Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
AUDRA
If Shannon has a love language, it’s caretaking through overkill.
She’s been in my apartment for ten minutes and has already fluffed my couch pillows, reorganized my kitchen counter, and declared my current blanket “emotionally insufficient.”
“I’m seventy-five percent better,” I tell her, watching as she replaces my throw with a thicker one. “I do not need hospice care.”
“You were drugged at a club,” she replies flatly. “You get at least three days of dramatic nurturing.”
Jamie nods from the armchair like this is a ruling that’s already been voted on. “Minimum.”
Levi, sprawled on the floor with his back against the couch, looks up from his phone. “I canceled my plans. Do not waste this.”
I smile despite myself.
Physically, I do feel better. The fog has mostly lifted, leaving behind a bone-deep tiredness and the occasional wave of nausea if I move too fast. Emotionally… it’s harder to pin down.
Everything feels slightly off-kilter. Like the world shifted a half inch to the left and I’m still compensating.
They brought groceries. Soup. Crackers. Ginger ale. Jamie insists on making tea even though I tell her I’m fine. Shannon keeps adjusting things that don’t need adjusting. Levi narrates the entire process like he’s providing live commentary for an audience that doesn’t exist.
I let them.
It feels good to be surrounded. To be normal again.
For a while, no one mentions Derek.
That’s intentional. They’re being careful.
Instead, Shannon drops onto the arm of the couch like she’s been waiting for permission.
“Okay,” she says, rolling her shoulders back. “Now that we’ve confirmed you’re alive and not secretly concussed, can we talk about what a lawless hellscape The Vault actually is?”
Jamie snorts. “That place is not governed by human rules.”
“It’s governed by money,” Levi corrects. “Which is worse.”
Shannon points at him. “Thank you. Exactly. I watched a man in a five-thousand-dollar jacket get finger-fed olives by a woman who looked like she owned a small country.”
Jamie’s eyes widen. “Was she the one with diamonds in her hair?”
“Yes,” Shannon says. “Which I’m fairly certain violates several international treaties.”
Levi sits up straighter. “And then there was the actor.”
I lift a brow. “Actor?”
“The sad one,” Levi says. “Always playing tortured geniuses. British. Recently divorced.”
Jamie presses a hand to her mouth. “No.”
“Yes,” Shannon says flatly. “And he was having the time of his life. Two women, one man, zero shame. I accidentally made eye contact and he winked.”
“I would have passed away,” I say.
“I considered it,” she replies. “But I powered through.”
“And the musician?” Jamie prompts.
“Oh my God,” Shannon groans. “The Velvet Riot guy.”
“That is not a real band,” I say automatically.
“It absolutely is,” Jamie insists. “One hit. Twelve years ago.”
“He was wearing eyeliner,” Shannon adds. “And a scarf. Inside.”
Levi grimaces. “Inside is criminal.”
“He kept saying fame is a prison,” Shannon continues, “while actively groping a stranger like it was community service.”
I wrap my hands around my mug. “So… anything goes.”
“Anything,” Levi confirms. “No one even blinked.”
Jamie nods. “Touching. Substances. People disappearing into private rooms and coming back… rearranged.”
Shannon smirks. “That actor definitely didn’t come back alone.”
There’s a brief pause.
“Did anyone look happy?” I ask.
They all hesitate.
“Not unhappy,” Jamie says slowly.
“Desperate,” Levi adds. “In very expensive ways.”
“Like they’re trying to feel something,” Shannon says.
That lands.
I lean back into the couch cushions, absorbing it — the excess, the permission, the way money smooths the edges off consequence until nothing feels forbidden anymore.
The elite don’t hide their hedonism there.
They curate it.
And for the first time since waking up in Derek’s bed, I’m quietly grateful I left when I did.
Grateful I wasn’t alone.
Grateful someone noticed.
The conversation drifts again after that — bad outfits, worse egos, and Jamie’s ongoing theory that men with scarves are always hiding something — and for a few minutes, I almost forget why they’re here.
Almost.