Chapter 107
Chapter 107
Chapter 107
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I’m standing in front of the mirror, smoothing down the black dress I borrowed from Tessa’s closet, and wondering if I’m dressed appropriately for selling my soul to rich people.
The dress is simple but elegant–nothing too flashy, nothing that screams “broke artist desperate for money. Just clean lines, subtle sophistication, the kind of outfit that says “I’m a professional creative, not someone who eats ramen four nights a week p>
Even though I absolutely cat ramen four nights a week.
“Mama, you look pretty p>
I turn to find Aedion sitting on the couch, his little legs swinging, watching me with those impossibly familiar amber–gold eyes.
Alaric’s eyes.
“Yeah?” I do a little spin, trying to shake off the sudden tightness in my chest. “You think so p>
“The prettiest!” He beams at me, and god, even his smile is Alaric’s–confident, bright, absolutely devastating.
I cross the room and kneel in front of him, cupping his small face in my hands. “I love you, baby. You know that? ”
“I love you too, Mama p>
But as I stare into his eyes–those eyes that are so not mine–all I can see is him.
Alaric.
Standing in sunlight in that art studio, looking at me like I was the answer to every question he’d ever had.
Alaric, kissing me goodbye before leaving for war, completely unaware it would be the last time.
Alaric, who probably spent weeks searching for my body, grieving a death that never happened.
I blink hard, forcing the memories back down where they belong.
Buried. Hidden. Forgotten.
“Mama okay?” Aedion tilts his head, concerned in that way three–year–olds somehow manage to be incredibly perceptive.
“Yeah, baby. Mama’s perfect. ” I kiss his forehead and stand just as the front door opens.
Tessa walks in, still in her police uniform, looking exhausted but alert in that way cops always do–like she’s constantly scanning for threats even in her own apartment.
“Damn, girl.” She whistles, looking me up and down. “Where are you going? Hot date p>
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Chapter 107
“Client meeting p>
Hovencher t
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Client meeting? You? The artist who’s been anonymous for three years specifically to avoid client meetings p>
“This one’s different.” I grab my bag, checking that I have everything–phone, wallet, business cards with my fake name. “The buyer is offering six figures for a commission p>
“Six figures?” Tessa’s cop face immediately shifts into protective–friend face. “Sorin, that sounds p>
“I know. Suspicious. Potentially dangerous. All the red flags.” I hold up a hand before she can launch into full lecture mode. “But Julian will be there. And it’s a public place. An upscale restaurant in Manhattan p>
“Julian?” Tessa snorts. “That gay–ass man couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag p>
I laugh despite myself. “Rude. But accurate p>
“I’m serious.” She moves closer, her expression shifting into full cop mode now. “If anything feels off–and I mean anything–you leave. Immediately. Don’t worry about being polite, don’t worry about the money. You just get the fuck out. Understood p>
“Yes, Officer.” I give her a mock salute.
“Sorin p>
“I know. I’ll be careful. I promise.” I hug her quickly. “Besides, what are the chances this is anything other than some eccentric rich person who likes my art p>
“Famous last words,” Tessa mutters.
I kiss Aedion goodbye one more time, ignoring the way my heart twists at leaving him, and head out into the New York night.
The address Julian sent me is in Midtown–because of course it is—at a hotel–restaurant that probably costs more per plate than I make in a month.
The Sterling.
Even the name sounds expensive.
I climb out of the taxi, staring up at the gleaming glass and steel monstrosity, and immediately feel underdressed despite Tessa’s dress.
The lobby is all marble and gold accents, with servers in crisp uniforms moving through the space like they’re performing choreographed ballet.
I head toward the elevators, following Julian’s instructions to go to the third floor, when a server literally looks me up and down with an expression that clearly says are you lost?
Yeah, I’m lost. Lost in a world where people pay $50 for a fucking salad.
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Chapter 107
I ignore him and keep walking.
