Chapter 24
CHANTEL
“You’ll never guess who came to see me this weekend.” Tiffany fluffs up her hair behind me, using my mirror as I touch up my makeup.
“I’m not interested in hearing about your conquests,” I tell her, the words snappier than I intend them.
I’ve been in a shit mood all week, and I don’t even know why. But being around Cristian, or more accurately—being ignored by him—feels like torture.
“Well, in that case I guess it’s good you don’t care,” Tiffany claps back. “Since it was your not-boyfriend.”
I freeze with the lipstick halfway to my mouth, and she smirks.
“Thought you didn’t care,” she says in a syrupy sweet voice.
“I don’t.” The words scrape up my throat.
Nothing has ever felt like more of a lie. In fact, it feels like someone just punched all the air from my lungs.
Pressure throbs behind my eyes as her mouth curves into her signature I-just-got-fucked smile.
“I guess I must have really left an impression on him,” she says. “Anyway, I’ll leave the rest to your imagination. All I can say is that he’s welcome to pay me a visit anytime.”
She saunters off, so content with herself I feel nauseous. My initial thought is that she must be lying because Cristian wouldn’t do that. Then I remember how stupid it is for me to believe otherwise.
This is the reason I don’t do relationships. In the end, people will always disappoint you.
Except this doesn’t feel like disappointment. It feels like the same stomach-churning, god-awful hurt I experienced the first time I learned what betrayal was.
It doesn’t make sense, because what Cristian and I have shouldn’t feel so significant. But maybe it would be easier to dismiss if I hadn’t felt such a connection with him under the veil of anonymity. We had something that was hard to define—something so real it scared me.
Now I can’t help wondering if it was a lie.
After crawling out of that pit of despair, I tell myself I should be glad it happened now. It’s one of many reasons why we never would have worked out.
Usually, I can default to numbness. It’s how I’ve survived. But as I finish getting ready to go on stage, I’m not numb.
I’m hollow.
Regardless, I carry on with the show, because what choice do I have?
Back in the dressing room, I shower and change, taking my time to avoid the other dancers. But when I return to my vanity, I find Kenzie waiting for me.
“Hey, are you okay?” she asks.
“Of course.” I shrug. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
A beat of silence stretches between us before she sighs. “You might be able to fool everyone else with that act, but you can’t fool me. I was the queen of dissociation when we met. Remember?”
I nod, but when I try to respond, emotion clogs my throat. Kenzie notices, and like a good friend, she doesn’t push.
“Hey, I have an idea,” she says. “We haven’t done this in a while.”
I arch a brow at her, and she smiles.
“Top five craziest things that happened this month.”
A soft laugh escapes me, because as usual, there’s never a shortage of crazy events around here.
“The lipstick thief.” She holds up one finger. “I’d like to know who’s hoarding twenty used tubes of the stuff.”
“When Kelly thought that customer was actually Tom Hardy,” I supply.
Kenzie chokes on her laughter. “You gotta give that guy mad props, though. He committed to the bit all the way to the end. She was hella mad when she realized she slept with a poker player from Tacoma.”
“There was also the week of the possessed mannequin,” I add.
“I still have no idea who kept moving it around like that. But the terror on Jackson’s face every time he saw it was priceless.”
“That was almost as good as the headless Barbie,” I agree.
“No matter how many times he threw it away, it just kept coming back to haunt him.”
We both think of a few more incidents, and while it doesn’t fix anything, it helps me relax a little.
“Thank you,” I tell Kenzie as we walk out to the club together.
“You’ve been there for me,” she says. “It’s about time I had a chance to repay the favor.”
My relief is short-lived, because once we’re in the VIP area, my gaze collides with Cristian’s. And of course, Tiffany’s right beside him.
I look away, and Kenzie clocks it.
“Want to come say hi to Andreas?” she asks.
“Would love to.”
She leads me over to where the Greeks have gathered, and I say hello to Andreas and Elias. They both glance over my shoulder, confirming Cristian is watching the interaction.
“Are you trying to start a war, Chantel?” Ares joins our group.
“Are you?” I counter. “It seems like your main objective lately.”
“I’m not quite as bloodthirsty as your boyfriend over there,” he muses. “If looks could kill, my severed head would be flying out the door right about now.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I clip out.
“No?” Ares smirks. “You might want to tell him that. It looks like hurricane Vitale is about to make landfall.”
“You want me to handle him, boss?” Elias offers.
