And my family didn’t play about me.
Across the room, the Delacroix side moved differently.
More reserved.
More political.
Old money mixed with new blood.
Security stood in quiet places where most guests didn’t even notice them.
The cameras kept flashing.
Tonight wasn’t just a party.
Tonight was history.
Then I saw him.
Laurent.
Standing across the room like he had every right to be here.
He wore a dark suit, expensive enough to make most men nervous, and on his arm was a woman I’d never seen before.
Tall white girl.
Blonde.
Model type.
Definitely not Bianca.
I decided to check his temperature in the room, so I walked toward him. I knew he was coming. My mother already informed me.
Laurent noticed me coming and smiled.
That fake, charming shit he used when he wanted the room to believe we were cousins.
“Ares,” he said.
“Laurent.” My eyes slid to the woman on his arm. “Where’s Bianca?”
Laurent’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “Excuse me?”
I smirked. “Too scared to bring my leftovers in public?”
The woman beside him shifted awkwardly, but Laurent just chuckled.
“You always had a way with words. I’m no longer with Bianca, if you must know.” He wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s waist. “This is Camille.”
She smiled politely.
The photographers noticed us standing together and rushed closer.
Two powerful men in one frame.
They loved that kind of image.
