Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Novalee
The whiskey stares at me from the counter, daring me to come closer. Its amber color, warm and inviting, taunting me. My fingers twitch at my sides, aching to reach out and feel the cool glass of the bottle’s neck against my skin. Just one drink, I tell myself. One sip to take the edge off.
Except Koen’s face won’t leave my mind, the way he looked at me two days ago on the boulevard, pity and confusion etched into his features, a judgment he didn’t have the guts to voice. The memory clings to me, replaying on an endless loop.
He watched me do their little challenges. That much is clear. And when I didn’t fall in line, when I didn’t do what they wanted, he followed me and grabbed my arm, but still without a word. Just that piercing look, his eyes narrowing as though I’d somehow failed him.
Yeah, fuck you, too, Koen.
The whiskey promises relief, whispering that it can make it stop. That it can quiet the noise, soften the edges, and dull everything that feels too sharp, too raw, too much .
I take a shaky breath and close my eyes to shut it out from view, but it doesn’t help.
You can’t drink, Nova.
Even if I feel like I’m unraveling now, puking my guts out later, thanks to Koen’s coercion will only make it worse.
I know this.
But God, I want to forget, even for a little while.
Reaching out, I brush my fingers against the glass. The craving gnaws at me. It would be so easy to give in, to let the whiskey wrap around me and pull me under, drowning out all the shit I don’t want to deal with, at least for a few minutes.
But apart from Koen’s judgment, there’s also this flicker, this stupid, fragile hope that maybe there’s something better waiting for me. A new life. A chance to be more than this.
Closing my eyes, I go to that place in my mind I’ve been visiting more and more.
The rough linen of my sundress whispers against my legs, and the faint dust of the countryside clings to my calves. I walk down a narrow path lined with lavender bushes, letting the purple flowers brush against my fingertips, leaving their scent behind, a balm to my soul. There’s a whisper of wind, and in that breeze, I let go of some of the weight, some of the pain.
The lavender fades, and the warmth of the Tuscan sun dissipates, reality creeping back in.
I’m still here.
Still this .
A stripper, a thief, a girl who’s clinging to fragments of herself, trying not to shatter completely.
And yet, there’s a flicker of something stubborn and relentless. A stupid, fragile spark of hope that refuses to die. Maybe it’s na?ve. Maybe it’s reckless. But it’s there, a whisper in the back of my mind telling me I can be more than this. That I can have more than this.
A life where I don’t have to wrap myself in glitter and lies to feel worthy.
A life where I’m not simply getting by but actually living .
I let my mind drift again, this time not to Tuscany but to something even more elusive. Belonging. Not just being a part of a scene, a routine, a hustle, but a real place where I fit. Where people know me, the real me , and still want me around.
For more than a few minutes, I was part of something. Even though the tasks, excluding the final one, ranged from silly to risky, and I still don’t know who was ordering them, I was included. I was part of something bigger. Something that could change things.
Then , I blew the chance to make it out of here.
However, nothing, not even a new life , will make me steal a fucking car ever again.
I can find my way out of this shit show called my life on my fucking own.
My hand grasps the neck of the bottle tightly as the battle rages in my chest, and then slowly, painfully, I let go.
Stepping back, my heart pounding, I force myself to leave it behind.
The couch greets me like an old enemy as I collapse onto it, trying to pick up where I left off before the whiskey lured me into the kitchen. MasterChef fills the room with voices and the clatter of pans, but it doesn’t drown out the noise in my head.
My hands shake as I pick up the tiny diamond pen to press another bead into its spot on the canvas. It slips free, bouncing onto the table. My trembling fingers won’t cooperate, no matter how hard I try.
“Fuck,” I mutter, tossing the pen down. It bounces to the floor, joining the pile of beads scattered beneath the coffee table.
I lean back, my head thudding against the cushion, eyes slipping shut. The whiskey is still there. Still watching. Still calling.
Drinking may never be an option again if that was the last time I saw Koen, as he’s the only one who can take the compulsion back. Not that I’m in the mood to challenge him right now. I don’t even know where the hell any of them are.