I shoot him a glare—a knee-jerk response that only irritates me further. Elias doesn’t deserve my ire.
“No,” Ares answers. “I want to see how this plays out.”
He gets his wish when Cristian closes the distance between us, his chest brushing against my back as he stands behind me.
“Having fun with your little game, principessa?” he asks. “Should we see how much you like his face after it’s been put through a wood chipper?”
I don’t dignify that with a response, which only makes him angrier.
“Say your goodbyes, and get your ass in my car,” he threatens. “Before this gets bloody.”
I want nothing more than to tell him off, but I know it isn’t an empty threat. Cristian always carries, and the rigid set of his body isn’t ambiguous. He’s been looking for an excuse to murder Ares for years, and if I don’t disengage, he might actually do it.
I heave out an apologetic sigh as I glance at Kenzie. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Text me later?” she says, eyeing Cristian like she isn’t sure what to make of him.
I nod and pivot on my heel, heading for the door with Cristian behind me. As soon as we’re in the garage, I let out my anger.
“You’re an asshole.”
“I might be an asshole, but at least I have the sense not to keep company with snakes.”
“Who?” I glower at him. “The Greeks?”
“Yes, the fucking Greeks,” he bites out. “It should come as no surprise to you how I feel about them. We don’t associate with them, Chantel.”
His reaction splinters through my chest and settles between my ribs. He doesn’t realize that’s exactly why I never wanted to get involved with him in the first place. Now that I have, that rejection feels bone deep.
It’s a reminder that there will always be a part of me I can’t safely share with him or my friends. The blood that runs through my veins makes me an enemy, regardless of what my name might be now.
My instinct is to shut down, and I swallow whatever it was I was about to say. Cristian couldn’t know how much his words hurt, but it wouldn’t matter if he did.
I’m not sure I could handle what he’d say if he actually knew.
He opens the car door for me, and I move on autopilot, sinking into the seat without a fight. During the few seconds it takes him to round the vehicle, I slam my walls back into place.
The drive home is silent, and when we enter the house, I find myself stuck in an OCD loop. I stand at the door and stare at the locks, counting them over and over because I can’t actually concentrate. And when I can’t concentrate, I can’t be sure they’re actually locked.
“Chantel.” Cristian’s voice brushes my hair as he stands behind me. “You’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Except for him, my mind supplies.
“Did you have sex with her?” The words eject from my mouth before I can stop them.
He turns me to face him, and I regret asking, because I’m not sure I can handle it if he says yes.
“Who?” He searches my eyes.
I hate that his question feels so genuine, because regardless of what he says, I already know I can’t trust it.
“Tiffany,” I bite out her name with a bitterness I don’t recognize.
His brows draw together like he doesn’t understand, and it only frustrates me more.
“This weekend, at Black Velvet. You were there.”
That finally registers something in him, and I brace for the worst when he reaches down and threads his fingers through mine.
“Come here.”
I resist the idea internally, but my body doesn’t get the memo. At least, not until he leads me to the sofa and pulls me onto his lap.
“Cristian—”
“I want to show you something.”
He retrieves his phone from his pocket, but he doesn’t unlock it right away. The hesitation on his face triggers the urge to flee, but before I can pull away, he secures one arm around my waist.
He swipes the phone open with a resigned sigh, tapping at the screen before he shows me. At first, I’m not sure what I’m looking at, but the moment the video starts to play, I recognize the hallway.
“How did you get this?” I blink up at him. “There aren’t any cameras allowed at Black Velvet.”
“Just watch.” He speeds up the time, and I see him and Javier enter the frame, pausing to talk in the hallway for a few minutes.
Javier is a fellow performer, but I can’t think of a reason Cristian would have to talk to him. As the conversation continues, Tiffany comes down the hall, locking her sights on Cristian.
She calls out to him, and he glances up at her with an irritable expression.
A painfully long moment of silence stretches between them as she waits for him to say something, and when he doesn’t, she gets annoyed.
She storms into the dressing room, and Cristian resumes his conversation with Javier for the next few minutes.
When he’s done with that, he opens another video from a different angle backstage, where this time, he’s talking to my stage manager, Meredith.
He fast-forwards that conversation, then goes to open another one before I stop him.
“What is this?” I ask. “Why are you talking to all these people at the club?”
When he meets my gaze, it sinks in why he was hesitant to show me.
“You put the cameras in, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“In the dressing room—”