Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Nicholas
“You played yourself, Harrington.”
I stand in front of my closet, staring blankly at the rows of perfectly pressed suits and tailored shirts. The last couple of days have been hell.
Sylus’s words have been ringing in my ears, slicing through the carefully constructed walls I’ve built around myself. And fuck, the bastard is right. I wanted something so badly, someone, her , so badly that I dove headfirst without hesitation. I fell for her without asking questions, without looking too closely, because for the first time in years, it felt real. She felt real.
And when it all crumbled, when I found out about the lies, I lashed out. Not because I couldn’t see their reasons. Not because I couldn’t understand the why. I could. I do . It was because it fucking hurt. It hurt to realize that even the good things in my life came with conditions.
But I see it now. My brain has been trying to tell me, nudging at the edges of my pride, whispering there’s more to this than betrayal. That what she said was true. That the way she laughed, the way she kissed me, the way she looked at me like I was more than the polished surface I’ve spent my entire life pretending to be—that was real. She was real.
If I’m honest, I’m not mad at her. Not anymore. I’m mad at me. Mad that I let my fucking ego get in the way, that I let my pride blind me to what I already knew deep down. She cares. And I care too.
God, do I care.
I grab a shirt off a hanger, simple, soft, not the kind of thing Veronica would approve of, and toss it onto the bed before reaching for a pair of jeans.
I hate this—the vulnerability, the uncertainty, the gnawing fear that maybe I’m too late. That maybe I’ve pushed too hard, said too much, and she’s already written me off.
But I can’t let that stop me because Sylus is right about something else. I want this. I want her. I want the insane, messy, complicated family they’ve built. I want out of this miserable cycle of pretending, posturing, and being exactly who Veronica wants me to be.
I want more . And Novalee is more. She’s everything.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself as I grab my, or Koen’s, whatever , keys. This is it. No more overthinking. No more clinging to pride, resentment, or the thousand other things that have kept me from what I really want. If I’m going to do this, I’m going all in.
Because they’re worth it, and I’m tired of living like this, of being the polished doll in someone else’s game. I want to be a part of something real, something messy, something that fucking matters.
And for the first time in years, I might have a shot at that.
I just have to be brave enough to take it.
And ask for help.
Walker.
I type out the message and hit send before I can second-guess myself.
I want to fix this, but I need help.
My fingers hover over the screen, waiting for Sylus’s inevitable chaos to hit me back. I don’t have to wait long.
With what?
I need to get inside the mansion and her room without her noticing.
… you’re in?
I’m in. 100.
You’re sure?
Yes.
The typing bubbles appear, then vanish. That alone makes me suspicious. The next message hits my screen, and my brain short-circuits.
I stare at the picture for a full five seconds before my mind processes what I’m looking at. It’s Novalee. Beautiful, undeniably her. But her tongue’s out, teasing the tip of an inked dick. Sylus’s probably. Because , of course, the lunatic has a star tattooed there. She’s taking the selfie with a playful grin and wicked eyes, and it’s like my brain bluescreens entirely.
The fuck?
Still in?
Why did you send me your dirty dick?
The typing bubbles reappear almost instantly.
To check if you’re really able to get over your ego.
All of the guys got that picture to prove they don’t mind her sucking other dick.
Think of it as an acceptance ritual to the Sparkle Syndicate.
This is fucking ridiculous. But…
I’m still in.
You gonna help me?
I’m fine to help you if you’ll make her happy. But if you fuck this up because you’re going to see her suck my dick, you’re in for a bad awakening. I don’t want her to get hurt again just because your balls aren’t big enough to handle competition.
My jaw tightens as I read his message, but instead of snapping, I force myself to focus. He’s baiting me. Testing me. And he’s right to do it. That’s the worst part.
You have a star on your dick. I think I’ll manage.
I mean it, Harrington.
No, I didn’t change my mind. I know she’s with all of you. I want to be part of it, not take her away from anything.
Good. You couldn’t, anyway.
Fucker.
I’ll be there in thirty minutes.
Better hurry, or I’ll get her in bed first and send you some more pictures.
I shove my phone into my pocket, already cursing Sylus under my breath. He’s a lunatic. But he’s also got a point. If I can’t handle seeing her with them, with him , then I have no business being here. Because this isn’t about me. It’s about her, about us, about finding a way to make this insane, unconventional situation work.
