Page 103 of Arrow

Atlas held the door open, his gaze heavy as I passed. “For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “you’re handling this better than most would.”

“Is that a compliment or a warning?” I asked.

He smiled. “Both.”

When I reentered the ballroom, Arrow was in the center of a group of men, all leaning in to catch his words. His eyes found mine immediately, as if he’d been tracking my absence with some internal radar. Without breaking his conversation, he extended his hand toward me, drawing me back into his orbit without a word. Sliding into place beside him, my body moved on instinct while my mind screamed in protest.

Arrow led me through the rest of the night like an auctioneer showing off a war trophy. We moved from circle to circle, every handshake another contract, every air kiss a sign of alliance or threat.

The bruises on my throat didn’t embarrass me. I belonged to the Romanovs now, and the necklace made it official. I stopped trying to hide either of them, stopped pretending the Virelli name meant anything anymore. I squared my shoulders and met them, trading the Virelli smile for the Romanov ice in my veins.

The hours blurred, and I lost track of who promised what to whom. At one point, I caught my father watching from across the ballroom, his glass raised in an invisible salute, his lips wet with the satisfaction of a plan accreting momentum. Even from fifty feet and three bodyguards away, I could smell the danger emanating from him. The old man would never accept peace, not really. Maybe Arrow understood it too, which is why his hand at my lower back never wavered.

He palmed the small of my back and nudged me to circulate.

The crowd grew more dense as the night poured itself out. A senator’s daughter circled us. She was beautiful in that polished, dangerous way that came from years of knowing exactly how to use her face. She had money and connections, and she wanted to know if Arrow’s engagement to me meant anything for her next campaign.

A financier drifted past, his suit expensive but worn, his cologne trying too hard to cover the smell of desperation. He’d lost most of his money and was fishing for a way back in. Then there was the woman who’d shown up at my mother’s funeral years ago. She greeted me like we were old friends, like she hadn’t spent the last decade pretending I didn’t exist. Now that I was engaged to Arrow, I was suddenly worth her time.

They all wanted something. They all thought they could use us.

Somewhere, hours in, Arrow let his hold on my arm drift to my hip, then to my hand, and I realized the cameras loved him most when he leashed the pretty, bloodied thing to his side, pressed a thumb into the hollow there, marking, always, always.

Together, we wove through the bouquet of power and decline, stopping only when a glassy-eyed debutante in a slip dress tottered up to me, drunk or maybe high, gripping my forearm with damp fingers.

“You’re Harlowe, right? We went to Marymont together. You set fire to the nuns’ bathroom?” She giggled, eyes wild and wet, then clapped a hand to her mouth. “Is it true what they say about him?”

She jerked her head at Arrow, who was doing that thing where he stood completely still and somehow dominated the room anyway.

“What do they say about him?”

The girl’s eyes sizzled. “That he gets off on bringing girls to heel. That the Beacon had to replace every mattress on his floor because they came back . . . ruined.” She hiccupped, grinning like she’d told a joke only she understood.

Arrow cocked an eye at me, as if daring a rebuttal.

“You shopping, or just researching?” I asked.

The girl grinned, her eyes barely open. “Depends. You trading?” She swayed closer. “Because I’d let him ruin me, for science.”

She staggered away before I could answer, stumbling into an old family fixer.

“Making friends?” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear.

“Just catching up on your reputation,” I countered, matching his casual tone despite the tension radiating between us. “Apparently, you’ve ruined quite a few mattresses at the Beacon. Quite the endorsement.”

“You worried?” he teased, before laughing. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“Oh? So it’s not true?”

Arrow’s eyes met mine. “I never said that.”

“How many of the women here tonight have you fucked?”

“Jealous already, Virelli?”

“Concerned for public health,” I shot back. “The STD rate must spike whenever you enter a room.”

He laughed, the sound genuine enough to make heads turn. “Always so sharp.” His fingers traced the edge of my jaw. “I wonder if you’ll ever dull.”