12. Ryan
There are very few things capable of making me stop in the middle of an argument with Kaid. Victor Tremblay standing inside Edgewood Prep is apparently one of them.
“I’m telling you, possession matters,” Kaid says.
Danny looks at him. “Not when the possession is stolen.”
“I didn’t steal it.”
“Whose was it?”
“That’s not relevant.”
“It feels extremely relevant.” Kaid looks at X for backup.
X barely glances up from his phone. “Did it belong to you?”
“It was in my locker.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Iz adjusts the strap of his bag over one shoulder, settling into it like a lawyer finding his rhythm. “Did the original owner willingly place it in your locker?”
“No.”
“Did they give it to you?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
Danny nods. “The prosecution rests.”
“Fuck all of you.”
“You stole it,” X says, still not looking up.
“I found it.”
“In someone else’s shit.”
I’m about to ask what the hell they’re even arguing about anymore when I see him and stop.
Danny nearly walks into my back. “What the fuck, Harrington?”
I don’t answer. I’m staring across the atrium toward the administrative offices.
Kaid follows my eyes first. His expression changes. “Oh.”
X finally puts his phone away.
Iz turns. “Why the fuck is Count Chocula here?”
Victor is standing beside one of the administrators in a dark suit, coat folded over one arm, talking like a man in his fifties visiting his eighteen-year-old fiancée at her high school is something nobody should find strange.
Nobody at Edgewood will say they find it strange.
That’s different. This place is built on people knowing exactly when not to ask questions.
A girl coming out of the office looks at Victor, then immediately looks away — then looks back the second she thinks he can’t see her.
Two guys passing him lower their voices.
A teacher smiles at him in that polite adult way people do when they recognize a name before they recognize a person.
Heads down. Eyes fucking everywhere. Edgewood Prep.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Kaid asks.
“No idea.”
“Did Ally know?”
“She didn’t say anything.” And she would have. That’s what sits wrong. Victor finishes whatever he’s saying to the woman beside him and checks his watch. Waiting. My stomach tightens. I already know for who.
We should keep walking. Standing here watching him would be stupid.
Changing direction the second he appears would also be stupid.
Everything in my life has become a fucking calculation.
So we keep moving through the atrium like we were already going to.
Slower. Normal enough. The bell hasn’t rung yet — kids are still crossing between wings, leaning against lockers, arguing over homework, complaining about teachers.
A couple people are sitting on the wide ledge beneath the windows pretending they aren’t going to be late. Victor gets looks. Nothing more. Yet.
Then Ally comes down the stairs from the second floor. And everything else disappears.
She’s halfway down, one hand curled around the strap of her bag, the other holding a book against her stomach while she talks to a girl beside her. She laughs at something. The girl turns toward the opposite hall at the bottom. Ally keeps coming. She hasn’t seen him.
Victor sees her. His attention shifts immediately. A small, satisfied smile. Like he’s been waiting for something that belongs to him. My molars grind together.
Ally reaches the bottom step. Looks toward the administrative offices.
Sees him. Her foot hesitates — barely — one tiny break in the rhythm of her walk.
Her fingers tighten around the book. Her face empties for less than a second.
Victor doesn’t notice. Nobody else notices. I do. I always fucking do.
Then she pulls her shit together. Her eyes widen, her whole face brightens. “Victor?”
She sounds happy. Actually fucking happy.
She starts toward him a little faster. Not running — Ally would rather die than run through the Edgewood atrium unless the building was on fire — but enough.
Enough that he sees she’s excited. Enough that if anybody reports this back to Roman, they’ll report exactly what Roman expects after what he threatened her with.
Behave. Stop fighting. Stop creating problems. Or Tobias pays for it.
Kaid’s shoulder brushes mine. I don’t look at him. “She knows what Roman threatened her with.”
The joking dies around me. Nobody needs more than that. They all know. Tobias has always been the leash. Roman just made sure Ally remembered how tight he could pull it.
She reaches Victor. “What are you doing here?”
“I was nearby.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I thought I’d surprise you.”
Her smile grows. “Well. You did.”
Victor bends and kisses her cheek. My entire body goes rigid. His hand settles at her waist. Not low. Not rough. Nothing anyone watching could point at and call inappropriate. Doesn’t fucking matter. I want his hand gone.
Ally touches his arm as he straightens. “I’m happy to see you.”
