“It means if you fail them, the claim is considered void.” He lowered his voice further. “Also, there’s an inspection. Multiple inspections, actually. Tonight, tomorrow, Sunday.”
“Inspection?”
Lilith’s smile widened to something predatory. “The partners will evaluate the authenticity of each couple’s connection throughout the weekend. Think of it as due diligence.” She reached out and adjusted Victor’s lapel with familiar fingers.“We wouldn’t want any unfortunate misunderstandings about the nature of certain… arrangements.”
Victor caught her wrist. Gently, but firmly. “Your concern is touching.”
“I’m nothing if not concerned.” She extracted herself with a laugh like broken glass. “Do enjoy your stay. I’m sure you’ll find the accommodations intimate.”
She sauntered away, hips swaying, every male gaze in the lobby tracking her movement.
Derek waited until she’d disappeared into an elevator. “She convinced the partners yesterday. Showed up with a whole presentation about liability exposure and claim verification. Grimm was ready to cancel the entire retreat until she proposed the protocols as a compromise.”
“She planned this from the beginning,” Ava said.
“Obviously.” Victor frowned. “Come. Let’s see what fresh hell she’s prepared for us upstairs.”
The Celestial Penthouseoccupied the entire top floor.
The elevator required a special key card and a retinal scan that made Ava deeply uncomfortable. When the doors finally opened, they revealed a foyer that belonged in a museum, or possibly a mausoleum.
White marble. Gold fixtures. A chandelier dripping crystals like frozen tears.
“Is that a Monet?” She stared at the painting above an actual fireplace.
“Replica,” Victor said, setting down their bags. “The real one is in…” He stopped, mouth pressing into a thin line. She decided not to ask what supernatural vault housed stolen masterpieces.
The living room unfolded beyond the foyer, bigger than her entire Queens apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Atlantic, gray-green waves crashing against a private beach far below. Late afternoon light poured through the glass, painting everything gold.
A terrace wrapped around three sides, furnished with chairs that cost more than her car. The kitchen gleamed with appliances she didn’t recognize. A dining table seated twelve beneath another chandelier.
Everything was white and cream and gold, aggressively luxurious, designed to make its occupants feel either pampered or suffocated.
Ava felt distinctly suffocated.
“The bedroom,” Victor said. His voice made her stomach flip.
She followed him through double doors into a space that confirmed every fear she’d been nursing since “one room.”
The bed dominated the room like a throne. California king, at minimum—possibly larger, possibly custom-built for demons who needed extra space to brood. White linens gleamed in the fading light. And scattered across the duvet, because someone in hospitality had a cruel sense of humor?—
“Rose petals,” Ava said flatly. “They scattered rose petals.”
“I’ll have housekeeping remove them.”
“Don’t bother. We’ll just…” She gestured vaguely at the enormous bed, the intimate lighting, the bathroom visible through a doorway that promised a tub big enough to swim in. “Deal with it.”
Victor stood very still in the doorway. His hands had clenched at his sides, knuckles going white.
“Two hours until cocktails,” he said. “You should rest. Prepare.”
“Victor…”
“I’ll be on the terrace.” He was already retreating. “Take whatever time you need.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Ava stood alone in the honeymoon suite from hell, rose petals mocking her from every surface.
