“You know,” Sienna says, refilling her wine glass, her expression turning thoughtful, “I’m really glad you’re here. The division needed some fresh energy. And you’re brilliant at what you do.”
I blink at her. “What?”
“You haven’t noticed?” Anne laughs, gesturing with her wine glass. “You solved that Silverwood dispute in like, half the time it would’ve taken anyone else. And the way you caught that clause error in Ryker’s presentation? Sarah’s still talking about it. That was impressive.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Oh, I—I read a lot of the old treaties when I wasaway. For fun.”
“For fun,” Sienna echoes, grinning. “See? Brilliant. Most people can barely stay awake reading those things. They’re like medieval torture devices disguised as legal documents.”
“I enjoy contracts,” I mumble. “And legal precedents. They’re like puzzles.”
“And that,” Anne says, pointing at me with her wine glass, “is exactly why you belong in this division. You’re perfect for it. You see connections other people miss.”
A warm feeling spreads through me. Not from the wine, and not the burning heat from earlier. This is gentler. Softer.
Acceptance.
They’re accepting me. Including me. Acting like I belong with them.
The doorbell rings again, and my stomach drops.
“That’s probably Sarah,” Sienna says, already moving toward the door with easy confidence. “She said she’d be here around six-thirty.”
Why is everyone early for my party?
Sienna pulls the door open, and sure enough, Sarah stands there with several others from the office—Julian and a few analysts whose names I can’t quite remember. They file in with bags and bottles, filling the apartment with chatter and laughter.
More people arrive. The space that felt so empty this morning is suddenly full of life.
I accept hugs and congratulations, force smiles and thank-yous. Everyone seems genuinely happy to be here, genuinely happy for me.
It should feel good.
It does feel good.
But underneath it all, there’s a knot of anxiety sitting heavily in my stomach.
Because part of me keeps listening for the doorbell. Keeps watching the door. Keeps wondering if he’ll come back.
My lips still burn from his kiss. Something inside me still paces restlessly, hungry and confused. And somewhere across the city, Darius is probably feeling the same way.
We crossed a line tonight. And I have no idea how to go back.
Chapter Ten
Darius
My hands grip the steering wheel so tight, the leather squeaks.
Her taste lingers—a flavor so sweet and indefinably Violet that I’ll never forget it. My lips still burn where hers pressed against them, desperate and hungry and completely inexperienced.
God, she kissed like someone discovering fire for the first time—clumsy and uncertain, but burning.
I could tell in the way she moved against me at first, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands or her mouth. But what she lacked in skill she made up for in raw, unfiltered desperation.
The way she attacked me. Pushed me against that door. Tore at my sweater with shaking fingers. The little sounds she made in the back of her throat when I touched her.
Heat floods through me at the memory, and I have to adjust myself in my jeans, still half hard despite bolting out of there like I did.