And I want it to work so fucking badly.
I step out of my room, still adjusting my sleeves, already rehearsing in my head what I’m going to say when I see her. But I don’t make it two steps before I hear Veronica’s voice drifting from the kitchen. “Nicholas.”
I pause at the edge of the hall. She’s on the phone, pacing in front of the counter with a glass of something dark in her free hand. Probably whiskey. The way she’s smiling, sharp and knowingly, tells me she’s sealing a deal, not making small talk.
Her eyes flick toward me, and she raises a perfectly manicured hand. Wait.
I bite the inside of my cheek and stay put. She ends the call with a clipped, “We’ll finalize it tomorrow,” then sets the glass down with a clink and turns toward me. “Where are you off to?”
I could lie. I almost do. But that would be a mistake.
“To Rosie.”
She arches a brow. “Is Rosie living with the Lanes?”
“Yes.”
At least she does at the moment.
“Good.” She moves to the counter and picks up a slim folder, offering it to me. “Can you give Koen this?”
I take it. “What is it?”
“Documentation from the joint venture Oscar and I started. Maybe he’ll appreciate seeing where his uncle wanted to go with it.”
“That’s… nice of you?”
Her laugh is low and humorless. “Nothing I do is nice, Nicholas. And you should start understanding that…” She pauses, her expression softening ever so slightly, enough to make me freeze. “But I have to say, I’m proud of how you’re handling the situation with him.”
Her words slam into me, and I stare at her, struggling to process. Proud. She’s never said that. Not once.
“I—” The word sticks in my throat. “That’s…”
“Stop stuttering,” she cuts in. “It doesn’t suit someone of our status.”
Ah, there she is.
I flip the folder open, scanning the pages until I see Oscar’s handwriting. My fingers tighten on the paper. He always signed his notes with a flourish, like he couldn’t resist adding some showmanship to even the smallest things.
“If you take that to Koen, I can leave early for my meeting.”
I glance up. “Which meeting?”
“It’s with Belmont. We have to… discuss some private matters.”
Ew.
“ Belmont ? Really, Mother?”
“Oh, spare me the really, Mother. Belmont holds the third-largest stake on the Strip after us and the Lanes. It’s good business to maintain close relations.”
I fold the folder shut, holding her gaze. “Like the Lanes? To play the long game and someday achieve his money too?”
“You’re learning.” Her lips curve upward, not quite a smile. “But that’s not everything. He likes to be told what to do.” Ew indeed. “And he’s doing a lot for us. He launders millions through his hotels and bars.”
“Does he know about Oscar?” I keep my expression neutral.
“What do you want from me, Nicholas?”
The words hang in the air between us. I want to press. I want her to crack right here, to admit everything, to let the weight of her lies collapse around her. But I don’t have anything with me to record her confession.
I curse myself silently and let it go.
Not yet.
“Nothing, Mother.” I force the words out.
She pats my shoulder like I’m a child again, and the gesture makes my skin crawl. “Enjoy your evening, honey.”
I nod once and turn toward the door, the folder tucked under my arm and the weight of her words still sinking into my skin.
Proud.
She said she was proud of me.
And it shouldn’t fucking matter. But it does.
I leave the penthouse and get into the elevator, which softly hums as it descends. I try to get my thoughts back to what I’m about to do for Novalee, but it only makes every word Sylus threw at me bounce around in my head.
When the doors slide open, I stride into the underground garage and over to the Mercedes. Sliding in, I toss the folder to the passenger seat and let out a breath. The purr of the engine vibrates through the cabin as I pull out of the garage and into the Vegas night.
The lights blur past, neon streaks against the darkness, and I focus on the road, trying to sort through the mess in my head. I need to do this right. I need more than words. I need action. Something real to show her I mean it. That I see her, all of her, and I’m not going anywhere.
The bright lights of a small florist’s shop cut through the dark as I park in front of it and sit for a moment. Then, I kill the engine and step out.
The shop smells of a chaotic mix of sweetness and earth, and the riot of colors makes my soul sing. Rows of roses line the wall to my left, and I start toward them automatically. Red roses are a sign of love. Romantic. Safe. But then Novalee’s voice echoes in my head when she told us about her sister. Rosalee. Rosie.
