ANMELDENFREYA'S POV "Right there, yes, just like that."I froze in the doorway.The woman's voice was breathy and high pitched. She was on my bed. Her dark hair was spread across my pillow like she owned it. The red dress I did not recognize was pooled on the floor next to heels that probably cost more than my rent. Her lipstick was smeared across her mouth and down her neck.Kelvin was on top of her.His hands were in her hair. His mouth was on her throat. The sheets I had washed three days ago were tangled around their legs.He looked up.Our eyes met.He did not stop. Did not scramble away. Did not even look surprised. He just stared at me for a long second before slowly pulling back and sitting up on the edge of the bed."Freya." His voice was flat. Calm. Like I had just walked in on him watching television instead of screwing another woman in our bed.The woman turned her head to look at me. She did not cover herself. Did not grab for clothes. She just propped herself up on one elbow an
The champagne in my glass costs more than most people make in a week but still I don't drink it. I'm too busy watching him. Adriano Salvatore stands across the ballroom like he owns it because he does actually. He owns this hotel, half the city, and probably the souls of everyone in this room. His tailored black suit fits him like a second skin, and when he laughs at something the senator says, I see the flash of white teeth that's graced a hundred magazine covers. Billionaire. Tech mogul. Real estate tycoon. Liar. What the glossy magazines don't mention is that he's also the Don of the Salvatore crime family. One of the Five Families that run the East Coast underworld. The man who could give me everything I need. The man whose mother killed my father. "You're staring," Sofia whispers beside me, her grip on my arm tightening. "Bella, maybe this is a bad idea" "It's the only idea." I hand her my untouched champagne and smooth down my red dress. The fabric clings to every curve
CHAPTER TWO: WHAT LUCAS AGREES TO LUCAS'S POVDeclan has been talking for three minutes and I already know where this is going.I know because I know Declan, and I know that face he makes when he thinks he's found something clever and he's building to reveal the way bad directors build to a twist, letting it breathe a little too long, enjoying himself too much. I let him enjoy himself. I reach for the bottle and top up my glass and wait.We're six tonight. The private room at the back of Nero's, the one you have to know someone to book, dark wood and low lighting and a door that closes properly. Felix is across from me. Kwame and the two Australians Rhys, who I like, and Brett, who I tolerate are down the other end. We've been here since nine. It's past midnight now and jackets are off and ties are loose and we're all in the particular state of a long good evening where everything is slightly funnier than it would be sober."You know Seraphina Noire?" Declan says."Should I?""BBC dr
VIVIAN'S POVI picked up some warm champagne. Not terribly warm, not ruined, but enough that I can taste the laziness of whoever poured it. I set the glass down on Lucas's kitchen counter without drinking from it again and watch him move around the island like he owns it which he does, technically, his name is on the lease, though I'm not sure his father doesn't own the building entirely. These are the kinds of things you grow up knowing when your father and Thaddeus Crowne have been best friends for thirty years.I know a lot of things about the Crowne family.That's rather the point."You're not drinking," Lucas says, not looking at me. He's opening a second bottle, the good one this time, the one he keeps at the back of the wine fridge behind the bottles he opens for guests he doesn't care about."The first one was warm."He looks up then. The corner of his mouth moves. "You could've said something.""I just did."He pours two glasses of the good one and slides mine across the marb
The Weight of What Wasn't SaidAdrien's POVThe elevator doors began to close, and I should have turned away.I should have headed back to my office, reviewed the stack of surgical consults waiting on my desk. I should have returned to the controlled and predictable world where I knew exactly who I was and what I was doing.But I didn't move.I stood there and watched her through that narrowing gap, watched those wide doe eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made something tighten in my chest.She looked so small and fragile in that elevator. The sweater swallowed her frame, the jeans hung loose on hips that should have been fuller, and the exhaustion was written in every line of her posture.But her eyes. God, those eyes held mine like she was trying to memorize me. Like this moment mattered somehow.The doors closed and she was gone.And I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding."Dr. Duval?" A nurse appeared at my elbow with a chart. "The post-op patient in 304 is as
I made it back to my room on legs that were still not entirely trustworthy.What I had encountered had left something buzzing under my skin that I could not name and did not want to examine too closely, a frequency that had settled into my chest somewhere between *dismissed* and the way his hand had closed around the card. I pressed my palm flat against my sternum for a moment, standing in the middle of my room, and breathed until the buzzing quieted to something manageable.Then I saw the bed.I stopped.The clothes were laid out with a care that was immediately, unmistakably not Margot's doing. Margot was efficient and thorough and arranged things with the brisk practicality of someone working through a list. This was different. This had been considered.A cream blouse, so soft that when I touched it the fabric moved like water under my fingers. A tailored midi skirt in a warm ivory, the weave of it with a give to it that I recognized as deliberate. A light coat in pale camel that w
The school gates were already busy when we arrived.Noé walked through them like someone who had been anticipating this moment for days, which he had, his chin slightly lifted, his school bag riding his shoulder with more dignity than usual. He had been preparing for this the way he prepared for th
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIXThe group photo was Miss Claire's idea.She arranged us with the practiced efficiency of a woman who had been herding families into configurations for years, parents behind, children in front, everyone close enough together that the frame would capture the warmth she had decided
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVELunch was laid out in the main hall, long family tables dressed with the cheerful effort of a school that had been planning this for weeks. Noé navigated us to a table with the authority of someone who had scouted the location in advance, which knowing Noé was not outside the re
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOURThe school gates were already busy when we arrived.Noé walked through them like someone who had been anticipating this moment for days, which he had, his chin slightly lifted, his school bag riding his shoulder with more dignity than usual. He had been preparing for this the wa







