The drink

The estate was never noisier than on party nights. The marble foyer shone beneath chandeliers, laughter and the clinking of glasses hanging in the air like a steady hum. Servants moved quietly efficiently, their black-and-white uniforms blurring into the sparkling crowd.

Maya threaded the room with a tray of champagne flutes, attempting not to gawk at the guests for longer than necessary. The women shone in gowns that cost more than she earned in a year, diamonds winking in the light. The men smelled of power, measured in tailored suits, cigars, and the easy arrogance of people who had more than they could count.

Lucien was at the center of it all. Dark suit, white shirt, no tie. The kind of presence that attracted eyes without effort. He smiled occasionally, but it never quite reached his eyes. Even from across the room, Maya could feel it, that contained stillness beneath his charm.

And then there was Georgia. Red silk, provocative neckline, hair twisted in strategic waves. She wafted to his side like smoke curling around a flame, her hand resting on his arm as if she'd been invited to stay there forever.

From the periphery, Maya caught the faint tightening of Georgia's eyes, the silent acknowledgment of her presence before the woman's head dipped to whisper something to Lucien. He didn't react, but Maya's stomach churned anyway.

It was the way Georgia's lips smiled afterward, slow and certain, that unnerved Maya. It wasn't a party. It was a stage. And Georgia was setting the scene.

The party's hum thickened, underscored by music and the intermittent pop of champagne corks. Maya threaded her way through the crowd once more, an empty tray this time balanced in her direction back to the bar. Her head was down, yet her ears remained attuned to every cadence of Lucien's voice.

He was standing over by the grand piano now, with a half-full glass of whiskey in his hand. Georgia had made her way to the bar in front of her, slowly, her smile brief and honey-sweet for the bartender.

"Lucien's usual," Georgia said, her voice authoritative but relaxed.

The bartender nodded, pouring amber liquor over ice. Georgia's hand arced gracefully toward her clutch, and in one smooth motion, so practiced it was almost a piece of jewelry, something small and transparent dropped from her fingers into the glass.

Maya's breath hitched.

The bartender did not notice. He slid the drink over to her, and Georgia took it, swirling the contents as though admiring the color alone. She went back to Lucien, her hips undulating in that slow rhythm.

When she reached him, she traded his nearly full glass for the new one, her fingers brushing against his. "Something stronger for you," she murmured.

Lucien unsuspectingly picked it up, taking a slow sip. Georgia's smile increased, not warm, but satisfied.

Maya hastily looked away, pretending to busy herself with her tray. Her heart racing in her ears.

Whatever had just happened, she knew, deep in her bones, that it was meant to change something. And that something wouldn't be good.

Everything seemed the same at first. Lucien was still speaking with a man in a suit, his stance as casual as always, one hand in his pocket, the other raising the glass to his lips from time to time.

Maya moved through the guests, offering champagne flutes she wasn't sure anyone especially wanted, her eyes drifting back to him. It was subtle, the change, too subtle for anyone but her to notice. But she'd made it a point to pay attention to people.

His eyes had grown heavier. Slower. As if every glance lingered a beat too long. His jaw was tight, his breathing slightly deeper. He unbuttoned the button on his jacket, something he never did in public without a reason.

Georgia, of course, also took note. She stayed near, laughing softly at some comment he made, her hand brushing his arm now and again. But Maya detected the glint in her eyes, she wasn't trying to enjoy herself with him tonight. She was watching. Sizing. Waiting.

Lucien's hands gripped the edge of the grand piano as though anchoring himself. The air around him seemed charged, the way it is before a storm.

Maya's stomach clenched. Whatever the drug was, it was kicking in. She could almost feel it through him, the way his movements lost their controlled guardedness.

Then his eyes found hers across the room.

And didn't let go.

The rest of the guests faded into the background, the music retreating beneath the sudden weight of his regard. Her pulse spiked.

Something dangerous had just shifted between them.

Maya turned away, pretending to be busy with the champagne tray, but she could still feel him, his eyes a heat in her back.

When she managed to glance again, Lucien had moved closer, making his way through the partygoers slowly but cutting a direct path towards her. His usual suave assurance was there, but underlying it… something raw was stirring.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, voice pitched low enough that it wrapped around her like velvet and steel.

“I’m working,” she replied, her tone steady even as her fingers tightened on the tray.

“Mm.” His eyes flicked over her face, then lower, lingering in a way that made her stomach tighten. “And after?”

The question wasn’t casual, it landed with the weight of intent.

She had no opportunity to respond before Georgia appeared at his side, threading her arm through his. "Lucien," she purred, "you're needed for a meeting on the Monaco deal."

His jaw tightened. For a moment, Maya thought he would refuse, but he allowed Georgia to draw him away. However, he kept his eyes on her, even when the throng surged between them.

Her breath came quicker now. Whatever Georgia had slipped into his drink, it wasn't just kicking in. It was building.

And Maya had no question about the way his attention burned. If the night continued like this, she wasn't sure either of them would be able to stop where it would lead.