"Are you intact?" he asked.
"I'm..." I swallowed, the image of Vance’s terrified face burning in my mind. "I'm fine. He looked... small."
"He is small," Juno said. "You just finally have the right perspective."
He checked his watch, the moment over, the mask sliding back into place.
"We’ve made our appearance," Juno stated, his tone shifting back to clipped, professional efficiency. "The photos will be on the wire in ten minutes. The narrative is established: you areunbothered, wealthy, and protected. Now we leave before he calls his lawyers."
We turned to go.
As we moved toward the exit, presenting a unified wall of black silk and tailored wool against the flashing cameras, I felt a hand settle on the small of my back.
It was Juno.
His hand was warm through the silk of my dress. It wasn't a polite steering gesture. It was firm. Possessive. His fingers spread wide, the thumb pressing into the curve of my spine, branding me. It was a claim.Mine. With us.
My breath caught in my throat, a sharp hitch that had nothing to do with the corset and everything to do with the sudden, overwhelming awareness of him. The heat of his palm seemed to burn straight through the couture armor.
I glanced up at him, my heart hammering a new, erratic rhythm.
Juno didn't look down. He was already looking at the exit, his phone pressed to his ear, his profile sharp and unyielding.
"Car out front in thirty seconds," he was saying into the device, his voice all business, cold and detached.
But his hand didn't move. He kept it there, anchoring me, guiding me out of the lion's den and into the night, united.
FOURTEEN
Rowan
The penthouse felt less like a home and more like the cockpit of a spacecraft that had just successfully navigated an asteroid field. The air was pressurized with leftover adrenaline, a hum that vibrated in the floorboards and rattled the ice in the glass Stephen was currently filling.
"Whiskey," Stephen said, his voice clipped and precise. "Neat. I don't think we need to dilute the moment."
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the sprawling, rain-slicked grid of London. My reflection ghosted against the glass, a woman in black silk who looked like she could swallow light. I didn't feel like a verdict anymore. I felt like a tremor waiting to happen.
Behind me, I heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of Mateo’s boots. He was doing a perimeter sweep, checking locks that were already biometric, verifying sensors that hadn't blinked. It was his way of coming down.
"East sector clear," Mateo rumbled. "Street level is quiet."
"Vance is likely halfway to his lawyer's office in Kensington by now," Stephen replied, the clink of crystal punctuating the sentence. "Or the airport."
I didn't turn around. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. My hands were shaking again, just a little. Not from fear this time, but from the sheer, intoxicating absurdity of it all. We had walked into the lion's den, slapped the lion, and walked out without a scratch.
"You were magnificent tonight."
The voice was soft, laced with a specific kind of gravity. Juno.
I turned. He was standing just inside my personal space, holding a tumbler of amber liquid. He had shed his velvet tuxedo jacket, and his silk shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the sharp lines of his throat. He looked ethereal, unruffled, and terrifyingly pleased.
I took the glass, my fingers brushing his. His skin was cool.
"I didn't do anything," I said, taking a sip. The burn of the whiskey was grounding. "I stood there like a prop while you verbally eviscerated him. You didn't just ruin his night, Juno. You dismantled his ego in front of the entire donor class."
"You stood there and didn't flinch," Juno corrected. He took a step closer, his amber eyes tracking the movement of my throat as I swallowed. "Vance is used to people cowering. He expects fear. You gave him boredom. That is harder than it looks, Rowan. Silence is a heavy weapon."
"I was terrified," I admitted.