Fuck. Victor likes that. I see it immediately — that little shift around his mouth, the satisfaction. His young fiancée is thrilled he showed up unexpectedly. Exactly what he wanted.
“I wasn’t certain you’d appreciate the interruption.”
“I think I can forgive you for rescuing me from the last few minutes before class.”
“Only a few?”
Her eyes sparkle. “I’m trying not to seem too eager.”
His mouth curves. And there she is. Sweet. Sassy. Warm enough to make him feel good about himself. Never disrespectful. Never challenging. Ally knows the difference better than anyone alive.
Victor reaches up and brushes a piece of hair away from her cheek. “You seem happier.” There’s more underneath that than the words themselves.
Ally doesn’t miss it. Neither do I. “I am.”
“I’m glad.”
She tilts her head slightly into his hand. “I thought you might be.”
Jesus fucking Christ. She is feeding him exactly what he wants. Not I love you. Not I can’t wait to marry you. Nothing she can’t live with later. Just enough to make him feel like his approval matters. Like she wants him pleased with her. Like he’s finally winning.
“I brought you something.”
Her brows lift. “You did?”
“Two things, actually.”
“Oh.” Her smile gets brighter. “Now I’m even happier you came.”
He laughs — quiet, real — and Ally looks pleased with herself for getting it out of him.
Victor reaches inside his coat and pulls out a cream envelope. Ally’s attention drops to it. He holds it out.
She reads the name embossed across the front, and her eyes widen. “Celeste Fournier?”
This time the excitement doesn’t have to be entirely fake.
“She agreed to take the wedding.”
“You got her?”
“I told you I would.”
“I know, but you said she was almost impossible to book.”
“She is.”
Ally looks from the envelope to him. “And yet you managed it.”
There. Right fucking there. Victor practically grows two inches. “Of course.”
Ally laughs softly and takes the envelope. “I suppose I should’ve known better than to doubt you.”
Kaid glances at me. I ignore him. Because she’s brilliant, and Victor doesn’t hear the calculation in it. He hears admiration. Powerful men fucking love being reminded they can do things nobody else can.
Ally turns the envelope over in her hands. “When can I call her?”
“This evening. She’s expecting you.”
“Already?”
“If you’re available.”
“I’ll make myself available.” She opens the envelope and pulls out a thick card. “Should I have anything prepared? Colors, flowers, opinions about napkins.” Her lips twitch. “I’ve never planned a wedding. I’m not entirely sure how much expertise the bride is supposed to arrive with.”
“That’s why you have Celeste.”
“Thank goodness.”
Victor watches her, something warm and possessive in it. “You wanted to be involved.”
“I do.” No hesitation. She looks down at the card again. “I’m excited.”
He watches her a beat longer, like he’s checking the statement for seams. “Are you?”
She nods, and when she speaks again it’s quieter, pitched to sound like something she didn’t plan to admit. “I think I’ve spent so much time worrying about everything changing that I haven’t really let myself be excited about any of it.”
That one gets him. I can fucking see it land — his shoulders come down, his face softens. He hears what Ally wants him to hear. She’s settling. Accepting. Finally letting herself look forward to the life he and Roman picked for her.
“Such as?”
She lifts the envelope slightly. “Apparently impossible wedding planners.”
His mouth curves. “Anything else?”
She looks thoughtful for a moment. “I’ll let you know after I speak to Celeste. I don’t want you becoming insufferably pleased with yourself.”
“Too late.”
Ally smiles. Not mocking him. Not at his expense. Just enough to make him feel charming, wanted, successful. God, she’s good.
And for one second, watching them from twenty feet away, I understand exactly how people fail to see men like Victor coming.
Because he doesn’t look like a monster under fluorescent lights.
He looks expensive. Polished. Charming when he wants to be.
He makes Ally smile. Nobody looking at this knows she’s performing because her father threatened the little boy she’s practically raised.
Nobody knows about Marianne. Evelyn. The dead wives.
Nobody knows Bella pulled Ally aside yesterday and told her Victor doesn’t want a wife — he wants something that behaves.
Nobody knows Ally dumped the whole conversation into our group chat afterward: Bella asking whether she loved him, Bella saying she could tell Ally wanted to crawl out of her skin every time Victor touched her, Bella telling her that if she had a way out she should take it, and if she didn’t have one, find one, because men like Victor don’t get easier once the wedding is over.
Victor reaches inside his coat again. “There is something else.”
“You really did come prepared.”
“I usually do.”
“I’ve noticed.”