42. Chapter 42 #2
His eyes search mine, and I see the moment he accepts it—not just my decision, but the woman I've become. The woman who makes her own choices, even difficult ones.
"You're right," he acknowledges. "And your entrance was... memorable."
"That's an understatement," Theo laughs. "Every person in this place was staring. Half of them still are."
I glance around, realizing he's right. Though conversations have resumed, many eyes still flick our way, curious and speculative. I recognize some faces from the café—regular customers who probably don't even realize I'm the same quiet barista who used to serve their coffee.
"Let them look," I say, squeezing Theo's hand. "I'm done hiding."
Jace's expression softens, and he leans in to press a kiss to my temple. "I'm so proud of you," he murmurs against my skin. "So goddamn proud."
The genuine emotion in his voice makes my throat tighten. I swallow hard, determined not to ruin Maya's careful work on my makeup.
"Come on," Theo says, taking my hand. "Let's show you around before Jace's big presentation. There's an open bar with your name on it."
I let him lead me through the crowd, Jace following close behind.
The rooftop venue is stunning—ambient lighting casts a purplish-blue glow over everything, reminiscent of the wasteland skies in the game.
Holographic projections of game characters appear and disappear among the guests, creating an immersive experience that blurs the line between reality and the digital world.
"That's Sandra Cho," Jace murmurs, nodding toward a severe-looking woman in a tailored suit. "Head of marketing at Nexus. Brilliant, but terrifying."
"And that guy over there with the blue hair?" Theo adds. "Dev Patel. Best character animator in the business. We poached him from Rockstar last year."
They continue this way as we move through the crowd, pointing out industry bigwigs and colleagues without actually stopping to introduce me. I'm grateful for their understanding—while I'm ready to use my voice tonight, I'd prefer to save it for when it really matters.
"Oh, and that's the entire art team huddled by the desert landscape display," Jace says with evident pride. "They've been working eighteen-hour days for the past month to finish everything on time."
I squeeze his hand in acknowledgment, taking in the diverse group of artists who brought his vision to life. They're easy to spot—less polished than the executives, more colorful in their attire, with an energy that speaks of creative passion rather than corporate ambition.
"Would you like a drink?" Theo asks as we approach the bar.
I nod, and he orders something with vodka and elderflower for me, scotch for himself, and sparkling water for Jace.
"Ten minutes till showtime," Jace says, checking his watch. "We should probably start making our way to the stage area."
I sip my drink, enjoying the sweet-tart flavor as we weave through the crowd toward the main presentation area.
The atmosphere is electric with anticipation—this expansion has been hyped for months, with industry insiders predicting it will cement Wasteland Chronicles as the defining game of its generation.
"There's Miles from product development," Theo points out. "And Mira from PR—she's the one who coordinated all the press for tonight."
I follow his gaze, nodding in acknowledgment. Everyone looks so polished, so confident in this environment. A far cry from the coffee shop where I spent my days when I met Jace and Theo.
"Is that Lee Matthews over there?" Jace asks.
Theo follows his gaze, his expression darkening. "Of course he would show up and pretend he has had more to do with this launch than badgering me for marketing reports and updates since he started with us three months ago."
The name hits me like a physical blow. My whole world stops, narrows down to a single point. Everything else—the music, the crowd, the lights—fades to background noise as I follow their eyeline.
And there he is.
Standing across the rooftop, completely still amid the moving crowd, staring directly at me.
His dark hair is styled perfectly, his suit clearly tailored to his athletic frame, but his rigid posture betrays something feral beneath the polished exterior.
The champagne flute in his hand tilts dangerously, forgotten.
His eyes burn into mine with such intensity that I feel physically touched.
His lips curve into a smile I know all too well—possessive, triumphant, cruel—and I realize with sickening clarity that he's been watching me the entire time, cataloging my every movement like a collector who's finally spotted a long-lost prize.
My blood turns to ice in my veins. My carefully constructed confidence crumbles like sand beneath a wave. The room spins slightly, and I grip Theo's arm to steady myself.
This can't be happening. Not here. Not now. Not when I've finally found my voice, my strength.
But there's no denying the truth standing across from me, his eyes never leaving mine as he raises his glass in a mock toast.
"Levi," I whisper, the name like poison on my tongue.