Then there’s Hottie. It’s been two days since we had our testing date.
Probably fucked that up too.
It’s been even longer since I’ve heard from Annabelle, and it’s lonelier than I care to admit. Maybe that’s what’s clawing at me now. This stupid, pathetic loneliness.
I stripped the evening I left Koen standing in that alleyway and yesterday evening, too, while I kept my eyes open for something, someone to fill the void.
I even went so far as to turn up at Vortex, but there was nothing for me there. Hottie wasn’t working, of course, and every other face was lacking—no spark, no thrill. And I hate that realization more than anything. I hate that I want him, that I’m already attached in some pathetic way. It gives him power over me, the same way Koen has with the no-drinking rule.
Ugh!
My tits are way too nice for my life to be like this.
A tapping at the balcony door pulls me out of my swirling thoughts, and I push myself up, walking over to find Good Lookin’ perched outside, her little paws pressing against the glass, demanding entrance.
I slide the door open and crouch, patting my thigh. “ Where have you been, huh? And why are you here in the middle of the day?” I ask her. I was already worried after not seeing her for a few days.
She lets out a little chirping sound, a quiet reminder that someone, at least, still cares. Padding past me, she hops onto the pink couch like she owns the place. I sigh, leaving the door open for some fresh air, then drop onto the couch beside her. Good Lookin’ turns and crawls into my lap, curling up and letting out a loud, rumbling purr.
I scratch behind her ears, sighing. “Guess you’re the only one who still wants to hang out with me, huh?”
She blinks at me, unconcerned, as if my entire world could crumble, and she’d still demand her ear scratches. I oblige, my fingers moving gently, finding comfort in her small, steady presence. The lump in my throat rises again, but I swallow it down. The ache in my chest doesn’t go away, though, and I wonder if it ever will.
When my phone buzzes on the coffee table, it pulls me from the edge of my spiraling thoughts. I lean forward, displacing Good Lookin’ just enough that she lets out a disgruntled chirp.
My fingers close around the phone, and the screen lights up with a message from Captain Bossy.
You done sulking yet?
I huff out a laugh, sharp and bitter, my fingers trembling slightly as they hover over the keyboard. A million sarcastic replies spring to mind, but none of them feel right. My thumb hesitates, hovering, before finally typing.
Didn’t realize you cared.
I don’t. Just wondering if you’re gonna keep acting like a brat or actually be useful.
You already told me that I’m useless. Thank you very much.
Stop being dramatic. You know that’s not what I meant.
I roll my eyes, my thumbs tapping out a response before I can think better of it.
Could’ve fooled me. You’re not exactly Mr. Warm and Fuzzy, you know.
And you’re not exactly Miss Easygoing. What’s your point?
I laugh, shaking my head.
Who is this guy?
He’s probably the kind of guy who knows he’s attractive but doesn’t bother with charm because he’s too busy being an ass. I bet he doesn’t smile easily, but when he does, it’s devastating. The kind of guy who doesn’t take shit from anyone.
Or maybe I’m completely off. Maybe he’s some average dude behind a phone screen, giving me orders while he sits in his boxers eating takeout.
Whoever he is, he’s piqued my curiosity.
And that’s dangerous.
At least he’s talking to me.
My point is, you’re a jerk.
Takes one to know one.
I let out a frustrated groan, but I don’t have time to type a snarky response. Another message comes through.
Look… I’m sorry, okay ?
I blink at the screen, my fingers freezing. Did he apologize?
Did someone steal your phone?
Don’t push it.
But yeah, I shouldn’t have been so hard on you.
I stare at the message, the unexpected softness in his words making something inside me loosen.
Maybe I haven’t completely fucked this up after all.
Thanks, Captain Bossy. I appreciate it.
Don’t get used to it.
You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood today.
Is this where you tell me you’re sending flowers to make up for being a jerk?
Nah, I don’t do flowers.
But I’ll let you buy me a drink when this is all over.
I smile, shaking my head.
You’re such a romantic. How can I resist?
You can’t. That’s the point.
