She shakes her head. Eyes wide. Bright. Curious.
No. Not too much.
Perfect.
The VIP alcove is my sanctuary. Elevated. Secluded. Just open enough to give us a clear view of everything that matters. I settle into the leather chaise and gesture for her to sit beside me. She smooths her dress beneath her and sinks into the seat, thick thighs crossing, and fingers brushing the rim of her glass as she watches the room below.
I order two drinks—something dark and smooth for me, and something sweet and sharp for her. When the server sets them down, she lifts hers, swirls it, and takes a slow sip. Her eyes stay on the crowd, but I notice the way her throat works when she swallows.
She leans back, fingers toying with the stem. “You always bring your girls here?”
I grin. “Never. You’re my first.”
She scoffs, but the corners of her mouth betray her. “That a line?”
“If it was,” I say, “did it work?”
She shakes her head. Her blush says otherwise.
Then she moves like she’s adjusting her clutch. When she sits upright again, her hand is empty. Her drink lifts faster this time, and she doesn’t meet my eyes.
My pulse tightens.
She’s hiding it—but I know. I know her too well. The way her gaze won’t settle. The catch in her breath she thinks she’s masking.
She took the fucking drug.
And now I’m sitting beside a live wire, watching the fuse burn down in real time.
Fuck.
Chapter 53
What I Let Happen
Asher
I know something’s wrong before I can prove it.
It’s a pressure behind my eyes. A wrongness under my skin. The kind that comes from years of reading rooms, people, and threats before they announce themselves.
Violet sits beside me, glass balanced delicately between her fingers, and posture composed enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know her.
I know her.
Where did she even get it?
The thought hits hard, immediate. Did she stash one from the lab? Slip it into her clutch like a contingency plan she never mentioned? Or did someone hand it to her when my attention was elsewhere— No. That doesn’t happen here. Not in my house. Not with my name on the doors and my people on every level.
Which means this wasn’t a mistake. She brought it. Planned it.
And didn’t tell me—because she knew I’d shut it down the second she tried.
Of course she did.
My jaw tightens, teeth grinding behind a smile I don’t feel. I keep my body still, controlled, while my eyes track everything she’s trying to hide. The faint tremor in her fingers. The way she grips the stem of the glass like it’s anchoring her. The way she refuses to look at me, like eye contact might give her away.
I should stop this.
