"If you'll follow me, miss."
The Scarlet lounge unfolds before us in shades of deep crimson and glimmering gold, the gathering area living up to its name with every surface designed to seduce the senses. Low music pulses from hidden speakers, something sultry and inviting that seems to wrap around my bones. Beautiful people lounge on velvet furniture, sipping cocktails that catch the light like liquid jewels, their laughter tinkling through the perfumed air like wind chimes made of crystal.
It’s tempting to ask for a seat toward the back of the lounge and soak in the environment and pretend for an evening. I mean, at one point in my life, back when I was with Jonah I thought this would be my life. But the limited amount of money in my pocket forces me to reconsider. I scan the room for the black curtain Madison described and refocus on why I’m here.
Get to the Wish Room, do the deed and get out.
I catch the eye of a few Scarlet Thorn members with judgment in their expressions, but I've learned something useful from years of serving customers who look through me like I'm furniture. If I move with purpose, if I keep my head down and my shoulders straight, most people won't give me a second glance and will leave me alone.
The hostess deposits me near a cluster of empty tables and disappears back toward the entrance.
“A waitress will be with you shortly.” She offers me a kind smile and then and then disappears back toward the entrance.
I’m left all alone and that is exactly what I want.
I weave through the crowd of beautiful people, keeping my eyes fixed on the far end of the lounge where shadows gather thick and inviting. The black curtain appears like a promise, heavy velvet that swallows light, barely visible unless you know to look for it. My heart pounds against my ribs with each step, and I run through excuses in my head to have answers ready to go should anyone stop me.I'm looking for the bathroom. I got turned around. I'm new here and I don't know my way around yet. I forgot my uniform at home.
Lies upon lies upon lies. The currency of survival.
I'm so focused on the curtain, so intent on my mission, that I don't see the man walking out until I collide with a wall of muscle and expensive fabric.
The impact knocks the breath from my lungs and sends me stumbling backward, my worn shoes slipping on the polished marble. I'm going down. I know I'm going down, and all I can think is that this is it. This is how my desperate plan falls apart, with me sprawled on the floor of a fancy club and then security scraping me off the marble. Heat scorches my face. Screw that. My entire body flames with shame.
But then hands catch my arms before I face plant into the hard flooring. Large hands. Warm. Strong enough to steady me without effort, fingers wrapping around my biceps with a gentleness that contradicts their obvious power.
My glasses slide down my nose. I go to fix them, but before I can, the man steadies me and eases my glasses back where they belong.
"Easy, honey. There you go." The voice is low and rough, like gravel wrapped in warm steel. Something about it makes my stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with fear. "I’m sorry about that."
I look up, and up, into eyes the color of storm clouds.
And my heart stops.
Drake Moses.
I swear he recognizes me the second I put his name to the face.
But just as quickly, his expression becomes unreadable.
Of course. Of course it's him. Because the universe has a sick sense of humor and apparently my humiliation isn't complete until I've literally thrown myself at my ex-boyfriend's older brother.
I haven't seen him in over three years, not since that awkward family dinner where Jonah paraded me around like a trophy. Drake had been quiet, watching from the edges of the room with those same storm-gray eyes that I thought saw too much. He'd shaken my hand, his grip firm and brief, and I'd felt something electric pass between us that I'd immediately buried because I was with Jonah and noticing his brother felt like a betrayal.
Now those eyes are fixed on my face, and I feel just as exposed as I did back then. More, maybe, because now I'm not the polished girlfriend in a borrowed dress trying to impress his family. Now I'm a bruised, desperate woman who just crashed into him looking like a complete disaster.
He's older than me by at least twenty years, but there's nothing soft about him and definitely nothing diminished by age. He's built like a man who's spent his life fighting for what he has,all broad shoulders and coiled power barely contained beneath a charcoal suit that fits him like it was made by angels with a measuring tape. His jaw is strong enough to cut glass, his cheekbones sharp, and there's a stillness to him that speaks of controlled violence waiting just beneath the surface.
Silver hair catches the dim light like moonlight on water, and I remember Jonah mocking him for it once. Called him an old man, said he'd gone gray before forty because he carried the weight of the family business on his shoulders. I'd thought it was cruel at the time. Now, looking at Drake, I think the silver just makes him more striking. More mysterious. More everything his younger brother will never be.
I keep my expression neutral. Does he recognize me? I thought so. Now I am not so sure.
I push my glasses up my nose, a nervous habit, and wonder if he remembers the girl from that dinner table. I'd worn contacts that night, trying to look polished enough for Jonah's family. Now there's nothing between me and Drake's storm-gray gaze but smudged lenses and shattered pride.
My stomach clenches at the thought. I was nobody to him back then, just Jonah's latest girlfriend, one in a string of women his brother cycled through like disposable accessories.
There's no reason he would remember my face three years later, especially not with all the bruising. I am so far removed from the woman I pretended to be at that time in my life.
“Are you alright? I wasn't expecting anyone on the other side of the curtain."