Still smiling, I set my phone back on the table. Good Lookin’ shifts in my lap, her purring getting louder as I scratch behind her ears again. “Guess things aren’t completely hopeless,” I murmur to her, feeling a little bit lighter.
The door swings open, and I hear Annabelle’s voice before I see her. “Babe! I brought Chinese!” I turn my head as she steps through the door, a bag of takeout in one hand and her keys jingling in the other. She takes one look at me sprawled on the couch with Good Lookin’ in my lap, closes the door, and strides over to let herself fall beside me, the cushions bouncing. “You look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks,” I drawl, my lips twitching. “Just what every girl wants to hear.”
“Anytime, babe.” Annabelle grins, nudging me with her elbow, and I shoot her a look. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re as glittery and beautiful as ever. Seriously, though, what happened? You’ve got that crease between your brows that tells me you’re moody as fuck.”
Oh, nothing. Hottie snuck his way under my skin only to drop me like a hot potato, Koen changed me from a functioning alcoholic to a non-functioning dry one, and Captain Bossy made me feel alive after years of numbness, even though I have no idea what he even looks like.
I shrug, trying to keep it vague. “Men.”
“You’re moody over men ?” Annabelle snorts, reaching into the takeout bag. “That’s new and usually my line.” She pulls out a box and hands it to me, then takes one for herself. “Here. Eat. It’ll help.”
“How would food help with that?” I ask as I pull my hair into a loose ponytail.
Shrugging, she opens her box. “Food is better than men.” She twirls some noodles around her chopsticks. “Whoever it is, if he’s already making you feel that way, fuck him. I mean, my ex was all ‘ I know a spot’ and then brought me to the lowest point in my life.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Men are trash.”
“Yeah, but we love the drama.” She winks at me, then takes another bite. “Spill.”
“I don’t know. I’m just…” I trail off, trying to find the words. “It’s been three days since I hooked up with anyone.” I fiddle wi th the lid of the takeout box, my appetite flickering.
“Wait, you’re counting?” Annabelle raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “But yeah, that long of a dry spell isn’t like you.”
I snort. “Three days isn’t a dry spell.”
Except she’s right. It is for me. Isn’t it?
I shrug, trying to play it off. “It’s not that I wasn’t looking for somebody. I’ve tried, but…” My words falter as I think about Hottie. The way his touch lingered like an imprint on my skin, and no one else could measure up since.
“But?” she presses, leaning forward like a gossip columnist waiting for the scoop.
I wave her off, forcing a laugh. “But maybe I’m just losing my touch.”
Annabelle gasps in mock horror. “You? Losing your touch? Never.” Then her grin fades, replaced by a knowing look. “Come on. What’s really going on? Did one of them get to you? Like, in a real way?”
Talking about my hookups is second nature to us. No detail too small, no topic too taboo—dick sizes, positions, whether he made me come, or how many times. But admitting it was Hottie? Saying his name out loud? That feels like crossing a line I’m not ready for.
She knows him. Knows him . If I say it, it’ll make everything more real, like admitting that this thing with Hottie is more than just another hookup. And I can’t deal with that. Not when I’m still trying to convince myself he doesn’t matter.
And especially not if he’s ghosting me now.
I shake my head, forcing a smirk. “Please. Nobody’s gotten to me. I’m just moody because I can’t seem to find anyone interesting enough lately. The usual thrill’s not cutting it, you know?”
“Uh-huh.” Annabelle narrows her eyes, studying me like she knows there’s more. “And this sudden dry spell has nothing to do with whoever you were with three days ago?”
“Nope. Just bad luck.” I pop a piece of orange chicken into my mouth, chewing slowly to avoid elaborating.
She doesn’t push, but her lips twitch like she’s holding back a comment. “Well, when you’re ready to spill, I’m here. And in the meantime…” She clinks her chopsticks against my box like a toast. “To trash men and good food.”
I laugh, clinking mine back. “To food being better than men.”
But as I take another bite, the taste doesn’t quite reach me. My mind is still on him, how his touch lingered and made me feel seen in a way I can’t even admit to myself yet.
