Chapter 2: Ghost in a Suit

LORA

"Congratulations to the happy couple! Wellington heir Mark announces engagement to banking heiress Sophia Blackwood..."

I stared at my laptop screen. A piece of cold pizza was halfway to my mouth. My ex-boyfriend's perfect smile mocked me from the pages of Vanity Fair. Two weeks of hiding in my apartment like a hurt animal, and this was how I found out he had already moved on. Through a magazine spread that looked like a political campaign ad.

"Son of a gun," I said quietly, then immediately felt guilty. Mom would wash my mouth out with soap if she heard language like that. Then again, she probably would not approve of the pizza-box fort I had built around my couch either.

My phone buzzed. Again. Maya's contact photo flashed on the screen for the fifteenth time that day.

"Lora Marie Blake, I know you are hiding in there like a pig in mud. Answer the phone!"

Despite everything, my lips almost smiled. Maya had never met a saying she could not mess up.

The apartment door shook under what sounded like a very determined hurricane. Then came the sound of keys.

"Oh, no," I groaned, diving for the couch cushions like they could somehow make me invisible.

The door burst open.

"Good grief, Lora! You look terrible!"

Maya Rodriguez stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. She looked like an angry goddess in red lipstick and a dress that probably cost more than my rent. Her dark eyes looked at the disaster that used to be my living room. She saw the tissue mountains and pizza boxes.

"I gave you that key for emergencies," I said. My voice was rusty from not talking.

"Honey, this is an emergency. You are about three days away from growing mushrooms in places mushrooms should definitely not grow." Maya marched over and slammed my laptop shut. She cut off Mark's political-poster smile. "Up. Shower. Now."

"Maya, I cannot—"

"Cannot what? Cannot function like a human being because some man-child with a small brain decided you were not good enough for his political plans?" Maya's voice could have cut glass. "Please, Mark Wellington should never get to break you."

The words hit like a slap, mostly because they were true. I had been fierce once. Before Mark. Before I let myself believe his version of my story.

"Besides," Maya continued. She pulled me to my feet with surprising strength for someone in four-inch heels. "We have plans tonight."

"We absolutely do not—"

"Supernatural Relations Gala." Maya was already pushing me toward the bathroom. "And before you start whining about not being in the mood, let me paint you a picture. Werewolves in designer tuxedos. Vampires who could buy and sell your ex's entire family fortune. Fae princes who make underwear models look like trolls. Tell me that does not sound like the perfect revenge body showcase."

I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror and winced. Hollow cheeks, dark circles that made me look like a raccoon, hair that fought both gravity and good sense.

"I do not recognize myself," I whispered.

Maya's face softened, just for a moment. "That is because you are looking at his version of you. Time to remember who you really are."

The shower was very hot, but for the first time in two weeks, I felt something other than numbness. Steam filled the bathroom as hot water washed away the remains of my pity party, and maybe some of the shame too.

Maya had laid out clothes on my bed like some kind of fairy godmother with perfect taste and no patience for self-pity. A midnight blue dress that hugged curves I had forgotten I had, shoes that could double as weapons, and jewelry that caught the light like captured stars.

"Why this particular gala?" I asked as Maya worked magic with makeup. She erased the evidence of my breakdown with the skill of an artist.

"Because supernatural politics make human drama look like kindergarten finger-painting. Plus, the champagne flows like water, and nobody cares about some politician's engagement photos." Maya stepped back, looking at her work with satisfaction. "Here is the plan: you are going to have one perfect night, then heal. Deal?"

Two hours later, I was drinking my third glass of champagne at the most beautiful gala I had ever been to. The ballroom sparkled with the wealthy and popular, and for the first time in weeks, I felt almost human again.

"I think I am actually having fun," I admitted to Maya, who was flirting with a vampire who looked like he had stepped off a romance novel cover.

"Good. Now go explore. The night is young, and you have some living to catch up on."

The champagne had made me bold—or maybe it was just the relief of feeling something other than heartbreak. I found myself wandering the hotel's fancy corridors, admiring the art, feeling almost like myself again.

The elevator dinged as I pressed what I thought was the lobby button. But when the doors opened, I was not in the lobby. I was in a private hallway I did not recognize.

"Lost, party girl?"

I spun around, and my breath caught.

ERIN

I had been watching her all night.

The brunette with the smart mouth and sad eyes who had been putting on the performance of her life in the ballroom below. Even from my private suite's terrace, I could see she was running from something. The way she held herself, the careful distance she kept from the other humans, the brittle brightness of her smile.

