“That’s unfair,” she says lightly.
Seraphina beams, and I feel it again — that rising confidence, that quiet claim she is staking over herself.
Chace moves to the bar and uncorks a bottle of wine with practiced ease. Glasses are poured, the city beyond the windows beginning to glow as dusk settles fully over Las Vegas. I keep my hand at the small of Seraphina’s back, not to restrain her, not to cage her, but because I am proud to stand beside her.
“To bad decisions,” Sam says.
Mac laughs, leaning into Logan’s shoulder.
I look down at my wife, at the woman who is no longer asking for permission to want things.
The glasses clink, wine warms the air, conversation hums easily. Anticipation gathers beneath the surface like a current running through all of us.
Then Chace’s phone vibrates.
He checks it, expression sharpening into something professional and efficient.
“First car and escort are ready.”
The shift is immediate. Sam sets his glass aside, Logan does the same, Mac slipping her hand into his as security steps through the door. There is an ease to the way they move — practiced, unbothered.
Mac hugs Seraphina briefly before she is guided toward the hall. “See you downstairs,” Logan calls over his shoulder.
The suite empties.
Silence settles.
Now it is just the three of us.
Chace pockets his phone and glances between us with knowing amusement. “Second car’s five minutes out,” he says casually. “You two good?”
I slide my arm fully around Seraphina’s waist, drawing her in against me.
“We’re good,” I answer, my gaze fixed entirely on her.
Chace nods once and moves toward the window, giving us privacy without making a show of it.
I lower my mouth to her ear.
“When we walk into that club,” I murmur, letting my voice settle into that low register that is only ever meant for her, “every man in the room is going to look at you.”
My hand tightens slightly at her waist.
“They can look,” I continue, nipping her ear and dragging it between my teeth. “But they can’t fucking touch.”
She smiles and shakes her head.
“They’ll be watching you too, Husband. You look… too good to be true.” She adds with a whisper. “Good enough to eat.”
THIS WOMAN GONNA BRING ME TO GOD…
I wanna eat you too, baby. Suck you, fuck you, love you…
The elevator doors begin to glide shut, the low mechanical hum filling the mirrored space while security remains stationed outside on our floor, immovable and watchful as ever.
Just before the doors meet, one of the guards’ comms crackles sharply to life.
“Anastasia Romanov approaching elevator. Fast. Alone.”
