Chapter 9
The Avalon Resort sprawled across twenty acres of Hamptons coastline like something out of a fever dream.
As Victor’s Tesla wound up the private drive, Ava counted three fountains, each more elaborate than the last. The third one featured marble cherubs that seemed to track their car with empty eyes. She watched them in the side mirror until they disappeared around a curve.
“Tell me again why a law firm needs a corporate retreat that looks like Gatsby threw up on Versailles?”
“Team building.” Victor’s tone suggested he’d rather build a team in one of the hell dimensions. “And risk management, apparently.”
She’d changed outfits three times before Victor’s car arrived. The burgundy. The blue. The burgundy again.
Now, pulling up to the valet stand beneath a portico that could shelter a small army, she wished she’d packed a fourth time.
Or set everything on fire and called in sick.
The valet who approached wore a uniform that cost more than her monthly rent. His smile was professionally blank, but when he looked at Victor, his hands went still on the car door.
“Penthouse suite for Morningstar,” Victor said, handing over the keys.
The valet actually bowed. “Of course, Mr. Morningstar. Your luggage will be delivered immediately. The Celestial Penthouse, as requested.”
Ava waited until they’d passed through the revolving doors into the lobby before hissing, “Celestial Penthouse?”
“The partners insisted on the best room.” He sighed. “One room.”
The lobby swallowed them whole.
Marble floors veined with gold stretched toward a ceiling painted with clouds and angels, or what were supposed to be angels.
The longer Ava looked, the more wrong the figures seemed.
Wings folded inward like broken umbrellas.
Mouths frozen mid-scream rather than mid-song.
One of them appeared to be weeping blood, though that might have been a trick of the light.
The air smelled like expensive flowers and old money, with something underneath: sulfur, faint but unmistakable, like the ghost of a match struck hours ago.
Other guests milled about in designer clothes and practiced smiles. Ava caught glimpses of wrongness everywhere: a woman whose reflection lagged half a second behind, a man whose shadow stretched toward light instead of away, a couple holding hands with fingers that bent backward at the knuckle.
“Victor!” Lilith’s voice cut through the ambient noise like a blade through silk.
She glided toward them in crimson that matched her lips, looking like she’d been here for hours. Days. Possibly since the building was constructed, waiting for this exact moment.
“Don’t you both look… cozy.” Her eyes traveled over them slowly: Victor’s hand on Ava’s back, the way they stood close enough to share warmth. “Almost like a real couple.”
“Lilith.” Victor’s hand pressed firmer against Ava’s spine. “I wasn’t aware you’d arrived early.”
“Oh, I came yesterday. Wanted to ensure everything was perfect for the verification protocols.” Her smile sharpened, showing teeth that seemed slightly too white. “The partners are deeply interested in observing all the claimed couples this weekend. For liability purposes, of course.”
“Of course,” Ava said, matching her tone. “Can’t have fraudulent claims costing the firm money.”
Lilith’s expression sharpened. For a moment, something ancient and hungry flickered behind the beautiful mask.
“Exactly. Though I imagine real couples have nothing to worry about. The ones truly in love should find this weekend absolutely delightful.” She tilted her head, birdlike. “Don’t you think?”
Derek materialized at Ava’s elbow before either could respond. He looked like he’d slept in his suit, dark circles carved beneath his eyes.
“Hey. So. I have news.” He glanced at Lilith, then away quickly. “Malphas redesigned the trust exercises. They’re now legally binding.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if you fail them, the claim is considered void.” He lowered his voice further. “Also, there’s an inspection. Multiple inspections, actually. Tonight, tomorrow, Sunday.”
“Inspection?”
Lilith’s smile widened to something predatory.
“The partners will evaluate the authenticity of each couple’s connection throughout the weekend.
Think of it as due diligence.” She reached out and adjusted Victor’s lapel with familiar fingers.
“We wouldn’t want any unfortunate misunderstandings about the nature of certain… arrangements.”
Victor caught her wrist. Gently, but firmly. “Your concern is touching.”
“I’m nothing if not concerned.” She extracted herself with a laugh like broken glass. “Do enjoy your stay. I’m sure you’ll find the accommodations intimate.”
She sauntered away, hips swaying, every male gaze in the lobby tracking her movement.
