91. Scarlett
Scarlett
I didn’t bother fixing my hair.
If they wanted answers, they could choke on what they already knew. My lips were still swollen, dress clinging in places it hadn’t before. And Alden—he followed half a step behind, shirt wrinkled, looking exactly like a man who had nothing left to hide.
The string lights swayed in the breeze overhead as we stepped back toward the table. Zeke’s eyes flicked up first.
Rhett whistled low under his breath, not even pretending to look away.
Trace stayed seated, shoulders drawn tight, his grip on the glass unrelenting. The muscles in his forearm twitched.
Brielle smiled.
Not a friendly one.
“Well,” she said, voice sugary and sharp. “That didn’t take long.”
I raised my brows. “You keeping tabs?”
“Oh, honey,” she purred. “I don’t need to. The entire fucking island felt it.”
Alden pulled out my chair before I could respond. I sat slow, spine straight, head high.
Trace hadn’t looked at me once. Which meant he was either furious—or unraveling.
“Glad to see you’re still as subtle as ever,” I said to Brielle, pouring myself another drink.
“Just keeping score,” she said lightly, swirling her wine. “Though I have to admit… you’re turning out to be more interesting than I expected.”
I took a sip, eyes narrowing. “Careful. You’re starting to sound obsessed.”
That got a quiet cough from Rhett—possibly a laugh he disguised as choking.
“I’m still waiting,” I said, turning toward him. “Unless that was the full story. Secret prophecies. Glowing tattoos. Sex bonds. Did I miss anything?”
Zeke leaned forward, arms on the table. “The Order isn’t happy.”
“Shocking.”
“They didn’t know you’d bond. No one did.”
I looked around the table. “Then maybe they should’ve stopped watching and started talking.”
Brielle raised her glass. “To secrets.”
I clinked mine back harder than necessary. “To power.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
And neither did mine.