Chapter 10

“Why does he always carry a gun?” I asked, gesturing toward the bodyguard in the front.

The limousine pulled away from the curb. The engine purred, swallowing the rumble of my street, the distant wail of a siren, and the drunk shouting three blocks over. I sat rigid in the soft leather, my scarlet dress gripping every curve. My thighs stuck to the seat as the city lights melted past the tinted windows in streaks of amber and white. Heath stared out his side, jaw tight enough to crack, one gloved hand motionless on his knee. Behind the blacked-out partition, the bodyguard drove in complete silence. When the partition lowered for a moment, I caught sight of the gun holstered against his ribs.

The minutes stretched. The silence pressed against my ribs, growing thicker and hotter. I could hear myself breathing. He could too.

“Why does he always carry a gun?” I asked again.

Heath didn’t answer right away. He kept his face turned to the passing streets, the muscle in his jaw ticking. His hesitation dragged on until I thought he might ignore me completely.

“Some businesses,” he said at last, voice low and flat, “you don’t run without getting your hands dirty.”

I waited for him to explain. He didn’t.

He reached into a compartment and held out a sleek blonde wig and a small case of contact lenses. “Put these on.”

I stared at them. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am.”

“I spent an hour getting ready. This dress, the hair—” My voice rose. “I’m not covering it all up with a wig and some contacts.”

“Put them on. It’s to keep you safe.”

The flat command made my temper flare. “To keep me safe? I’m tired of that nonsense, Heath. I’m not your daughter. I’m not a child. I’m not the sixteen-year-old girl you used to protect. I got in this car because I want answers, and you are going to give them to me.”

He exhaled slowly, then turned to face me fully. The hazel-green of his eyes looked darker in the low light. “Tonight, you have to be invisible, Kattie. If they know who you really are, they will use you. If they can identify you once you leave that house, they will remember you. Tonight, your name is Mia. That…” he said, pointing to the wig and contacts, “protects you.”

The words landed like stones. I studied his face and felt the fight drain out of me just enough to ask, “Where are we going?”

“Enemy territory,” he said simply. “We’re going to examine the gameplay. You will observe. Check for anything off, anything that stands out.”

“I’ve never been to this circle before. How on earth do you expect me to know what’s off?”

“Trust me. You’ll know.”

His hand twitched against his thigh. “I’ll be focused on one special person in particular.” His face turned grim for a second before smoothing again. He leaned closer, our gazes locking in the intimate space of the car. “We’re almost there. I’m serious, Kattie. Be careful.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. The air felt thinner. “You’re the one giving orders back there. The bodyguard answers to you. So why am I the one who needs to be careful?” I hated how my voice softened. “Why bring someone you’ve only been working with for three days?”

He didn’t pull back. “You may have only been working for three days, Katherine, but we’ve known each other for years.” A faint tug at the corner of his mouth. “Plus… you won’t betray me.”

I scoffed, trying to ignore the way my pulse jumped. “You’re not sure of that.”

“I am.”

Thick silence stretched between us. We stared at each other, the space shrinking. He shifted nearer. For a heartbeat I thought he was going to kiss me—my breath caught, lips parting. Instead, his mouth brushed close to my neck. I felt the warmth of him, the faint graze of teeth near the strap of my dress. Heat flooded my face.

He pulled back, holding up a single loose thread between gloved fingers. “You had a loose thread.” He let it fall to the floor.

I faced forward quickly, my cheeks burning, feeling stupid for falling for him again. The tension still crackled along my skin as the car continued in silence.

~*~

The manor emerged through tall iron gates: an elegant sprawl of stone and glass glowing under bright green landscape lighting. Gravel crunched under our tires as we rolled up the drive. Teast lawns rolled out on either side, perfectly manicured, with discreet sculptures catching the light at precise intervals. The building itself screamed old money. Tall windows glowed warm amber from within. Inside those walls, I knew deals that shifted borders had been sealed.

We stopped at the grand entrance. The bodyguard pulled away to park as a butler opened the door. Heath stepped out first and offered his hand. I took it, the contact sending another unwelcome shiver through my body. Inside, a staff member relieved us of our outer layers, though Heath kept his gloves.

Stepping into the main hall, the sound hit first: clinking crystal, the thrum of a string quartet from somewhere above, and then silence as all eyes turned toward us—mostly toward Heath.

The man nearest the door looked up, recognized him, and forgot to finish his sentence. The woman next to him turned to see what had stolen his attention. Her champagne glass paused mid-air.

That pause rippled outward like a dropped stone in still water. Within three seconds, the only sounds were the string quartet overhead and the soft crush of Heath’s shoes on the marble floor.

No one spoke. No one needed to. Every person in that room had just calculated whether they owed him money, or he owed them a favor, and which of those outcomes was more dangerous.

I recognized faces as we moved through the crowd. President Elias Harrington stood near a marble fireplace with Governor Magnus Langford. The Mayor of London, Cecilia Grant, gestured animatedly nearby. Their combined net worth had to climb into the hundreds of billions.

Heath nudged me lightly. “Mia,” he murmured. “Keep your eyes open.”

I blinked, then caught myself. “Right. I’m Mia. Got it. Focus… No problem.”

We moved into the main ballroom where the evening had already spilled into dancing. The music pulsed with modern beats layered under live instrumentation. Men in tailored suits led women in glittering gowns across the floor. I danced with a few partners who appeared at Heath’s subtle direction, smiling through small talk while my eyes scanned constantly. Most were decent dancers.

One partner, a cheerful banker type, grinned as he steered me. “Enjoying the night?”

“Oh yes, of course,” I replied with a bright smile that hid every curse running through my head.

Curse you and your small talk. I have bigger things to deal with.

I kept searching the room for anything that seemed off. Heath stayed close, his gaze cutting through clusters of guests. I caught glimpses of him watching me too, hunger flickering beneath the control whenever our eyes met.

The dancing continued, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air, until a sudden clatter near the grand entrance cut through the noise. In the middle of the commotion, a man entered.

He looked around Heath’s age but at least five years harder. His rugged features were sharpened by a scar that ran along his jaw and another faint one near his temple. The expensive suit he wore fit his powerful frame perfectly, yet it couldn’t hide the way he moved—like a predator among prey.

Everyone stared. Heath’s finger twitched faster at his side. His jaw clenched hard enough that I saw the muscle jump.

I leaned closer. “Who is he?”

Heath’s jaw tightened. “That… That’s Thorne Blackwood.”