Page 45 of Lured By Shadows

His smirk answered before his words did. “You are not incorrect.”

Of course I wasn’t.

“I’ll have your new clothes delivered to your home,” he said suddenly, his gaze lowering briefly to where our hands remained joined.

I blinked. “Oh.” My voice softened. “Thanks.”

He answered with only a small nod before turning toward the door. I followed close beside him, my pulse fluttering unevenly while I tried not to imagine what kind of dinner I’d just agreed to.

The second we stepped outside, the cold struck hard enough to steal my breath. My shoulders tensed instinctively, my body curling inward against the sudden chill. Before I could even process it, the suited employee hurried over with smooth, practiced movements, a polished smile already waiting on his face. My jacket rested folded neatly over his arm, pristine and unwrinkled like it had never been worn.

“We hope you’ve enjoyed your evening, young miss,” he said warmly as he guided my arms into the sleeves.

Young miss. I was never getting used to sounding like a Victorian orphan.

The phrase slipped through my mind, and a small giggle escaped me as I looked up at him. “Yeah,” I said lightly. “It’s been great.”

The words had barely left my mouth before the atmosphere beside me changed.

I felt the shift instantly. Culver’s presence sharpened until the air around him felt rigid and volatile. I looked up at him, and my smile disappeared the second I saw his face. He wasn’t just annoyed. His expression had gone vicious, his glare fixed squarely on the man helping me. His jaw flexed hard, muscles tightening as though he were restraining himself by force alone. When my gaze dropped lower, I saw his fists clenched so tightly that I thought his knuckles might split.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Culver said, his voice low and seething.

Well, that escalated horrifyingly fast.

The words hadn’t even fully landed before his hand shot out.

He grabbed the man’s wrist with brutal precision.

A sharp, sickening crack split the air, unmistakable and final, like dry wood snapping beneath pressure. The man cried out, stumbling backward as his hand collapsed at an impossible angle, useless and wrong. Nausea twisted through me, panic tightening around my chest with every breath.

I knew that sound.

Back in middle school, still clumsy and overconfident with breakdancing, I’d tried a move way beyond my skill level. It had taken one bad landing and one wrong angle. My leg had snapped beneath me like splintered wood. I hadn’t cried immediately. I’d only stared at my body as though it no longer belonged to me. The pain hadn’t reached me until halfway to the ER, and when it finally did, it became unbearable.

But Culver hadn’t hesitated.

There’d been no warning, no buildup. Just a clean grip and one precise break, as effortless as snapping a pencil in half.

That terrified me more than the sound itself.

“Culver!” I yelled, grabbing a fistful of his hoodie and yanking him back, but he didn’t budge even an inch. My voice shook as panic clawed its way up my throat. “He was just helping me. He didn’t do anything!”

The man dropped to one knee, clutching his shattered wrist as sweat beaded along his pale forehead. Somehow, impossibly, he managed a strained smile. He didn’t say anything to me, though, and it made me wonder if it was because he was afraid of Culver. If he spoke to me, would Culver kill him?

I wanted to scream. Not at Culver, but for the man in front of me. Especially when I noticed the other suited employee beside him hadn’t reacted at all. He stood there like part of the building itself, as if violence were just another fixture of the place.

Was it normal here?

Did everyone around Culver just go through life knowing they might be next? Because at this point, I was starting to feel like the only person reacting normally.

My eyes drifted back to the injured man. His uniform was still immaculate. His posture somehow remained controlled, as though this wasn’t new. Unease curled through me as Culver’s gaze settled on my back, tracking my reaction like he was measuring it.

“Take him to a physician,” Culver said coldly, “before I change my mind.”

The words sent a chill through me. Not because of what he’d already done, but because of how easily he could have done worse.

I turned toward him, forcing steadiness into my voice that I didn’t feel. “Culver, this isn’t okay,” I said firmly. “You don’t just hurt people like that. Especially people you pay.”