Page 114 of No One’s Daughter

I straightened my back and took a sharp inhale.

I could do this.

I had to.

CHAPTER FORTY ONE

Ailsa

MY HEELS ECHOED sharply against the polished marble as Leon escorted me though the manor, Davien a looming presence just behind us. The sound bounced off the high ceilings and cavernous walls.

“I really didn’t know,” Leon whispered, and I turned to him, taking in his handsome features. He was in complete contrast to how he’d been at the club. His hair was perfectly in place, his facial hair cleanly shaved and his suit was perfectly tailored. A far cry from the jeans and long loose hair from my memory. Even the way he carried himself was different, his shoulders squared and movements measured, like every step had been rehearsed.

Looking at him now, it was obvious he wasn’t human.

“Would it have made a difference, honestly?” I asked, dragging my gaze away before I could read too much into it.

“I’d like to think so,” he said, a softness slipping into his voice that didn’t quite match the man beside me. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, you know. I’ve spent many nights searching the club for you… hoping, praying to see you.”

I scoffed. “Right… because that’s not creepy.”

He let out a chuckle, bright and genuine and so at odds with everything around us that the sound of it caught me off guard. “Just as prickly now as then, I see. I like it.”

“Are you trying to flirt with her?” Davien’s voice cut in from my other side, sharp as glass.

Leon didn’t even hesitate. “I’d never dream of flirting with your girl Dave, you know that.”

“She’s not my girl.”

“Not his girl.”

Davien and I said simultaneously, our voices overlapping in perfect, irritated unison.

“And don’t fucking call me that,” Davien added under his breath, which only seemed to amuse Leon further.

I exhaled sharply, stepping ahead of them, before their bickering could spiral further. “I don’t have time for your fighting,” I said, my voice tight. I didn’t need a damn escort anyway. It was easy enough to follow the flow of guests. “I’m here for Claire, that’s it.”

Neither of them tried to argue, instead they fell into step behind me.

The dining hall revealed itself gradually, opening into a vast opulent space that felt more like a ballroom. A long table stretched through the centre, dressed in crisp linens and gleaming silver, with smaller replicas of the setup filling the rest of the room and chandeliers dripping with crystal light overhead. The walls were lined with dark wood panelling and gilded mirrors, reflecting flickers of movement.

There were too many faces, too many eyes.

I scanned the room for a familiar face, but found none.

The guests were… strange.

Beautiful, every one of them, in that unnatural, too perfect way that made my skin itch. Men in tailored suits, women in gowns that shimmered like liquid metal, all of them poised and elegant. Conversations were quiet, measured. Laughter too controlled. Like all of it was staged.

Then the murmur of voices died, one by one, until eerie silence swallowed the space whole.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway beyond.

Then he walked in.

There wasn’t a single breath out of place, the tension was so palpable. Even the air cowered from him.

He was tall and his presence dominated the space. Short dark hair, styled to perfection framing a face that was both striking and oddly familiar. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips set in a line.