Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
The car eases to a slow, deliberate stop beneath the sweep of the entrance, headlights gliding over polished stone and a crowd that glitters like something untouchable.
Cameras flash in quick bursts, catching diamonds and sequins, the sharp lines of tailored suits, the easy laughter of people who have never had to earn their place in a room like this.
It’s almost done and soon I won’t have to worry about this any longer.
I draw in a careful breath, but the corset cinched tight around my ribs makes it shallow, restrictive. The drive presses into my skin where it’s hidden, a constant, uncomfortable reminder of what I’m risking just by being here. Every inhale feels stolen. Every second borrowed.
I barely managed to hide it and get the comm in my ear with everything that has been going on today. From the moment the sun was up, Sarah had an army of hairdressers, waxers, and cosmetologists working on every part of my body until it was time to finally leave on Drew’s right arm.
With Brittany on the left.
Drew’s hand settles on my thigh, warm and possessive, his thumb brushing once in a gesture that might look affectionate to anyone watching but feels like ownership.
“Smile,” he murmurs, his attention already drifting toward the doors.
I do.
Because I know how.
Because I’ve been trained to.
The door opens before the car has fully settled, and cool night air rushes in, carrying the low hum of conversation, the distant swell of music, and something else beneath it—something heavier, harder to name.
Drew steps out first, adjusting his cufflinks with practiced ease before turning back and offering me his hand. Brittany slips out on his other side, already lifting her chin, already basking in the attention like she was made for it.
I take his hand.
Let him help me out.
Let him guide me up the steps like I belong exactly where he’s placed me.
The marble is smooth beneath my heels, the lights too bright, the smiles too sharp. It feels like stepping onto a stage where everyone already knows their lines, and I’m the only one still pretending I don’t.
“Stay close,” Drew says quietly, his fingers tightening around mine for just a fraction of a second before easing again.
I nod, soft and agreeable, playing the part expected of me as we cross the threshold into the gala.
Inside, the air is thick with perfume and champagne, with wealth that hangs heavy in every corner. Crystal chandeliers cast warm, golden light over the room, making everything shimmer—glasses, jewelry, the polished floors beneath our feet.
It would be beautiful.
If I didn’t know what it really was.
If I didn’t feel the undercurrent threading through it all.
Eyes follow us as we move deeper into the room, some curious, some calculating, some already dismissive. Drew greets a man with a firm handshake, his posture shifting seamlessly into charm, while Brittany leans into him like she belongs there, her laugh bright and practiced.
I stay quiet, observant, letting my gaze drift.
Cataloging.
Measuring.
There’s security here, but it isn’t obvious. No uniforms. No obvious barriers. Just men positioned carefully throughout the space, blending in among the guests, their attention sharp despite their relaxed appearances.
One of them shifts near the far wall, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve.
And that’s when I see it.
A sliver of ink peeks out beneath the fabric, stark against his skin.
Black.
Bold.
My gaze lingers just a second too long as I try to make sense of it. The shape is familiar in a way that makes something tighten in my chest, like a memory brushing just out of reach. There’s a curve to it, something angular woven through, a design that feels deliberate.
I’ve seen it before.
I know I have.
But the context won’t come.
“Enjoying the view?”
The voice pulls me back, and I blink, turning to find Drew watching me, his expression edged with something sharper than amusement.
“Of course,” I say lightly, letting my gaze drift back to him as if nothing had caught my attention. “It’s… impressive.”
His hand returns to my waist, firmer this time, fingers pressing just enough to remind me where I stand.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “You don’t want to look too interested.”
A chill slips down my spine, but I keep my smile in place, my posture relaxed.
Across the room, movement draws my eye again, but this time it isn’t subtle.
Liam.
He stands near the bar, his presence quieter than most but no less commanding. He doesn’t need to draw attention to himself—it comes naturally, in the way people shift around him, in the way conversations pause just slightly when he looks their way.
He’s watching everything.
My pulse picks up at the opportunity.
I lean in closer to Drew, letting my fingers trail along his sleeve in a soft, almost absent gesture.
“I need to use the restroom,” I murmur, tilting my head toward the corridor.
His gaze flicks over my face, assessing, weighing the request against whatever calculation is always running in his mind.
Then he nods once.
“Don’t take long.”
“I won’t.”
I slip away before he can change his mind, careful to keep my pace even, unhurried. Not too fast to draw attention. Not too slow to seem uncertain.
Just another woman stepping away for a moment.
At the edge of the corridor, I shift direction, letting my path curve subtly until I’m no longer heading toward the restrooms but toward the bar instead.
Toward Liam.
He notices me before I reach him.
Of course he does.
His conversation slows, then stops entirely as his gaze settles on me, sharp and assessing. I don’t hesitate, closing the distance with quiet confidence until I’m close enough to speak without raising suspicion.
“Enjoying the party?” he asks, his tone smooth, polite.
His eyes aren’t.
“As much as one can,” I reply, offering a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
There’s a brief pause, just long enough for him to decide whether to dismiss me or not.
“I need a moment,” I add quietly.
Something shifts behind his gaze.
“Walk with me.”
He turns without waiting, moving toward a quieter stretch along the wall where the noise dulls just enough to give us a sliver of privacy. I fall into step beside him, my posture composed, my expression neutral.
To anyone watching, it’s nothing.
Just polite conversation.
“What is it?” he asks once we’re out of immediate earshot.
I glance around, making sure no one is close enough to overhear, then lower my voice.
“One of my father’s guards.”
That’s all it takes.
His attention sharpens instantly.
“What about them?”
“I saw one of them,” I say, choosing each word carefully. “Inside. Not posted like the others. Blending in, but he is rougher than the usual kind my father employs. Large beard. Less put together. Uncomfortable like he isn’t used to wearing a suit.”
Liam’s stride slows just slightly.
“And?”
“There was a tattoo,” I continue, my brow furrowing as I try to pull the image back into focus. “On his neck. Black ink. It looked… familiar.”
“How familiar?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, frustration threading through my voice. “That’s what’s bothering me. I’ve seen it before. I just can’t place where.”
He studies me for a long moment, his silence heavy with thought.
“Can you describe it?”
“A curve,” I say slowly, picturing it again. “Something sharp woven through it. Not random. It felt… intentional.”
Liam’s gaze flicks briefly toward the room, then back to me.
“Show me if you see him again,” he says quietly.
“I will.”
A faint shift of footsteps echoes from the main room, voices carrying closer, brushing along the edges of our conversation.
Too close.
Liam steps away first, putting space between us with practiced ease, his expression smoothing back into something neutral, unremarkable.
“Enjoy your evening,” he says, his voice louder now, casual enough for anyone listening.
I dip my head slightly, playing along.
“Of course.”
Then I turn, slipping back into the crowd, letting the noise and light swallow me whole again.
My gaze drifts once more to where I last saw the guard.
He’s gone.
But the image of that tattoo lingers in my mind, just out of reach, like a memory waiting to be dragged into the light.