Page 79 of Reckless Seduction
It’s almost done and soon I won’t have to worry about this any longer.
I draw in a careful breath, but the corset cinched tight around my ribs makes it shallow, restrictive. The drive presses into my skin where it’s hidden, a constant, uncomfortable reminder of what I’m risking just by being here. Every inhale feels stolen. Every second borrowed.
I barely managed to hide it and get the comm in my ear with everything that has been going on today. From the moment the sun was up, Sarah had an army of hairdressers, waxers, and cosmetologists working on every part of my body until it was time to finally leave on Drew’s right arm.
With Brittany on the left.
Drew’s hand settles on my thigh, warm and possessive, his thumb brushing once in a gesture that might look affectionate to anyone watching but feels like ownership.
“Smile,” he murmurs, his attention already drifting toward the doors.
I do.
Because I know how.
Because I’ve been trained to.
The door opens before the car has fully settled, and cool night air rushes in, carrying the low hum of conversation, the distant swell of music, and something else beneath it—something heavier, harder to name.
Drew steps out first, adjusting his cufflinks with practiced ease before turning back and offering me his hand. Brittany slips out on his other side, already lifting her chin, already basking in the attention like she was made for it.
I take his hand.
Let him help me out.
Let him guide me up the steps like I belong exactly where he’s placed me.
The marble is smooth beneath my heels, the lights too bright, the smiles too sharp. It feels like stepping onto a stage where everyone already knows their lines, and I’m the only one still pretending I don’t.
“Stay close,” Drew says quietly, his fingers tightening around mine for just a fraction of a second before easing again.
I nod, soft and agreeable, playing the part expected of me as we cross the threshold into the gala.
Inside, the air is thick with perfume and champagne, with wealth that hangs heavy in every corner. Crystal chandeliers cast warm, golden light over the room, making everything shimmer—glasses, jewelry, the polished floors beneath our feet.
It would be beautiful.
If I didn’t know what it really was.
If I didn’t feel the undercurrent threading through it all.
Eyes follow us as we move deeper into the room, some curious, some calculating, some already dismissive. Drew greets a man with a firm handshake, his posture shifting seamlessly into charm, while Brittany leans into him like she belongs there, her laugh bright and practiced.
I stay quiet, observant, letting my gaze drift.
Cataloging.
Measuring.
There’s security here, but it isn’t obvious. No uniforms. No obvious barriers. Just men positioned carefully throughout the space, blending in among the guests, their attention sharp despite their relaxed appearances.
One of them shifts near the far wall, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve.
And that’s when I see it.
A sliver of ink peeks out beneath the fabric, stark against his skin.
Black.
