Chapter 33 Sterling
Sterling
The gala stands like a goddamn trap in front of us. Lights gleam against the twilight, the Song-Smith estate rising out of the coastal mist, a sight dredged from old nightmares.
Far up front, Lix slips through the slow-moving line of cars, his bike carving a clean path toward the front gates.
Stan’s car crawls behind him. Kaye and Damon sit masked inside, already slipping into character.
They’re the distraction. The noise. A screen we need.
But I’m not walking Elle through the front door just to gamble on a checkpoint.
I veer off the main drive, taking a battered service road that cuts close to the cliffs. The ocean churns below the rocks, black water clawing at the base of the estate.
I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror before I kill the engine.
The mask Elle mended stares back at me. Blood-wine dark under the fading light.
The lines that once snarled lost their sharpness somehow.
It doesn’t carry the same weight it once did.
It doesn’t feel like it’s trying to crush me.
Now, it fits me perfectly, easing on my face like it was always a part of me.
The new straps don’t pinch. They don’t dig.
They hold like they’re meant to. Like she meant them to.
I see her hands in every stitch. I feel her in every reinforced line. This isn’t just my old mask anymore. It has pieces of her in it. I love it. I love her.
I turn to Elle, speaking low and rough. “Stay close.”
She nods, sure as the sun that’s now set. Her fingers graze mine before she reaches for her own mask. Black lace goes over her eyes, delicate and dangerous, stitched with the same careful hands that saved me more times than I’ll ever be able to tell her.
I step out into the cold, the salt in the air sharp enough to bite. There’s no turning back now. Time to finish what we started.
The secret tunnels bleed into the guts of the estate.
The air down here smells like old stone, salt, and sweat, every step thick with tension.
Elle moves behind me, close and quiet. Her steps never falter.
I clear each hall before she ever steps through.
Every corner is a possible threat. Every hand on a doorframe is a silent prayer.
Don’t let anyone take her from me.
We take the stairs spiraling upwards, their edges worn smooth. I motion for Elle to follow, keeping quiet and low, while people and their noise gather around us, hiding us in plain sight. At the top, a thick curtain waits, drawn closed across a heavy rod, the velvet so dark it could hide us well.
I slip behind the billowing curtain, pulling Elle in after me, careful not to rustle the fabric too much. It’s heavy enough to muffle sound, deep enough to conceal us completely. She presses into me, close and warm. Her breath finds my neck. Her mask brushes my jaw.
Moments pass and more tension builds. Masked blue-eyed staff fill the top of the grand staircase. Black silk and twisted gold wrap around the railings. They’re preparing the area up here like a stage. I know who it’s for.
My hands find Elle’s waist without thought, drawing her closer until there’s no space left between us. I feel the quick stutter of her breath against my collarbone, the way her fingers clutch at my jacket. She’s shaking from nerves. I want to fix that.
I tilt her chin up. The lace of her mask grazes my hand. I lean in, close enough for her to hear my whisper. “You’re mine, Elle.”
She leans into me. I shove my mask up to expose my mouth.
I kiss her hard, swallowing her surprised gasp.
The curtain shifts with our weight, but the noise masks us.
The growing crowd’s chatter, their clinking glasses, and the dark melody pulsing through the air like a warning.
I ignore it all. It’s easy with Elle in my arms.
I slide my hands down her sides, greedy but careful, feeling every inch of her through the silk fabric of her black dress.
I don’t know how much time we have before someone might rip the curtain back, before the world ignites, but I know this much—I want her right now.
If the plan crumbles tonight, if blood paints the marble and everything goes to hell, I’ll at least have this last moment with her.
Right here, in my arms, where she always belonged.
Her hands slide beneath my jacket. She clutches at me with her quivering fingers. She presses closer. Every inch of her says the same thing. She needs a distraction from this suffocating tension, from the fear of what might go wrong tonight.
I should pull back. Tell her to wait. Focus. But then she whispers against my mouth. Her voice is barely a breath. “Please.”
I press two fingers to her lips. A quick signal for silence while I slip my mask back over my face. She nods, steady and trusting. I hold her from behind. She bends over a bit. I lift her leg up a little, her dress going with it.
Through my earpiece, Damon’s voice hums, repeating the plan. Stan checks in, casual and cocky. Kaye follows, crisp and calm. Their voices barely register. They’re background noise.