Derek waited until she’d disappeared into an elevator. “She convinced the partners yesterday. Showed up with a whole presentation about liability exposure and claim verification. Grimm was ready to cancel the entire retreat until she proposed the protocols as a compromise.”
“She planned this from the beginning,” Ava said.
“Obviously.” Victor frowned. “Come. Let’s see what fresh hell she’s prepared for us upstairs.”
The Celestial Penthouse occupied the entire top floor.
The elevator required a special key card and a retinal scan that made Ava deeply uncomfortable. When the doors finally opened, they revealed a foyer that belonged in a museum, or possibly a mausoleum.
White marble. Gold fixtures. A chandelier dripping crystals like frozen tears.
“Is that a Monet?” She stared at the painting above an actual fireplace.
“Replica,” Victor said, setting down their bags. “The real one is in…” He stopped, mouth pressing into a thin line. She decided not to ask what supernatural vault housed stolen masterpieces.
The living room unfolded beyond the foyer, bigger than her entire Queens apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Atlantic, gray-green waves crashing against a private beach far below. Late afternoon light poured through the glass, painting everything gold.
A terrace wrapped around three sides, furnished with chairs that cost more than her car. The kitchen gleamed with appliances she didn’t recognize. A dining table seated twelve beneath another chandelier.
Everything was white and cream and gold, aggressively luxurious, designed to make its occupants feel either pampered or suffocated.
Ava felt distinctly suffocated.
“The bedroom,” Victor said. His voice made her stomach flip.
She followed him through double doors into a space that confirmed every fear she’d been nursing since “one room.”
The bed dominated the room like a throne. California king, at minimum—possibly larger, possibly custom-built for demons who needed extra space to brood. White linens gleamed in the fading light. And scattered across the duvet, because someone in hospitality had a cruel sense of humor—
“Rose petals,” Ava said flatly. “They scattered rose petals.”
“I’ll have housekeeping remove them.”
“Don’t bother. We’ll just…” She gestured vaguely at the enormous bed, the intimate lighting, the bathroom visible through a doorway that promised a tub big enough to swim in. “Deal with it.”
Victor stood very still in the doorway. His hands had clenched at his sides, knuckles going white.
“Two hours until cocktails,” he said. “You should rest. Prepare.”
“Victor…”
“I’ll be on the terrace.” He was already retreating. “Take whatever time you need.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Ava stood alone in the honeymoon suite from hell, rose petals mocking her from every surface.
She didn’t rest.
Instead, she showered in a bathroom bigger than her bedroom at home. Marble everything, a rainfall showerhead, products that smelled like jasmine and money. The hot water helped unknot her shoulders but did nothing for the anxiety coiled in her chest.
Getting dressed felt like preparing for battle.
She laid out the burgundy dress on the rose-petal bed, studied it like enemy territory. The fabric was beautiful: rich and deep, the color of wine or blood depending on the light. It would show every curve, hide nothing.
That was the point, wasn’t it? Armor and weapon in one.
Her hands shook as she applied makeup. Steadier as she lined her eyes, painted her lips a shade that matched the dress. She twisted her hair up, let a few strands fall artfully around her face.
The woman in the mirror looked like someone who belonged in this world. Someone who dated ancient demons and attended supernatural cocktail parties and didn’t flinch when senior partners evaluated her relationship for authenticity.
The pendant sat snug against her collarbone, the metal of the chain almost vibrating. She touched it once for luck.
A knock at the bathroom door. “It’s time.”
She emerged to find Victor in a black tuxedo that fit like sin. The cut emphasized his shoulders, his narrow waist, the predatory grace he usually kept leashed. His bow tie was perfectly straight. His hair slicked back to reveal the sharp angles of his face.
He looked like what he was: dangerous and beautiful and entirely out of her league.
His eyes traveled over her slowly. Taking in the dress, the heels, the careful armor she’d constructed. His jaw tightened, and he forgot to set down his champagne glass.
“You look stunning,” he said.
“You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He offered his arm. She took it as they descended to face whatever disaster Lilith had planned.
The ballroom glittered with crystal and candlelight and barely concealed menace.
Something was off about the string quartet. The cellist’s fingers moved too fast for the tempo, and the viola player hadn’t blinked since they’d entered. Ava counted at least a hundred guests, most of them convincingly human. Most.
“Showtime.” Victor’s breath was warm against her ear.