“Anyway, what about you? Why the Chinese feast?”
“Oh! Right!” Annabelle’s eyes brighten, and she sits up straighter. “I wanted to check on you, of course, but also, I’m here to pack the rest of my stuff.”
Fuck.
“So you’re moving out for good?”
“Yeah,” she says, smiling sadly. “Michael’s coming over later to help me move the boxes. I know it’s fast, but it feels right, you know?”
I force a smile, nodding. “I’m happy for you, Belle. Really.”
She pokes my side. “You better be. And don’t think you’re getting rid of me now. We’ll text, and you can call me. And we’ll still go out for bubble tea and go dancing every once in a while.”
“Sure.” I smile, trying to keep up the tough facade. Deep down, that ache of loneliness is creeping back in, knowing that soon, even that won’t be happening anymore.
The doorbell rings, and Good Lookin’ jumps up, startled, her fur puffing out as she races out the balcony door, spooked.
Yeah, I didn’t know we had a doorbell either.
Annabelle laughs, springing to her feet. “Michael’s early!” she says with a smile, practically bouncing over to the door.
I set my takeout box on the coffee table, picking up a napkin to wipe my hands, at least trying not to look like a mess as Annabelle opens the door. The next second, she’s screaming.
What the hell?
My head snaps up, my heart hammering as I push off the couch, rushing toward the door. “Belle, what—” I start, only to freeze as I hear a familiar deep voice chuckle and say, “Nice to meet you too.”
Annabelle opens the door wider, and Levi and Koen step into the apartment. Their presence fills the small living room, making it feel even more cramped.
“ The Lane brothers are in our apartment!” Annabelle whisper-shouts, her eyes wide, excitement written all over her face.
I roll my eyes, folding my arms over my chest. “Yeah, I can see that.”
Annabelle looks at Levi, then back at me, then back at Levi again. “I… I’m a big fan,” she mumbles, her cheeks flushing pink.
“That’s so nice of you to say,” Levi offers, giving her a charming smile. “What’s your name, girl?”
While Levi is busy charming Annabelle, Koen steps closer to me, his gaze fixed on mine. “Hey, Little Thief,” he says, smirking at me, but his eyes are cautious.
“What do you want?” I narrow mine at him, taking a step back. “And how the fuck do you know where I live?”
Koen raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, the leather jacket protesting as his biceps tense. “I followed you after that… fuckup with the car. I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
I blink at him, my mouth opening in surprise.
He did?
“Why do you even care? Worried about your asset?”
“Worried about you , yes. You looked upset, and I was the reason for it. I’m sorry.”
What is it with today and everyone apologizing?
The words catch me off guard, and a mix of emotions swirls inside me—anger, confusion, and something I can’t quite put a name to.
Annabelle is giggling, and when I turn to see why, I see Levi signing his name on her cleavage.
Oh my God.
I swallow and turn back to Koen, whose gaze is still intent on me.
Trying to maintain my tough facade, I say, “You don’t need to apologize. It was your bossy friend who wanted me to steal that car.”
“Right, but I acted like an asshole, pulling you into that alley and keeping a hold on you there. You were already upset.”
“I wasn’t.” I so was. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” Koen’s eyes search mine.
Right, the lie detector.
Goddammit.
“And since you’re fine and there’s nothing to apologize for, how about we go dress shopping?” Koen reaches out to brush a strand of hair that has slipped out of my ponytail behind my ear, making me shudder at his touch.
What is even happening?
Annabelle clears her throat, her eyes darting between Koen and me. “ Sooo … you guys are friends? ”
“We’ve met.” I keep my eyes on Koen. “Not sure I’d call us friends, though.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Koen bites his lips to suppress a laugh. “I think we’re getting there, Little Thief.”
I glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Stop calling me that.”
“Make me,” he replies, the challenge written all over his face.
Levi steps forward then, his eyes flicking to Koen and then to me. “We’re not here to cause trouble. Right, brother?”
“Right, you’re here to take me dress shopping.” I huff, skepticism lacing my tone. “And pray tell, what do I need that dress for?”
