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The glass of water sitting by his elbow is still nearly full, and Damaris starts making a lot more sense.

Rowan didn’t touch much alcohol at the party either, sticking to the cheap stuff while everyone else drank like money didn’t exist.

So Adrian’s drinking for both of them, and judging by the look on Damaris’s face, he’s the one who’ll be dealing with the consequences when the idiot sobers up.

The dealer stays where he is, but I can see the tension in him now, one hand resting near the tray. Adrian keeps losing chips, losing face, and still hasn’t settled the drinks he’s been throwing back since he sat down.

Adrian either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Honestly, I’m not sure which is dumber.

The dealer clears his throat. “Sir, I understand you’re upset, but the hand stands, and your tab is still open.”

“What did you just say to me?” Adrian is out of his chair so fast it nearly tips backward. One hand fists in the front of the dealer’s shirt, dragging him halfway over the table before anyone can blink.

The chips go scattering again. The dealer makes a choked sound, hands coming up on instinct. Damaris goes rigid, his chair scraping back as he looks from Adrian to Lucan to the guards already closing in.

I had a feeling this night was heading in exactly this direction.

I catch the eye of one of Dad’s men and jerk my chin toward the table. He starts moving before I even look away.

Yup, Adrian managed to turn a bad hand into a security problem in under five minutes, which is honestly almost impressive.

I know. I’m a terrible person.

Around us, people are already backing away from the table, the crowd shifting with that collective instinct that tells you trouble is about to get worse before it gets better.

Lucan, meanwhile, writes Adrian off entirely. He steps closer, smooth as fucking ever, and turns his attention toward Damaris, already decided who matters more here. He holds out a hand and murmurs, “Come on. Let me get you out of this.”

Damaris freezes, staring at Lucan’s hand, caught between taking it and running. “I’m fine.”

But even from where I’m standing, I can hear the strain in it.

Adrian finally seems to notice Lucan holding out a hand to Damaris, offering him an escape route, and goes red so fast I’m half impressed. “Get your fucking hands off him,” he snaps, still half bent over the table. “He’s with me.”

Lucan meets Adrian’s glare without flinching. The smug bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. “No. He isn’t.”

Adrian shoves the dealer away hard enough to make him stumble and straightens up too fast. Breathing through his mouth now, drunk and angry and stupid enough to think this is going to go well for him.

Jabbing a finger into Lucan’s chest, he snarls, “Say that again. Go on. Say it again.”

Lucan glances down at the hand on him, then back up, and the look on his face makes me think this is about to get entertaining. “With pleasure⁠—”

“Gentlemen, let’s not make this any more complicated than it already is. I handle matters for Mr. Voss.”

A man steps in from the side, timed to the exact second this crossed from embarrassing into dangerous. He’s tall and composed, dressed well enough that he doesn’t need to announce what he is to anybody paying attention.

Lucan looks him over. “Complicated enough that you need to come collect him personally?”

“He’s had too much to drink.” The man tightens his grip when Adrian tries to jerk away. “I’ll take them both home and make sure the bill is settled.”

Between Adrian trying to start a fight, Lucan looking ready to start a second one, and Damaris standing there, wishing himself literally anywhere else, the whole thing is honestly better than the fights downstairs.

Since Lucan looks about to declare war, I step forward and offer the man my hand. “Ciaran Virel. Please do.” I flash him a smile. “And since my cousin seems unusually invested in Mr. Voss’s friend, we’ll save you the extra trip.”

For a second, nobody says anything.

Then Lucan barks out a laugh. “Oh, you brilliant motherfucker.”

“Right?” I grin as Adrian gets steered toward the door by the Voss fixer and two of our guards. “You owe me one, cous. Don’t worry. I’ll collect when the time is right.”