I should have stayed away. Should have remained in my tower, nursing my whiskey and my hate for the political theater downstairs. But when I saw her step into the wrong elevator, looking lost and lovely and dangerous to my carefully kept control, I found myself moving.

"Lost, party girl?" I asked, stepping out of the shadows.

She turned, and those dark eyes hit me like a physical blow. Up close, she was even more stunning. All sharp edges and hidden hurts, like a blade wrapped in silk.

"I think so," she said, and her voice had a rasp to it that made something primitive in my chest rumble with approval. "I was trying to get back to the party."

"Were you?" I moved closer, noting how her pulse jumped at her throat, how her scent carried hints of vanilla and fight. "Or were you looking for an escape?"

Her chin lifted, and there it was—the fire I had seen from a distance. "What makes you think I need to escape from anything?"

"Because I recognize a fellow runner when I see one." I pointed toward my suite. "Care for a drink? The champagne downstairs is not very good."

She should have said no. Should have turned around and walked away from the danger I represented. Instead, she stepped closer, and I caught the full impact of her scent—human, yes, but with something else underneath. Something that made my wolf sit up and take notice.

"You do not know me," she said, but she was already moving toward my door.

"I know enough." I held the door open, drinking in the sight of her in that midnight blue dress that should have been illegal. "I know you are running from something that hurt you. I know you are stronger than you think. And I know that whoever made you believe you were not enough was a fool."

She stopped dead, those expressive eyes going wide. "How could you possibly—"

"Because I can smell the heartbreak on you, sweetheart. And I can see the fight you are trying to hide." I stepped closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. "What is your name?"

"Lora." It came out barely above a whisper.

"Just Lora?"

"Tonight, yes. What about you, mystery man?"

"I didnt answer, that is not important."

She studied my face for a long moment, and I found myself holding my breath. There was something about this woman—something that called to parts of me I had buried so deep I had forgotten they existed.

"What are you really afraid of, Lora?" I asked because I needed to know, needed to understand what had put that haunted look in her eyes.

"That I am not enough," she whispered. "That I never was, and I never will be."

The honesty in her voice hit me like a punch. When was the last time someone had been that real with me? When was the last time anyone had seen past the money and the power and the carefully built walls?

"Impossible," I said, meaning it more than I had meant anything in years.

She looked up at me then, really looked, and whatever she saw in my face made her take a shaky breath. "You do not know what you are talking about."

"Do I not?" I reached out, tracing the line of her jaw with one finger, feeling her shiver under my touch. "Tell me I am wrong."

Instead of answering, she rose on her toes and kissed me.

The world tilted.

Her lips were soft and desperate and tasted like champagne and secrets. My control—that legendary Marrock discipline that had kept me alive through corporate wars and actual wars—crumbled like dust.

I backed her against the door, my hands tangling in her hair, and kissed her like I was drowning and she was air. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat that went straight to my already straining body, and I knew I was lost.

"Are you sure?" I asked against her mouth, giving her one last chance to run.

Her answer was to pull me closer, to let me feel the heat of her through that sinful dress. "Make me feel real again."

I could do that. God help us both, I could definitely do that.

Hours later, I watched her sleep in my arms, moonlight painting silver across her skin. She was beautiful like this—peaceful, unguarded, trusting. It had been so long since someone had trusted me with their vulnerability.

Too long since I had wanted to deserve that trust.

I should wake her. Should tell her who I was, what I was. Should explain why this could not happen again.

Instead, I memorized the curve of her spine, the way her dark hair spread across my pillow like spilled ink. I breathed in her scent and felt something crack open in my chest—something I had thought was permanently sealed.

By the time she woke up, I was gone. My security team had already swept the room, removing every trace of my presence. The hotel staff would claim the suite was empty, had been empty all week.

It was better this way. Safer for her.

But as I watched the security footage of her stumbling through the lobby, looking lost and confused, something twisted in my gut. She looked so small, so fragile, without the fire that had burned so bright between us.

"Delete it all," I told my head of security. "Every frame, every backup. Like it never happened."

"Yes, sir. The woman?"

I stared at the screen as she disappeared into the crowd. "She is nobody. Just a mistake that will not happen again."

As I said the words, I knew I had to let her go. I was a dangerous man, and letting her get close to me was going to be the worst mistake of my life.

But what I did not see coming was how fast everything would spiral. Because the mess I just made was nothing compared to the news waiting for me.

The kind that changes everything.