A smirk touches my mouth.
Jon David’s jaw flexes hard. The muscle ticks once, and his fingers tighten around his glass. His free hand curls at his side, tense enough to broadcast the curiosity burning behind his mask.
I turn Laurette, smooth and controlled. Red silk fans wide, her skirt flaring as she spins beneath my hand. The shift is subtle, seamless, and it slides us clean out of Jon David’s line of sight. When the turn settles, he’s staring at empty space.
I lead Laurette through a narrow break in the crowd, the tide of bodies folding behind us, sealing the path as if the ballroom itself is our accomplice.
Ahead, the dark mouth of the side hall awaits.
Quiet.
Hidden.
Perfect.
And she follows where I lead her.
The corridor swallows the music whole, turning the ballroom into a memory behind us. Checked marble stretches beneath our feet, each step echoing in the long hall. Crystal sconces cast warm, golden pools of light along the dark wood paneling, their reflections shimmering across the floor as we move.
It feels removed from the world, a hallway built before either of us existed, a place where New Orleans society has gathered for generations and left its whispers in the walls.
Her hand tightens in mine.
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“That’s not an answer,” she says, her composure thinning enough for me to hear the nerves beneath it. “What are we doing?”
“You’ll learn soon enough.” My thumb sweeps over her knuckles as I pull her deeper into the quiet.
Her breath stutters.
“Bastien, we can’t. Not here.”
I slow just enough to angle my head back toward her, my voice lowering into something darker. “We can. Because you want to find out what happens when you let desire suppress logic.”
A step deeper into the shadows.
“You followed the danger instead of walking away from it.”
Another beat. Closer now. Her breath catches against mine.
“I can feel how badly you want to find out what I’ll do next.”
Her breath changes first. Quick, shallow pulls that tremble in the space between us, each one sharper than the last. I know the warinside her—logic clawing at impulse, composure splintering under want, every rule she’s built around herself giving way one breath at a time.
She’s unraveling in silence.
I guide her deeper into the hall, danger humming between us. The bend ahead drapes us in softer shadows. Fewer guests. Fewer witnesses. Only the faint bleed of violins through plaster walls and the muted clink of crystal drifting from another world.
“This is insane,” she whispers.
It isn’t a protest.
I lean down, close enough for her mask to brush mine, her breath warm against my lips.
“Maybe,” I tease, voice low and edged, “but you followed me anyway.”
