"Well," Vance said, stopping three feet away. His scent hit me first, cognac and expensive musk, cloying and arrogant. "The rat came out of the sewer."
I opened my mouth, a retort aboutwaste managementready on my tongue, but Mateo took a half-step forward. He didn't touch Vance. He just put his shoulder between us, cutting Vance’s line of sight. The air pressure between them dropped instantly.
"Step back," Mateo said. It wasn't a request.
Vance scoffed, looking up at Mateo with a mixture of disdain and caution. "Call off the dog, Quill. You really brought hired muscle to an art opening? That’s tacky, even for a Beta."
He leaned around Mateo’s bulk, his eyes pinning me with a dismissive, pitying look.
"You look ridiculous," Vance said, gesturing to my dress with his free hand. "Playing dress-up won't save you, Rowan. You’re a glorified secretary who read a contract wrong. You don't belong here. You belong in a cubicle, filing my expenses."
My hands clenched at my sides. The shame flared hot and bright, the old insecurity, the voice that saidhe’s right, you’re just the help.
"Julian," a voice cut through the noise. Smooth. Melodic. Deadly.
Juno stepped out from my other side. He didn't look angry. He looked delighted.
He stepped into the space Vance had tried to claim, moving with a terrifying, liquid grace. Because Juno had no scent, Vance couldn't read him. I saw the confusion on Vance’s face, the primal unease of facing a predator he couldn't smell.
"Juno," Vance sneered, though his eyes darted nervously. "I heard you were handling the trash now. A step down from your usual clientele, isn't it?"
"Oh, I don't know," Juno said, tilting his head, examining Vance like a biology slide. "I find waste management fascinating. Especially the recycling process."
Juno took a step closer, invading Vance’s personal bubble with an audacity that made the air crackle.
"For instance," Juno continued, his voice dropping to a conversational purr that was loud enough for the nearby circle to hear. "I was just reading about the Aurelius Foundation. Fascinating charity work, Julian. Truly inspiring."
Vance froze. The champagne glass in his hand tilted dangerously. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" Juno smiled, showing too many teeth. "Because according to the ledger, your consulting firm,Aegis, received three separate 'grants' from Aurelius last quarter. Curious, considering Aurelius is supposed to be funding inner-city music programs, not offshore holding companies in the Caymans."
The color drained from Vance’s face. It wasn't a slow fade; it was a plummet.
"You..." Vance sputtered, looking around to see who was listening. "That’s slander. I’ll have your license."
"Technically, it's racketeering," Juno corrected lightly, flicking an invisible piece of lint off Vance’s lapel. "And we found the transaction logs for the scout you hired to film Rowan’s mother. The payment routing number leads directly to your personal HSBC account. Sloppy, Julian. Really sloppy."
Juno leaned in, his lips inches from Vance’s ear, but his eyes locked on mine.
"You called her a secretary," Juno whispered, his voice ice-cold now. "But she just mapped your entire financial anatomywhile you were busy picking out your tie. She isn't the help, Julian. She's the executioner. We're just the blade."
Vance took a step back. Then another. He looked at me, really looked at me, and for the first time, I didn't see contempt. I saw fear.
He looked at the unmoving wall of Mateo, the silent, observing Stephen, and the smiling, scentless nightmare that was Juno.
"You're insane," Vance hissed. "All of you."
"Enjoy the party," Juno said cheerfully. "I hear the appetizers are deductible."
Vance turned and fled. He didn't walk away; he retreated, disappearing into the crowd toward the exits, checking his phone frantically as he went.
I let out a long, steady breath. My knees felt weak, not from fear, but from the adrenaline dump.
"Target neutralized," Mateo grunted, relaxing his stance by a fraction of an inch.
"Viscerally satisfying," Stephen noted, adjusting his glasses.
Juno turned to me. The shark-smile vanished, replaced by a cool, assessing gaze. He scanned my face, checking for cracks in the porcelain.
