This is the most I’ve walked since getting out of the hospital. My body’s starting to notice.
That’s it, just lean casually against a wall. Abercrombie model vibes.
What’s that? Popped a stitch and bleeding out?
Very demure.
Very mindful.
Just… don’t collapse.
I let Chace and his men take the lead, hiding the strain in my steps.
We stop at a linen closet.
My brows pull together. Chace lifts a finger to his lips.
Silent.
Right. Not seven minutes in heaven, then.
Shame.
He presses against the back wall. A hidden panel slides open with a quiet hiss, darkness swallowing the space beyond.
Oh. That’s cool.
Secret room.
Secret fucking room.
So, fucking cool.
We step through. The panel seals behind us.
The corridor beyond is rough—worn. A stark contrast to the polished casino floor.
Then I see the stairs.
Oh, fuck me.
My body protests immediately.
Just keep moving.
If I tense any harder, I’m going to blow something important.
Relax—but not too much.
Just… be normal.
Yeah. That’s convincing.
We reach the top. I’m definitely not sweating through my shirt.
Definitely not dying.
Chace pauses at the door, glancing back at me.
