Six: Predator and Prey 

Six: Predator and Prey 

Cecilia POV

Treyvan was never good with silence. Always had to have some kind of noise, even if it was his own voice. I smiled as he cleared his throat, the sound dramatic enough to cut through the clinking of silverware. I knew he was about to start some mischief.

"You know, the highlight of the night wasn't the auction or the open bar. It was you. You were working that room like a pro, Cici. 'The Gala Princess' in the flesh."

"Oh no," I groaned, dropping my fork. "Here we go."

He stood up, ignoring Dad’s warning look, and proceeded to perform a caricature of me. It was equal parts flattering and humiliating. He did an exaggerated curtsy, flapping his hand in a mockery of my royal wave.

"‘Oh, hello, wealthy donor! Would you like to save a child today?’" Trey trilled, pitching his voice high. Then he dropped the persona to grin at me. "I swear, Cici, you were channeling straight-up siren energy. Luring them in with that smile and seducing their wallets. It was vicious. Like, 'I'm sweet, but I will ruin you if you don't donate.' It was terrifying.”

"Trey, how could you say that!" I laughed, punching his arm as he sat back down. "I was not trilling. I was just being polite."

"You were majestic," he corrected, dodging my swing easily. "Honestly, I think I should be worried. You might stage a coup and take over the family business. You certainly run a table better than Dad does."

I rolled my eyes, but warmth bloomed in my chest. I knew my way around a poker table and cards, but I also had a perfect GPA, so management and organization were my forte. It felt good to laugh, to let the residual tension of the gala bleed out into the open air.

"Please. The only thing I’m running is the literacy program. If you guys let me."

"I think that’s a brilliant idea, Cici," Dad said, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. "Literacy, tutoring... it fits you."

"See? Pops agrees. You're practically a saint." Treyvan took a swig of his water, his eyes glinting with a sudden, mischievous spark. "But let's be real. The highlight wasn't the speech. It was the dance."

The air at the table shifted infinitesimally. I stiffened, focusing very hard on cutting a piece of chicken.

"I don't know how you stayed put, Dad," Treyvan said, leaning toward Dad. "Cici looked like an angel, pure as driven snow, and Zacian looked like the devil planning exactly how to corrupt her."

Dad’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Zacian knows how to dance, Treyvan. It’s a requirement of his pedigree."

"It's not the dancing I'm talking about. It was the vibe," Trey insisted. "He was looking at her like she was a diamond he was about to pocket. Bet he wanted to auction you off next, Cici. 'Lot number two: The crown jewel of the night. Starting bid: one private jet.'"

I choked on a piece of potato, coughing as I reached for my water. "Trey, stop it. It was one dance."

"Just a dance, my ass. Your face during that twirl? Priceless," he continued, grinning. "You looked like a rabbit who realized the wolf wasn't going to eat her, but wanted to keep her as a pet."

"That is the worst analogy you have ever made," I said, wiping my mouth. But my pulse was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. He wasn't wrong, though. The memory of the dance washed over me unbidden—the heat of Zacian’s hand at the small of my back, the way his breath had ghosted against my ear when he leaned in. I squeezed my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, trying to banish the image of his deep, stormy eyes. They were eyes that held secrets, dark and dangerous, looking at me like he was dissecting my every defense.

Naive. That’s what Trey had called me once, in a rare serious moment when I’d trusted the wrong classmate. Trusting to a fault. Was that why Zacian unnerved me? Because he saw that innocence and wanted to exploit it? Or was it the spark, forbidden and flickering, that made my skin hum every time he stepped near? He was a man carved from shadows and ambition, a dark prince in a tuxedo. And I was the lucky one who had caught his eye.

"I'm just saying," Treyvan added, his voice dropping an octave, "the guy is always playing a game, Cici. He looked at you like he was already five moves ahead."

"He was just being a gentleman," I insisted, though my voice lacked its usual conviction. "I don't know why you guys think anything else. He's practically family."

"A gentleman doesn't look at a woman like that," Dad murmured, his tone grave. "And family doesn't look at you like you are prey."

I looked down at my plate, the appetite draining out of me. They didn't see what I saw. They didn't see the courtesy in his touch, the way he held me not like a possession, but with a reverence that made me feel seen. He didn't look at me like I was prey to be devoured. He looked at me like a woman to be cherished. It made my stomach flip and my heart race in equal measure—a confusing cocktail of fear and excitement.

Dad pushed back from the table then, the scrape of his chair against the hardwood sounding final in the quiet room. "I'm going to retire early for the night, you two," he said, standing up. "It's been a long day and I have an early start tomorrow."

He came around to my side, pulling me into a hug. His embrace was fierce, smelling of sandalwood aftershave and the faint tang of worry that always clung to him lately. "I love you, Cici. Sleep well."

"I love you too, Daddy."

I watched him go, his broad shoulders filling the doorway before he disappeared into the hallway. The room felt quieter instantly, the candles guttering low, casting long shadows that danced like secrets on the walls.

I turned back to Treyvan to find him watching me, that playful mask slipping just a fraction. "You okay, sis? That gala stir up more than bids, huh?"

I nodded, picking at the leftover roll on my plate to hide my flush. "Yeah. Just... thinking about tomorrow. More volunteering at the community center."

Treyvan leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “That’s my Cici. World-changer.”

He reached over and ruffled my hair, his fingers mussing the curls I’d spent an hour perfecting.

“Hey, stop it!” I protested, batting his hand away. “I’m not ten anymore, Trey.”

“You’ll always be the kid with the scraped knees and the big heart to me,” he said, his voice softening. He took a slow sip of his water, his eyes dancing over the rim of the glass. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya, though. If Broody Boss shows up in your dreams, just remember, you’re the one who’s got the power to change the world.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress my smile. “Very funny.”

Despite my words, the kitchen settled into a comfortable, easy silence. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space, and the candle flame between us flickered, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls. It was a peace I hadn't felt in hours, just the two of us lingering in the golden light.

Yet, Zacian’s image kept flashing back into my mind unbidden, invading the quiet. I saw him clearly. Tall, imposing, with styled shaggy black hair that fell just right over his forehead. He wasn't classically handsome like the boys at school. He was rugged, sharp-edged. A forbidden fruit I wasn’t allowed to taste. The memory of his seductive, flirtatious gaze sent shivers down my spine, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. I tried to shake off the thoughts, but they clung to me like a persistent melody, haunting my every move even as I sat there, safe at home.