Levi glances at Koen again, then back at me. “We’ll explain everything, just not… here.”
“Vague as always. And you know I don’t like that.” I cross my arms tighter, eyeing them both. “So why should I go with you?”
“Because…” Koen steps closer. “You’re already in this, whether you like it or not. And I promise, it’s worth your while.”
I look at him, then at Levi, then back at Annabelle, who’s still staring at the two of them as though they’ve stepped straight out from a movie screen.
Fuck it.
I’ve got nothing better to do.
And it’s not as if I’m committing to anything serious. It’s only a dress, a moment to play pretend. Nothing more. I can handle that. I can still draw the line, stopping it from going further before it could really hurt me.
“Fine. I need a couple of minutes to get ready.”
Levi nods, giving me a reassuring smile. “Take your time.” He walks over to the couch and sits down as if he’s at home, making Annabelle squeal.
“ Levi Lane is sitting on our couch!” she whisper-shouts at me, then turns to Levi again. “Where is Pebble?”
“At home. I don’t take her everywhere. It’s too dangerous for her.”
“Right, God, you’re real!” Annabelle squeals again.
I roll my eyes once more, catching the hint of a smile on Koen’s face as I turn and head to my room, where I quickly change into a pair of sweats, figuring I’ll have to get out of them anyway to try on dresses. I take my hair out of my ponytail, grab some dry shampoo, and give it a good spray, then spritz on my vanilla-candy perfume. I add a little bit of makeup and glitter lip gloss, hoping it’s enough to appear put together.
When I’m done, I grab my bag and head back out. Koen is waiting outside my bedroom, his gaze flicking over me as I step out. “Let’s go,” he murmurs and places a hand on my elbow, guiding me toward the door.
Annabelle is talking Levi’s ear off, her eyes wide with excitement as she gestures animatedly, sitting beside him on the couch. Levi listens, nodding along, clearly amused, but when he sees us, he jumps up from the couch, giving Annabelle a smile. “Thank you for your hospitality, and I can’t wait to see you and your boyfriend at one of our shows.”
“Bye!” Annabelle chuckles, waving at them. “And I’ll hold you to that!”
Koen nudges me out the door, and I glance back at Annabelle, who’s practically glowing while she pulls out her phone.
Good thing I know she can keep shit to herself.
“You know you have to follow through with that, or I’m going to castrate you for disappointing her,” I mutter to Levi as we walk out.
Levi laughs, his eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry, Little Bird. If we ever step up on that stage again, she’ll be sitting front row.”
Right. They stopped doing shows after their uncle died.
Ugh… I’m a horrible person.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out to see a text from Annabelle.
You and Koen Lane???
I sigh and feel eyes on me, so I glance at Koen while slipping my phone back into my pocket. His gaze is forward, but amusement dances in his expression.
Not wanting to entertain that conversation, I ask, “So, why do I need a dress?”
“Because you proved yourself,” Koen says matter-of-factly. “And what we need your help with is going down tomorrow evening.”
“I didn’t steal the car,” I point out, frowning.
“You don’t have to,” Koen replies. “Even Alaric sees that now.”
Alaric? Is that Captain Bossy’s name?
“You need me that bad, huh?” I huff.
“We do,” Levi joins in, tapping my nose. “But you’re also fucking good at what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, you’re impressive.” Koen nods along.
Okaaay?
We exit the building, and there’s a classic golden Ford Bronco parked in front of it. It’s beautiful, gleaming in the sunlight.
Right. We have to drive there.
Fuck, fuck, fuck .
I don’t care what the Uber drivers think when I roll into a ball on their back seat, they’re used to my shit by now, but the realization hits me.
I care what these two think.
I have to get over that quickly, though, because there’s no way I’m not going with them, and at the same time, no way I’ll get through it while keeping my pride intact.
“You okay?” Koen asks, his gaze sharp as he notices my new tension.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take the back. I know it’s cramped,” Levi tries to reassure me, opening the door and pulling forward the passenger seat to slide into the back seat, but I reach out to grab his shoulder and stop him.
