Blake's already three drinks deep, judging by the flush in his cheeks and the volume of his laugh. He's surrounded by his groomsmen—prep school friends, finance bros, most of them the kind of guys who peaked at twenty-two and have been chasing that high ever since.
Right now, Blake's waxing poetic about his bride-to-be, and I'm capturing every nauseating word.
Through the service window, I catch a glimpse of Scarlett.
Now’s the time.
"To Blake and Natalie," I say, raising my glass, “Big day on Saturday."
Blake grins, swaying slightly. "To the future Mrs. Hartwell. Sweet, innocent Natalie. I'm a lucky bastard."
One of the groomsmen—Thompson, I think—leans forward. "She's gorgeous, man. How'd you lock that down?"
"Patience. Strategy." Blake takes a long pull from his whiskey. "Natalie's the whole package. Beautiful face and body, the right family and business connections… and get this, she’s pure. You know how rare that is these days? A woman who hasn't been passed around? And she’s all mine to unwrap Saturday night."
"Virgin?" Thompson asks, grinning like he's twelve.
Blake gloats—a sound that makes my skin crawl. "Saving herself for marriage. Can you believe it? In this day and age?"
He taps his glass for emphasis, “She'll make a great mother someday. Wholesome. Traditional. Easy to manage." He sounds almost wistful.
"You know what marriage is, guys?" Blake says, warming to his own voice. “It’s shared assets. That’s it. The rest? Theater."
I keep my face blank, watching a man incriminate himself while calling it "business strategy."
One of the finance guys laughs. "Cynical much?"
"Realistic," Blake corrects. "Love is temporary. Contracts are forever. Or at least until the prenup kicks in."
One of the groomsmen elbows Blake. "So what's the play on the wedding night? Virgin bride, yeah? That's gotta be a novelty for you."
Blake grins, leaning back in his chair like a king on a throne. "Oh, I'm gonna enjoy that. Teach her exactly who's in charge. Mold her right. By the time I'm done, she'll think I invented sex."
He makes a crude thrusting gesture that has the room howling. "Wedding night's gonna be memorable."
The groomsmen cheer. I glance toward the coordination window. Scarlett's still there, tablet forgotten in her hands, frozen as she listens to every word.
Good. Let her hear this. Let her realize exactly where she stands.
"She's lucky too," I manage, forcing the words out, hating every word.
"You bet your ass, she is." Blake's getting louder, more performative.
"Hartwell name, Hartwell money, Hartwell connections. She's set for life. And the merger?" He shakes his head. " She's perfect for my career. The merger wouldn't work without her. My dad loves her. Her dad loves me. It's perfect."
He drains his glass, slamming it on the table. "She's irreplaceable. The wife I need. The mother of my heirs. My virgin bride."
Through the window, Scarlett's gone rigid—the kind of locked-down stillness I've seen in rookies who just took a hitthey didn't see coming. Her tablet's tilted at an angle that means she's not actually reading it. Just holding on.
As more drinks are poured, the guys get louder and the conversation starts devolving.
"Maybe keep it in your pants tonight," I say, when Blake starts eyeing the door like he's expecting entertainment. "Wedding's in two days."
Blake laughs, the sound harsh and grating. "That's what this is for, West. Last night of freedom. Not that freedom really ends if you're smart about it."
He winks at his pals, who chuckle like he's said something clever instead of something that makes me want to break his jaw.
"Natalie doesn't deserve—"