All that matters is Elle. She fits right in my arms. My hands are all over her, needing to anchor myself to her perfect body.
I fumble her dress up, sliding the lace aside. Slowly, she sinks her dripping pussy onto me. A quiet gasp leaves her lips. With a groan I barely hold back, I grasp her hips and hold us still for a second.
After a heartbeat, I move against her, fast and tight. She trembles through every frantic roll of her hips. I feel her clenching around me, taking every silent thrust I give her.
She’s greedy for it, rocking back with me. “Such a good girl,” I whisper, inaudible to the earpiece connected to her comms.
She sighs, shuddering all over. Her warmth flutters, sending shivers up my spine.
This is her first time walking into fire like this. Her first time stepping willingly back into this hell we both called home at one point. But right now, I know what she needs. She needs to feel me. To know I’m here. For her. Forever.
My thrusts are quick and brutal, but my lips and hands are gentle on her. She deserves more than a swift fuck in the dark. But if this is what she wants, I’ll give her anything and everything she asks for.
I feel her break first, her body clenching tight around me. I follow, breath locked in my chest, groaning low as I pull her closer.
The world doesn’t wait. The curtain shifts. The music drifts. The voices outside of this curtain are louder now. Damon’s voice cuts through the comms. “All stations ready. The event start soon.”
I steady Elle against me, smoothing her dress out. She’s still shaking a little. So I brush a kiss against her hair. “You with me?”
She nods. I fix my mask, securing it on me.
“Let’s finish this,” I whisper. We fix our clothes and slip from behind the curtain, sinking into the shadows of the empty upstairs hallways. Everyone’s below by now, waiting for the show to start.
We’re halfway to the east wing when Stan’s voice hisses through the comms. “So there’s a problem,” he says. “Clo got Lix. Think she fed him Kys.”
I stiffen. My hand tightens on Elle’s wrist before I force it to ease.
Damon answers fast. “Bring him to my study. Now.”
Stan’s breathless. “I’m trying to get him up, but—” He grunts.
Damon’s voice is colder now. “Get him to me.”
“I’m trying!” Stan snaps. “Feels like I’m dragging a corpse.”
My jaw locks. Stan and Lix are down. Damon’s distracted.
Kaye’s voice cuts in next, whispered and urgent. “Guys… Clo’s gone. I had her in sight, but she fucking vanished in like, a blink of an eye. No lie, that is some straight-up spooky shit.”
My gut twists. Each exit route in my mind slams shut, one by one. I move faster, pulling Elle closer. Her breathing’s stuttering fast. Her grip’s loosening on me. Her body’s slowing.
Then I catch sight of a vent close by, hidden behind a marble pillar. A faint hiss of air. A sudden dizzy spell. I blink, creasing my brows.
Elle stumbles against me, her fingers weakly clenching in my jacket.
Goddamn it. I recognized it too late. The air’s laced.
Pumped through the vents. We’ve been breathing it in.
We’re being drugged. But I didn’t see it.
I was too distracted. But I don’t blame Elle.
I don’t regret stealing a moment behind the curtain with her.
I don’t regret any moments I’ve stolen from her since I took her away from here.
If this is the end—if this is what does us in—I’m glad she was the last thing I had.
The last thing I see is her. Swaying against me. Mask slipping. Eyes wide. Beautiful when they were brown then. Still beautiful now as blue.
***
My head pounds like a spike’s been hammered straight through my skull. The world lurches sideways when I move. I catch glimpses through the haze—masks over faces, blue eyes, black suits. These are Clo’s puppets.
I thrash once, twice. Feels like I’m fighting underwater. My limbs drag, Kys still in my veins. The puppets haul me through the halls. Walls blur past. Chandeliers flicker like dying stars.
The room comes into view before they shove me inside. Mirrors. Floor to ceiling. My reflection repeats endlessly. Fractured, pale, strung tight with fury.
In the center, a chair. Elle. Tied down. Mask gone. Head dropped like she’s barely holding on.
Panic rips through me so fast it leaves my hands shaking. I lunge for her, but hands slam into my shoulders, shoving me down into the opposite chair. The one facing a chessboard.
But I can’t look away from Elle. Her chest rises, shallow and slow. Her wrists are bound to the arms of the chair. Her skin looks too pale under the clinical light. The beams blur, whirling into a dizzying spin. I’m seeing things. Kys is driving me crazy.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood. I need the pain. I need the focus.