I freeze mid-step.
Roses are for Rosalee.
This is Novalee.
She deserves something that’s her , that’s as vibrant and unique as she is.
My gaze sweeps over the shop, and that’s when I see them. Fire lilies. Their petals curl in vivid shades of orange and red. Their edges kissed with gold. They’re bold, fiery. Perfect.
“I would like twelve of those, please,” I murmur to the girl behind the counter, pointing toward the lilies.
She looks up from the arrangement she’s working on and smiles. “Good choice.” She turns to pluck the stems with ease and asks, “Anything else?”
I scan the shelves again, spotting some white freesias, a few sprigs of eucalyptus, and a scattering of small blooms in shades of purple. They’re soft and unassuming, but together, they’ll balance the intensity of the lilies.
I pluck some of everything out of their buckets and hand them over to the florist.
“I want it to look like… her ,” I say, surprising myself with the admission.
“Got it. Vibrant and a little wild,” she says with a grin, already assembling the bouquet.
I watch as she works, pulling the bouquet together with ribbons of gold and silver that remind me of the glitter Novalee had all over her when we first met. When she finishes, it’s stunning, fitting but not overdone. Just right.
Paying, I leave with the bouquet in hand, the scent of fire lilies filling my nose as I place it in the passenger seat of the Mercedes. “Sorry, Koen.”
This car will smell like lilies for weeks.
I’m about to make my way to the driver’s side when a small shop next to the florist catches my eye. The windows are cluttered with all kinds of knick-knacks and random things. And there, hanging inside the glass, are glow-in-the-dark stars.
Our first kiss flashes through my mind.
The quiet night under the open sky, her voice full of wonder as she pointed out constellations.
Before I can think too hard about it, I’m inside the shop, the bell above the door jingling softly. I grab a pack of them, then another, just in case, then pay quickly, heading back to the car and sliding the stars onto the passenger seat next to the bouquet and the folder.
Twenty-five minutes later, I punch in the gate code and pull up to the mansion. The headlights wash over the driveway as I park near the front, far enough from the garage to keep the noise down. I step out, clutching the bouquet, the folder, and the bag of stars, feeling like an idiot and hoping I don’t look like one.
The front door opens as I approach the stairs, and I’m greeted by Sylus’s smirk and Alaric’s unreadable gaze. Perfect. Just what I needed. The welcoming committee.
“Where is she?” I ask, skipping the pleasantries.
Sylus leans against the doorframe, looking far too amused. “Hello to you, too, asshole.”
Alaric crosses his arms but tilts his head toward the house. “Living room. She’s with Koen, Levi, and Ezra, watching MasterChef . I think she fell asleep.”
Sylus snickers. “Yeah, she didn’t see you.”
“Good,” I mutter, shifting the bouquet in my hand. Alaric’s eyes land on the flowers, and his face softens.
“Nice flowers,” he compliments. “Fits her.”
“Thanks. I thought so too.”
Sylus looks between the bouquet and me, his grin widening. “What are you planning to do?”
I hesitate, hating that I have to open up to them. But as much as I want to brush him off, I need someone to tell me I’m not completely insane. “We were stargazing on our date. And, I don’t know, I brought these glow-in-the-dark stars. I thought I could put them on her ceiling and—”
“Sure, bring your stars.” Sylus interrupts. “Her favorite is in my pants anyway.”
“Shut up, Sy.” Alaric chides him, his tone sharp but amused. He turns back to me, his expression softening. “That sounds perfect, Nicholas. She’ll love it.”
I blink at him, caught off guard by the sincerity. “You think?”
Sylus steps forward, clapping a hand on my shoulder with enough force to jolt me. “We’ll help you, dickhead. Make sure you’re quick.”
“Seriously?”
What is even going on?
His smirk widens as he yanks me into an unwelcome hug, his arm slinging around my shoulders with a theatrical sigh. “Welcome to the family, Short King .”
I groan, trying to shove him off, but he only laughs, tightening his grip like an annoying little brother. Still, there’s no denying the warmth that spreads through my chest, the unexpected feeling of belonging that I’d been missing.
As Sylus finally lets me go, I glance between the two of them. “Thanks, I guess .” I shake my head, but there’s a smile tugging at my lips now, one I can’t fight.