Chapter Two

"Cillian Vane?" I muttered under my breath, trying to recall where I had met him, or seen him. He is like a ghost in my head or maybe he's one of the quiet billionaires of Hollywood who pulled strings around the corner to help other billionaires climb power in the shadows and never noticed. 

But why was he here? And why was he dancing with me as if he knew the exact cadence of my pulse?

I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d snagged a St. Claire. "I'm Sarah," I lied, the name slipping out with the practiced ease of an actress who’d played a thousand roles.

"Sarah?" He rolled the name around, tasting it. His hands arched higher on my waist, the heat of his palms seeping through the Da Vinci silk. "That's a good name. Honest. And you dance well, Sarah. Are you from a rich and influential home?"

"You could say that," I replied, my voice steady despite the way my heart was beginning to trip. "I’m from a wealthy home."

"I can tell," he murmured, his voice a low vibration against my ear. "From the softness of your hands, the elegant line of your back, and the way you think before you speak. You guard every word like a treasure."

"Am I doing that?" I asked, a spark of genuine curiosity flickering through my irritation. I tried to peer behind the dark edge of his mask. I could see the piercing clarity of his gray eyes and the sharp, cruel curve of his lips. The scent of a high-end cigar lingered on him, mixing with the metallic tang of the club’s air.

"You are. Even now, you’re calculating. You’re trying to decipher the man behind the mask who dared to approach you, let alone hold you."

"Shouldn't I wonder about that?"

"Well, you should. I simply felt you had been abandoned by some loose guy who preferred his friends to his company. I decided to step in and keep you busy."

"I wasn't abandoned, nor is he 'loose,'" I snapped, my eyes darting toward Jaxson. He was in the thick of his teammates now, laughing with a jagged, desperate energy that made my stomach turn. "He’s happier now that he’s found his friends... I can’t make him that happy, can I?"

His face followed mine, forcing me to look at him. "If you can’t make him that happy, why are you in a relationship with him?"

The question hit me like an indictment. It was the same poisonous thought I’d been drowning in for months, but hearing it from a stranger in a dark club made it feel like a sentence.

"Love isn't always about being the sole source of someone's joy," I countered, my voice tight with a sudden, sharp sting of defensiveness. "Sometimes it’s about being the person they come back to when the noise stops. Besides, what do you know about my relationship?"

"I know that your hands are trembling against my chest," Cillian whispered, leaning in so close I could feel the heat of him. "Tell me, Sarah... don't you think sometimes you just can’t reach him?"

I snorted at his audacity. The nerve of this man, standing in a den of vice, dissecting my life as if it were a script. I stopped dancing abruptly, pushing against his chest to create space. "I think the dance is over now. Thank you, Mr. Vane."

"My pleasure," he said, stepping back with a slight, mocking bow. He walked away with a terrifyingly calm gait, as if he hadn't just tried to dismantle my soul. I scoffed, watching him go. I knew his type, the vultures who circled the cracks in people's lives.

I turned and pushed through the crowd toward Jaxson. I needed to leave. I needed the quiet of the penthouse. I needed to forget the gray eyes of Cillian Vane.

"We need to leave," I whispered into Jaxson’s ear, reaching for his arm. He didn't move. He just gripped my waist, his fingers digging into the silk with a bruising pressure.

"Let's stay a while longer," he muttered, his breath smelling of expensive bourbon.

"I don't want to stay. It’s late, Jax, and I have

..."

"That's what you do all the time!" He suddenly screamed, the sound tearing through the music. I froze, my mouth hanging open in shock. The people around us started to turn, their masked faces unreadable but their curiosity palpable. "You always leave! You don't even care about my opinion or how I feel! You just act out in whatever way pleases you!"

"Jaxson, lower your voice. Everyone is looking," I hissed, the heat of embarrassment crawling up my neck.

"And now you're going to announce to everyone here that Jaxson is in The Velvet Sin?" he roared, his voice thick with a cruel, drunken edge. "Is that why you called my name? To remind everyone who I am despite the mask I’m wearing to cover it?"

The ache in my chest turned into a sharp, physical pain. I looked around, desperate for an exit, and my eyes collided with Cillian Vane. He was standing at the mahogany bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, watching us with the detached interest of a man watching a building burn. He didn't look surprised. He looked like he was waiting for the final collapse.

"If you want to leave, GO!" Jaxson pointed a shaky finger toward the door. "That's the exit."

"Hey, quit talking to her like that," Caleb, one of the Stars' power forwards, stepped in, placing a steadying hand on Jaxson's shoulder.

"I’ll talk how I want! She’s ungrateful, Caleb. She acts like she cares, but she just enjoys the fame that comes with being on my arm."

"What do you mean by that?" My voice rang out, no longer a whisper. "Sometimes, when you talk, I’m so lost I don't even know who you are. What do you mean? I even left something important just to be with you."

"I mean what I mean! Okay?" He staggered, nearly belching in my face. The golden boy was gone; in his place was a bitter, broken man I didn't recognize.

"Take him home, Val. He’s gone," Caleb sighed, easing Jaxson’s weight onto me.

I was furious, seething with a rage that made my vision blur, and yet, I couldn't leave him. Not like this. Not in a place like this. I bit my lower lip, forcing us through the sea of bodies. As we neared the exit, a figure stepped out from the shadows near the bar.

Cillian Vane didn't say a word. He reached out, caught my hand for a brief, electric second, and pressed a heavy, embossed card into my palm. He squeezed my fingers shut over it, his gray eyes locking onto mine with a terrifying intensity.

"Call me when you feel lonely, Sarah," he murmured.