I clear my throat, forcing my shoulders back. Candles flicker across crystal, and I feel like I’m moving through a living painting of decadence. I suddenly have the fleeting thought:Rook could probably paint this and convey the emotion of loneliness perfectly.
Rafe’s hand stays at my back as we weave through the crowd, and I force myself to exhale slowly, grinning at strangers. And still, my eyes scan every movement, every masked face, searching for the one that brought me all the way to Russia.
I keep searching, finding no one familiar. That is, until I do. I freeze.
There he is.
Jude is standing just a few steps from the far wall, hand resting lightly at Adriana’s back. Her auburn hair cascades down past her shoulders, catching the low light, the black of her dress clinging to every curve. She looks…beautiful.That bitch.
Jude is in an all-black suit, wearing a golden mask that covers the upper half of his face, like everyone else. My stomach drops. I hate seeing the way he moves around her, the care in the way he leans closer, tilting his head toward her. His gaze seems…nowhere, though. Not really at anyone. Not reallypresent. Themask hides a lot, but I can see the high haze in his eyes and the way he’s disconnected from the room. And yet, the intimacy he shares with her is a dagger through my chest.
Adriana stiffens suddenly, and I follow her gaze to a man just a few feet away, talking to someone I recognize from that night at Jude’s place—Alexei. My throat tightens. The way she freezes makes me suddenly anxious, and I fight to keep my hand at my side instead of reaching for my sternum.
Then Jude leans down and kisses her slowly.
My heart stumbles over itself, and nausea surges inside me. I can feel my chest constrict. My hands press lightly against my dress, trying not to draw attention, trying not to move, trying not tocrumble.
What the hell are you doing? You hate her.
Rafe’s presence is an odd comfort at my side. “Focus,” he murmurs, voice brushing against my ear. “This isn’t about him yet.”
I blink, forcing myself to look forward. My stomach is still twisting in the worst ways, but I nod, reminding myself that the night is bigger than him. Bigger than my rage or heartbreak. Bigger than anything I want to do in this moment—like smash her head against a wall. But I can’t help but think about the image that is now burned into my memory. His lips moved on hers like he actuallycaresabout her.
The orchestra’s music swells, and Rafe steps closer to take my hand. “Dance with me,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear, and I don’t argue. I barely have the energy to think. My stupid heart is still tangled up with what I just saw across the room.
He pulls me closer, and the heat of his chest presses into mine. His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me effortlessly through the crowd without a word. I can feel the strength andmuscle beneath the suit, and it sends a flush crawling up my neck.
“I saw that, too. I’m sorry. But he's likely playing a role just as much as we are,” he murmurs into the shell of my ear, and the vibration of his voice against my skin makes me shiver. “Just follow my lead, anxious little bird.”
I look up at him, swallowing the lump in my throat, letting him steer me as the room spins with reds, golds, blacks, and gilded masks. The guests drift around us, lost in their own experience. He leans in slightly, guiding me into an effortless turn. His gaze flicks toward the crowd as though he’s reading every face through every mask.
“Men like Alexei,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, “don’t fear death, exactly. They fear the loss of control. Losing the narrative. Losingownership. That’s what drives them more than anything.”
My brow furrows, and he notices. His voice drops even lower, brushing against my ear. “I feel it too,” he admits. “Every day. That fear of losing control—of letting something slip through my fingers. You’d think after everything I’ve done, I wouldn’t care. But I do. I suppose it’s the curse no monster can escape.”
I narrow my eyes to study his face. “You kill a lot of people,” I say, curious. “Do you feel much when you do it? It didn’t seem like it.”
He smiles faintly, guiding me through the rhythm of the ballroom. “Not always. Some of it gets buried.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting beneath the mask. “My father…forced me to take my first life when I was younger. The experience broke something. I’ve never been able to piece it back together...whatever it was I lost that day. After that, all my life was, was violence and darkness. Until Adela.”
I can’t help the soft smile that creeps onto my face. He catches it, and there’s a flicker of amusement and pride in his gaze.
“It makes sense that you’re fearful of losing control,” I say quietly. “Most people who possess the character traits that allow them to seize control have often experienced something in their childhood that made them feel real loss. Or even abandonment. Either that, or a sense of safety was ripped away from them before. So the only way forward is for their subconscious to protect them.”
His dark brows rise, our dance slowing as hereallylistens to me.
“I’d say people like you are masters at something calledpredictive intuition.You see the spaces others leave open and the intentions that hide behind faces. It’s a unique kind of pattern recognition, but I’ve personally seen this in people like...”
Rafe tilts his head, studying me. “People like? Me? What else do you see in me, dear therapist?” His smile reveals that beautiful dimple on his cheek.
I steady a breath, my gaze getting lost in his. He remains silent, allowing me to study him closely. “Even though you’ve been very welcoming and helpful, which I cannot tell you enough how much I appreciate,” I pause. “But your behavior matches anti-social personality disorder quite accurately. Perhaps even a little sociopathy. They’re closely related, but there are slight differences. And I see them all in you.”
He laughs genuinely then, not a sound I entirely expected. “I like that. You’re clever. You…notice.” He presses a little closer, guiding me around another turn, and the warmth of him steadies me. “You may not be able to wield a gun or throw a hard punch,” he says, voice teasing, “but you’re dangerous in your own way, Emma. Power isn’t always force—it’s understanding. Awareness. You have that.”
I open my mouth to say something, but the thought abandons me when he leans down, his lips brushing my ear.
“You’re a beautiful, soft soul. But softness gets devoured unless it’s weaponized. You’re our greatest weapon tonight.”
The words jolt through me, a heady mix of adrenaline and dread, but also…confidence. His chest brushes mine, and I let the rhythm carry us, letting his dominance keep me tethered while the world swirls in wealthy chaos. The music swells again, and I let myself move exactly as he wants. Rafe is indeed a dangerous man. I could see it very quickly in the way he carries himself. He’s the definition of a cunning predator in this world.
