Elliot
Sanguine occupies a glass-and-steel office building on the far edge of the city, all sharp lines and empty space. It looks important from the outside. From the inside, it feels unfinished. Like something pretending to be power.
There are no busy floors humming with purpose. No vampire and human employed army moving at Lucian’s command. Just a handful of people, spread thin, eyes flicking toward me and then away again, like they’re not sure what I am yet—or if I’ll last.
I shower in a bathroom that smells faintly of bleach and nothing else. No perfume. No warmth. I scrub until the water runs cold, until my skin aches and the blood beneath it feels too loud. When I’m done, Santiago has left clean clothes folded on the counter. Simple. Black. Practical.
I change slowly, carefully, as though if I move too fast I’ll splinter. At this point after everything that happened with Lucian and Kayla, I’m being held together by fraying threads.
By the time I step back into the main office area, my ruined dress is gone. My reflection in the mirror is calmer. Colder. More composed than I feel.
It should feel like freedom.
Instead, my chest hurts in a way that refuses to ease.
Lucian’s face won’t leave me. The way he looked at me—shocked, wounded, furious, all tangled together. The way he said my name, like it meant something sacred. Like it belonged to him.
And Kayla…
Kayla.
The image of her on that bed flashes behind my eyes again. Alive, but not the way she was supposed to be.
I press my fingers into my palms, grounding myself in the quiet hum of the building. I want to believe Lucian didn’t know. But I don’t know if I can. He’s lied to me so many times before. And if he has lied about Kayla, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him for keeping this from me.
I sink to the edge of one of Sanguine’s sparse chairs, the leather cold beneath my thighs. Lucian didn’t cage me with locks or chains. He did it with proximity. With answers that almost came, with truths that hovered just out of reach. With the illusion that I was choosing him freely while the world narrowed around us.
My heart twists painfully at the memory of walking away from him. At how much it took not to look back. At how badly I wanted him to follow me.
But he didn’t.
And maybe that’s all the proof I need.
Love isn’t supposed to feel curated. Like I’m being shaped to fit someone else’s life. And right now, I need to believe that walking away was the first real choice I’vemade.
I draw a slow breath, staring out at the familiar city beyond Sanguine’s unfamiliar windows.
“There you are.” I turn to see Santiago strolling into the room like he owns it. Which, I suppose, he does. “Settling in?”
I stand and nod even though the answer to his question is actually no.
He smiles. “You made the right choice,” he says. “Soon, Lucian and your time at VMR will be nothing more than a passing shadow, an insignificant moment measured against a lifetime of success.”
His fingers brush my elbow as he passes me to stare out the windows at the lightening sky. The touch is casual, almost absentminded.
My spine stiffens.
I don’t like it.
“Magnificent view, don’t you agree?”
Before I realize it, I’m drawn to his side to stare out the window.
“Think you could get used to this?” he asks.
“I told you I’ll only stay if you agree not to try to kill Lucian again,” I say.
He flicks a hand dismissively, as if the thought barely deserves air. “Yes, yes. I won’t waste my time trying to end him. Besides,” he adds smoothly, eyes still on the city, “I now have the thing he wants more than power.”
