Page 98 of Arrow

“Nice to meet you, Harlowe. Of all the girls clinging to Arrow’s arm, none have been as pretty as you, and a Virelli at that,” he teased.

“Arrow seems to have a kink for the impossible,” I countered.

My voice came out reedy, but the effect landed solid. Both men barked out a laugh. Arrow grabbed a canapé from a passing server and devoured it in three bites, as if it personally offended him, which only made Atlas and Orion laugh louder.

Orion, more composed, offered me a flute of champagne. “You holding up?”

It was strange—the first note of genuine concern I’d heard all night.

“People keep asking me that,” I replied. “You send a girl through the wringer, and suddenly she’s everyone’s favorite conversation piece.”

Atlas set down his glass, appraising me again—taking in the bruises and the necklace. His expression turned speculative, amused. “I’ll give you even odds on Arrow surviving the honeymoon.”

Orion answered, his smile flickering out before it ever fully began. “I’d take that bet. But you might have to throw in a little hazard bonus.”

“Don’t worry,” Arrow murmured, drawing me closer. “If she kills me, you fuckers will be the first to know.”

Orion nodded and clinked his glass to mine. “To accidents that everyone saw coming.”

“And to the ones nobody survives,” Atlas added, raising his glass. “Which category does Arrow fall into, Harlowe?”

“Still deciding,” I said. “Ask me after the wedding.

Arrow’s grip on my waist tightened fractionally. “She’s optimistic. I like that about her.”

“You like that she hasn’t stabbed you yet,” Orion corrected, his eyes flicking between us.

“The night’s still young,” I said.

Atlas laughed. “I’m starting to understand why he picked you. Most girls would be crying by now. You’re just cataloging exits.”

“I learned from the best,” I replied, tilting my head toward my father across the room. “Never stay at a party where you’re the only hostage.”

Arrow leaned in. “You’re not a hostage.”

“Semantics,” I said, but I didn’t pull away.

Atlas exchanged a look with Orion—the kind that suggested they’d seen this exact dance a hundred times.

Orion lifted his glass again. “To semantics, then. And to whatever the hell this is.”

Watching them drink, I understood the architecture of power. They buried their dead on Monday and hosted galas on Friday. Resilience wasn’t about survival, it was about never, ever stopping. Kill the body, sure. But their appetite? That was immortal. Nobody in this city had figured out how to destroy that.

When Arrow laughed at something Orion said, I couldn’t help but stare. It was a real laugh—unguarded, head tilted back, the kind that eased the careful architecture of his face. For a second, the violence fell away. The weight. The constant calculation. He looked almost human. Almost safe.

It shocked me how beautiful he was like this, stripped down to something raw and uncontrolled. He was just a boy at the world’s weirdest arranged engagement, and I felt something shift in my chest that I immediately wanted to bury.

Then he glanced back at me.

Our eyes locked over the noise of the party, and the air between us went electric. The smile didn’t fade, but something changed in his expression—a predator recognizing its reflection.

Under the warmth, I felt the pulse of menace. A reminder that vulnerability in men like Arrow was just another tactic. Another way to disarm you before the knife went in.

I should have looked away, broken the moment, but I didn’t.

He held my gaze while the room continued around us. Conversations threading over laughter, glasses clinking, the orchestra swelling into a melody that sounded like a funeral march. The intensity of it made my skin prickled. My pulse stuttered.

When he winked and turned his attention to a judge who’d braved the lions’ den for a free meal, it felt like being released from a vise. Arrow’s hand moved from my waist as he engaged the man, leaving me suddenly cold despite the heat of the crowded room.