“No, can I?” I almost beg. Levi looks back at me, puzzled. “Please?” I beg, after all.
Levi scrunches up his brow but steps aside. “Sure.”
“How long is the drive?” I’m shaking, and I have no idea if I can do this.
“Twenty minutes, maybe? I don’t know.” Koen frowns, his eyes studying my face. “You okay?”
“Sure,” I whisper, forcing myself into the car.
I slide into the back seat, curling up sideways with my back pressed against the side of the car. At least the leather feels cool . Levi and Koen get in, Koen taking the driver’s seat.
“Pull on your seat belt,” he commands, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
“Sure,” I fumble with the belt, my hands trembling as I try to latch it. The buckle slips from my grasp, and I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. I don’t want to look at them, don’t want them to see how much I’m struggling, but I know they already do. I can practically feel how Koen’s gaze in the mirror doesn’t leave me, watching as I fight the panic crawling under my skin .
Finally, I manage to snap the seat belt into place, but the pressure around my chest doesn’t ease. The engine roars to life, and I close my eyes, gripping the edge of the seat, feeling the vibration of the car beneath me. My breaths come in short, ragged bursts, and every nerve feels raw, exposed.
Levi starts talking, but I can’t make out the words. It’s all a blur, the sound of the engine, the motion of the car, it’s too much.
The next moment, the engine sound that’s so loud in my ears gets replaced by music.
Country?
Just as quickly as it was turned on, the volume lowers, and then a warm hand lands on my bare ankle. The touch grounds me in a way I didn’t expect. My eyes snap open, and I see it’s Koen who has reached back, his fingers squeezing my ankle before stroking the skin softly. His calmness seems to seep through, and even though I want to protest that he’s touching me, I can’t.
“You’re safe,” he assures me. “I’m a good driver.”
I swallow hard, my throat dry, but the panic loosens a little. “You should keep both hands on the wheel,” I manage to whisper, though the soothing circles his thumb traces on my ankle are helping to redirect the panic.
Koen gives me a crooked smile, his eyes flicking back to the road. “If I’m driving with one hand, you’re fine.” The corners of his mouth lift into a small smile. “You can start to worry if I need to use both.”
I let out a shaky breath, focusing on the warmth of his touch, pulling me away from the whirlwind of fear.
Levi chuckles from the passenger seat, the sound breaking through the tension. “Ko hasn’t had a single accident or even put a dent in a car,” he shares. “Unlike me. He’s a damn good driver. Been into cars ever since we were kids. He used to race them and got his license taken away more times than I can count. I had to lend him mine half the time.”
Koen laughs, and it sounds less restrained than usual. “Perks of being a twin.”
“Yeah, pity you can’t do that anymore. You’d have to get some piercings and dye your hair blond.” I can hear the grin in Levi’s voice. “And don’t forget the overall sparkle and shine you’re lacking.”
“The word you’re looking for is extra , Dove. I could never be as extra as you,” Koen teases, and the love he feels for his twin is obvious.
“You’re just jealous.” Levi fake pouts, then smiles. “You have other qualities, though.”
This is so natural to witness them like this. Not like in the interviews and on the billboards. Just two brothers bickering, loving each other, even if they’re like day and night.
The same as Rosalee and me.
My breathing slows, though my fingers are still gripping the seat as if I’m holding on for dear life, but the weight of their presence, the easy way they talk, is enough to keep the panic from swallowing me whole.
For now.
Talking helps. I need to keep them talking.
“You said the dress is for tomorrow night?” I ask quietly.
“Yes,” Koen replies, squeezing my ankle once more.
“I work Saturdays,” I murmur. My schedule comes out almost like an excuse. “They’re the busiest.”
“Is that so?” Levi turns to look at me. “What do you usually make on a Saturday night?”
I frown, not sure where this is going. “Why?”
Levi and Koen exchange a look, then answer in perfect unison, “We’ll double it.”
I blink. “You’re serious? ”
Koen nods. “You’re with us tomorrow.”