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The third floor is even worse–more exclusive, more polished, more aggressively wealthy. The hostess stand is manned by a woman who looks like she was genetically engineered to make people feel inferior.
“Good evening.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Do you have a reservation p>
“I’m meeting someone. Julian Reyes? He should have p>
“Name p>
“Sorin Clarke p>
She taps at her tablet, frowning. “I don’t see you on the list p>
Of course you don’t.
“Can you just… call Julian? He’s expecting me p>
“I’m afraid I can’t allow anyone upstairs without proper p>
My phone rings. Julian.
“Thank god.” I answer immediately. “Julian, I’m downstairs, and apparently I need an invitation written in blood and signed by the Pope to get up there p>
“What? No, you’re on the list! I added you myself!” He sounds genuinely confused. “Hold on, I’m coming down p>
Two minutes later, Julian appears at the top of the stairs, looking fabulous in a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
“There you are!” He sweeps down and links his arm through mine. “Sorin Clarke, guest of Julian Reyes and tonight’s esteemed client. She’s absolutely on the list p>
The hostess’s expression doesn’t change, but she steps aside with a tight smile. “Of course. My apologies p>
Sure. Apologies. Fuck you too, lady.
Julian guides me upstairs, and I can feel eyes tracking us—servers, guests, people who all seem to be silently judging whether I belong in their stratosphere of wealth.
“Ignore them,” Julian murmurs. “They’re all just jealous of your talent p>
“Or my lack of a trust fund p>
“Potato, potahto p>
We reach a private dining area, and Julian gestures to a table set for three, complete with wine glasses that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
M
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Chapter 107
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“He should be here any minute,” Julian says, glancing at his watch. “He texted me twenty minutes ago saying he was on his way p>
“Great.” I sit down, trying to look relaxed and professional instead of deeply uncomfortable.
Twenty minutes turns into thirty.
Thirty turns into forty.
And with each passing minute, my irritation grows.
“Where the fuck is this guy?” I mutter, checking my phone for the millionth time.
“I’m sure he’s just caught in traffic p>
“Julian, it’s been almost an hour.” I stand abruptly, my patience officially exhausted. “This is ridiculous. I have a kid at home, and I’m sitting here waiting for some mysterious rich asshole who apparently thinks my time is worthless p>
I turn sharply, planning to storm out with what little dignity I have left, and slam directly into a server carrying a tray of champagne glasses.
Everything happens in slow motion.
The tray tilts.
Glasses fly.
Crystal shatters against marble with a sound like a fucking symphony of my life falling apart.
“Oh my god.” I drop to my knees immediately, hands already reaching for the broken glass. “I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry p>
“It’s fine, it’s fine!” The server–a young woman who looks about as thrilled as I feel–kneels beside me, her customer service smile strained to breaking. “Please don’t touch the glass, you’ll cut yourself p>
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking p>
“It’s really okay p>
“No, it’s not, let me help p>
I reach for a larger piece of glass, and of course, because the universe hates me, I slice my palm open.
“Shit p>
“Oh no p>
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave p>
I look up to find a manager–or at least someone wearing a suit that screams manager–standing over us with
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Chapter 107
an expression of barely concealed disgust.
“I’m sorry, what p>
“This is a private establishment. We can’t have-
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“I’m here to meet a client.” I’m still on the floor, bleeding, surrounded by broken glass and shattered dignity. “I have every right to be here p>
“Nevertheless, I must insist p>
“It’s fine. She’s with me p>
The voice comes from behind me–male, familiar in a way that makes my entire body go rigid.
I turn slowly, still on my knees in a puddle of champagne and broken dreams, and look up.
And up.
And up.
Into the face of someone I never expected to see again.
No.
No no no no no-
“Wade p>
His eyes widen. “Sorin p>
We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, the restaurant noise fading into white static.
Wade.
My ex–mate. The wolf I left three years before I left Alaric. The man who chose his pack over our bond and married Ariel like I never existed.
Wade, who apparently just became my mysterious wealthy client.
What the actual fuck?
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