that a liability.
Chapter 13
Saints and Thunder
January 29 | Day 6 Anguilla PM | T–2
West
“To the groom.”
I raise my glass with the other groomsmen, the amber liquid catching the low light of The King’s Room—all dark wood paneling, leather chairs, and the acrid bite of cigar smoke layering the air. It’s the kind of exclusivity that comes with a five-figure venue rental and suited bouncers.
The Meridian Club. Where wealthy men celebrate their “last night of freedom” by proving exactly why they shouldn’t be trusted with freedom in the first place.
I saw it on the way in—the deliberate theater of the place. A grand marble-floored lobby beneath soft gold lighting, framed by two identical circular staircases that curl upward with choreographed elegance. They rise together, converge at a shared arched landing, then split again, decisively, into two doors.
One marked: The King’s Room. One marked: The Queen’s Room.
A brass plaque between them reads:Gentlemen’s Entertainment / Ladies’ Entertainment. Strict adherence to club policy required.
Now, through the service windows lining the upper corridor, I catch glimpses of the coordination area—Scarlett andstaff moving efficiently between Blake’s bachelor party and Natalie’s bachelorette party, maintaining the illusion that this place runs itself.
I'm only here for one reason: Jane.
Not for Blake. Not for old times' sake. Not because our families spent summers together in the Hamptons or because we've known each other since we were kids building sandcastles and making terrible decisions.
I'm here because Jane needs evidence. Because fifty thousand dollars means her sister finishes nursing school. Because Natalie deserves to know what she's marrying.
My task: make Blake's devotion to Natalie loud. Obnoxious. Get him talking about his perfect future wife. Make Scarlett—who's coordinating both parties—hear every word. Watch Blake choose the merger, the wife, the respectable future over her.
If we're lucky, Blake will stay coherent enough to incriminate himself.
If we're lucky, Scarlett will crack. Confront him. Give us something on tape.
My phone’s in my breast pocket, recording app already running. Whatever Blake says and does tonight, Jane's getting it.