His tone makes it seem as if it’s a fact, not a request, and part of me isn’t sure how I feel about that.
“Okay, so… what is this tomorrow?” I ask again, feeling my curiosity start to outweigh the tension.
“Our thirtieth birthday.” Levi is practically bouncing in his seat. His energy is contagious, and despite myself, the corner of my mouth quirks up.
“Okay, that’s… nice, but what does it have to do with me?”
“First, you’re our guest,” Levi says, grinning. “And second, we’re throwing the party at the Lane Building in the museum section. There will be a lot of eyes on us. We need you to steal something, make a quick switch, and charm someone. Wrap him around your finger. It should be easy for you, especially once we pick out the perfect dress to show off how stunning you are.”
His words hang in the air, and I let out a breath, trying to absorb it all. Stealing something, making a switch, charming someone… none of this is new to me. I’ve been playing this game for years.
Am I really up for this?
“So, that’s what these tests were about?” I ask. “To see if I can pull this off?”
“Yep.” Koen nods curtly. “And don’t tell me you can’t do it. I watched you do it all with so much ease , and it was honestly a treat to witness.”
Okay, I can do this. But there’s more on the line now, more people involved. The stakes are higher.
It’s your way out of here, Nova.
“And after that,” I press, my tone hardening with resolve. “You’ll get me my new Mustang and my villa in Tuscany? ”
God, that sounds surreal. A Mustang and a villa. Like a dream ripped straight from the pages of a life I don’t deserve.
“ After… yes,” Levi confirms, though there’s hesitation in his voice.
Are they playing me? A part of me wonders if this is just a carrot dangled in front of me, a shiny promise they’ll pull away once I’ve done their dirty work.
No. This is more than a deal. It’s a lifeline. It has to be.
Koen glances back at me, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Why do you want a Mustang if you don’t even like to drive in a car?”
Why do I want it?
The Mustang was my dream once. Before the crash, before everything fell apart, it was freedom. Speed. Power. A way to outrun everything we hated about the world. I wanted it so badly that I didn’t think twice about stealing one when Ace suggested it. God, I should’ve known better.
That car was supposed to be my escape. Instead, it became the cage that killed them.
Ace and Rosalee. Gone. Because of me.
So why the hell would I want a Mustang now?
Because it’s not just a car, it’s a promise. A way to take back what I lost.
It’s about facing the thing that broke me, taking it into my hands, and making it mine again. It’s about proving to myself, more than anyone else, that I can live with the ghosts instead of letting them bury me. I may never drive it. Hell, I might never even sit in it. But I want to know it’s there, waiting—a symbol of what I’ve survived.
Maybe, deep down, it’s another way to keep them close.
None of it is something I can voice. He wouldn’t understand anyway. So, I cross my arms defensively, a small spark of annoyance flaring up. “Does it matter to you what I’ll do with something I earned by doing the job right? ”
“Fair enough.” Koen’s lips twitch, almost like he’s trying not to laugh. “That’s none of my business.”
Huh.
“Look at that. Koen can stay in his Lane ,” I mutter, making both of them laugh out loud, and a tingling feeling spreads in my chest that I try to instantly diffuse. “Looks like we can be friends after all.”
Koen glances back at me, his lips curling into a full smile, one that makes my heart flip just a little . “Looks like it.”
He turns his attention back to the road, and before I realize it, we’re pulling into a parking spot in front of a shop. The building gleams under the sunlight, opulent chandeliers sparkle through the windows, gold accents glimmer at every corner, and the doorman is dressed in a suit that probably costs more than I make in a month. It’s the kind of place where a dress costs as much as a car.
And I’m in sweats.
Perfect.
My heart races again, not from panic this time, but from the sheer weight of where I am.
Can I do this? Step into their world as if it’s mine too?
Steal. Charm. Perform.
I glance over at Koen and Levi, who are already unbuckling their seat belts. Their casual confidence feels like a safety net, but part of me wonders how long it’ll hold before I’m expected to stand on my own.
I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.
First, I need to find a dress that makes me look as expensive as the world I’m about to enter and not the stripper I am.