“Calla,” Dahlia chastises her, but I think nothing can stop Calla once her curiosity is piqued.
“Nothing,” I say, sounding defensive.
“Denial.” She looks pointedly at Dahlia, who shakes her head at her sister-in-law. “There is something,” Calla says, self-assured.
I remain silent as they talk about their sons who are with their daddies.
I don’t have girlfriends. Sighing, I drink my coffee to ignore the bout of sadness. Having someone to talk to would be nice. Someone who understands.
I notice four other women entering the room, and the atmosphere instantly changes to wary. They are the wives of theSyndicate. The close-knit group moves to another table on the opposite side.
I realize I missed much of the conversation when Calla says, “See you later,” and she and Dahlia walk away.
After they depart, I head toward the Syndicate wives. They’re shielded from their men’s other business, but they host an annual party at their compound, meaning they know what their husbands do.
“How have you been?” Aurora asks, her smile always inviting.
I return her smile. “Not too bad, how are you?”
After some small talk, I excuse myself to get ready for today’s event.
Wearing a flowing blue dress with a side slit and two straps holding it together, I slip into my heels, style my hair in loose curls, and add a bit of makeup.
At the church, I watch Tristan and Viviana say their vows, their eyes fixed on each other, appearing as if their souls are old acquaintances.
While the other guests head toward the reception venue, I can’t help but wonder if I will be next. With the right partner by my side and without constantly worrying about a potential takedown, my chances of keeping my position will increase.
At these events, everyone has company, whether a partner or a friend. I, however, am alone, and it’s weighing me down.
After the accident, I stayed away from people because I was too busy dealing with myself—my lack of memory.
Then, because I had to function.
My amnesia is a secret—a subject I prefer to keep undisclosed—and with time, it became easier and safer not to let anyone in.
I see how Tristan, always the strategist, separated BRACON from the Syndicate, placing them on opposite sides with NewYork’s elite sprinkled between them so it’s impossible for them to clash.
If I ever marry, I would prefer something small and private, nothing flashy.
I am seated next to the Syndicate’s table, with Vian and Rafe as my neighbors. It makes sense considering we’re the only unaccompanied ones.
Rafe talks to Alessandra and Hayden, their amiable expressions revealing they know each other well.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t seehimseated at the table, but he will come. It’s only a matter of time. Butterflies go haywire in my belly, and I squirm in my seat. Mouth going dry, I pluck a glass of champagne from a passing server and down it in one go to soothe my nerves just in time for Vian to sit down.
Great.I’ll need a few more drinks to tune out his presence, but like always, he ignores me altogether. It has bothered me from the very start. With time, it has turned into an itch, one I need to scratch even though I know it’s bad for me.
I clear my throat, and as if he senses what I want to do, he enters a long conversation with Rafe, who stares at the couple on the dance floor, frowning.
“Not a fan of marriage?” I ask Rafe just to piss off Vian, who sends me a glare I welcome with a smile.
Fuck him. No one ignores me.
Rafe shakes his head, a line digging between his brows. “I don’t know why anyone would swear his life to another person.”
“Maybe you haven’t found the right one?” I chirp.
Vian’s eyes bore into mine with a challenge, disconcerting me. “The one? Spoken from experience?”
