5. Sophie
Sophie
The elevator doors slide shut, and the air immediately thickens.
It’s just the two of us now. No crowd to disappear into. Just Finn, standing close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off his body, and me, completely aware of every breath I take.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. The green suit is still fucking hideous. Unfortunately, the man wearing it is not.
In the enclosed space, his scent is impossible to ignore.
Sunlight and honey, warmer now, concentrated enough that my body reacts before I can stop it.
Heat unfurls low in my belly. My own scent blooms to meet his, rain and crushed rose petals rising off my skin, and for a second the two of us are just this, two scents twining in the air, his and mine, sweet and dark and impossibly right.
Within seconds, I can feel the omega in me strain toward him, wanting to get closer.
His scent surges in response, fast and intense, and his nostrils flare. He’s definitely noticed.
Good.
This is part of the game. Lure him in, make him comfortable, make him think he’s the predator when really he’s the prey. I’ve done this dozens of times.
Except usually, I’m pretending.
Usually, every instinct in my body isn’t urging me to close the distance.
The elevator chimes at the penthouse level, because of course an alpha like Frederic Zimmer wouldn’t stay anywhere else. The doors open onto a private foyer with marble floors and a single door at the end of a short hallway.
Finn pulls a keycard from his pocket and unlocks the door, then moves aside to let me enter first. Gentlemanly again. Giving me space instead of crowding me.
I walk past him into the suite, and—
Oh.
For a second, I forget to breathe.
Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the entire living space. The skyline glitters below us, a river of lights flowing between dark canyons of buildings, and above it all the sky is velvet black and scattered with stars.
The rest of the suite barely registers. Warm wood, a bar of cut crystal, a couch facing the windows.
I walk to the window and press my palm against the glass. The city pulses below me, alive and indifferent.
Finn comes to stand beside me.
“You lied,” I say quietly.
“Did I?”
“You said the view was nice.” I turn to look at him. “This is so much more than that.”
That smile again, soft and almost boyish. “I suppose I undersold it.”
I look back at the city, at the impossible expanse of light and shadow, and something bitter rises in my throat.
“Must be nice,” I hear myself say. “Being able to afford this.”
I keep my voice light, teasing, but the edge is there. I wonder if he can hear it.
He tilts his head slightly, considering the question rather than bristling at it.
“Actually, I booked a standard room. I got lucky with an upgrade.” He shrugs, looking almost embarrassed.
“Right place, right time. Or maybe they just wanted to get rid of me because I asked too many questions at check-in.”
There it is again. The humility. The self-deprecation. As if the wealth and the penthouse and the easy charm all just happened to him, rather than being things he cultivated to lure in his victims.
For some reason, it makes me angrier.
“Questions about what?” I ask, turning away from the window.
“The history of the building, mostly. It was a textile factory in the 1920s before the conversion.” He moves toward the bar, his back to me. “I have this habit of wanting to know the story of wherever I’m staying. Drives my packmates insane.”
“Packmates,” I say. “You mentioned them earlier. What are they like?”
He laughs quietly. “Max is intense, the kind of person you want in your corner when things go wrong. Ethan is the steady one, keeps us all grounded.” He turns back to me. “What about you? Anyone waiting for you at home?”
The question catches somewhere beneath my ribs.
Home.
For a second, the word brings up things I don’t want to see. My mother disappearing in the middle of the night. My stepfather selling me like livestock. The pack in Detroit who—
No.
I shut that door before it can open.
“No,” I say, and my voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Just me.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just looks at me, and there is something in his eyes that looks a bit like pity, and it makes me hate him even more.
“That sounds lonely.”
“It sounds free.”
The words hang in the air between us. His easy smile fades a little as he studies me a moment too long.
“Does it feel free?”
No. But it’s safe, and that’s all that matters to me.
“Always,” I lie.
He holds my gaze a moment longer, then nods slowly, like he understands. And for some stupid reason, that look of understanding pulls something tight in my chest.
“What made you want to come to this gala?” I ask, redirecting. “Besides the good cause.”
“Honestly?” He leans against the bar, crossing his arms. “I was hoping to meet someone interesting. These events are usually wall-to-wall small talk about portfolios and property values. I wanted...” He trails off, searching for the word.
I raise an eyebrow, waiting.
“I don’t know.” He looks almost frustrated with himself. “Something real. To talk about something that actually matters, for once.”
The silence stretches between us.
Now or never, Sophie.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” I gesture toward the couch facing the windows. “I’ll get us drinks. What would you like?”
“Bourbon, if they have it.”
“I’m sure they do.” I walk to the bar, letting my hips sway with each step. Feeling his eyes on me. The weight of his attention like a physical touch.
So close. I’m so close.
I find the bourbon and pour two generous glasses. My hands are steady. At least that hasn’t changed.
I carry the drinks to the couch, where Finn has settled into the corner, one arm stretched along the back, his body angled toward the view, looking relaxed and trusting.
Perfect.
I hand him his glass and sit beside him. The leather is warm from his body heat. His scent wraps around me like smoke.
We drink in silence for a moment, watching the city lights flicker and shift.
“Tell me something you haven’t told anyone, Sylvie.”
The question catches me off guard. I turn to look at him, and he’s watching me with an open, curious expression, like he actually wants to know.
I really want to kill you.
“I really want to kiss you.”
The words come out low. Slightly breathless. Exactly the way Sylvie would say them.
His eyes drop to my mouth for just a moment before coming back up to meet mine.
“What’s stopping you?”
He’s facing me now, his body turned toward mine. Our knees almost touching. The air between us has gone heavy with possibility.
“I don’t know, Finn.” I set my glass on the side table and lean closer. “There’s just something about you...”
My lips hover above his. Close enough to feel his breath. Close enough to see the way his pupils have blown wide, swallowing the blue.
Slowly, achingly slowly, I close the distance.
The first touch of his lips is electric.
My entire body answers, and for one terrifying moment I forget who I am. The mission, what he is, all of it gone, leaving nothing but the warmth of his mouth and the way his hand comes up to cup my jaw, gentle, like I’m something precious.
I force my eyes open, still kissing him. My hand drifts toward my clutch, fingers finding the hidden compartment. The sedative lipstick slides into my palm. I pop the cap with my thumb, positioning it carefully—
That’s when I see the keycard sleeve.
It’s on the side table, right next to my bourbon glass. White cardstock with the hotel logo, a name handwritten across the front in black ink.
Finn Preston.
Not Frederic Zimmer.
Finn Preston.
The world tilts.
Wrong alpha. Wrong fucking alpha.
I jerk back so fast I almost fall off the couch. The lipstick cap snaps back on as I shove it into my clutch, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Sylvie?” Concern edges Finn’s voice. “Are you okay?”
“What’s your name?” The question comes out too high. I barely recognize my own voice.
He blinks at me. “Finn. I told you that.”
“Your last name.”
“Preston.” His brow furrows. “Finn Preston. Why are you—”
“I have to go.”
I’m already on my feet, moving toward the door. My heels snap against the floor, echoing in the suite.
Griffin is going to kill me. Where’s the real Frederic? Is he still here? Oh God, please let me not be too late—
“Sylvie, wait.”
Finn’s voice follows me, but I don’t stop.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” I’m at the door now, fumbling with the handle. “No, you didn’t. But I have to go. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“How can I find you?”
But I’m already through the door, running for the elevator, my mind racing over how much time I’ve wasted on the wrong man while the real monster slips away.
The elevator doors open.
I slam the button for the lobby.
Please. Please let me not be too late.