Page 114 of Corrupt

Henry took another sip, eyes drifting to a group of consultants laughing too loudly near the centre of the room. “I forget sometimes how… polished this world is.” He tutted. “When you’ve spent twenty hours in A&E, this all feels rather… theatrical.”

“Give it time.” I bumped my shoulder to his. “You’ll start spotting the cracks.”

“I already do.”

Then he stilled, gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder, expression shifting before he could catch it. Softening. Tightening.

I followed his line of sight.

Zara.

She looked effortless, as she always did. Deep green gown, hair swept back from her face, posture straight with the confidence of someone who belonged in rooms like this for reasons beyond invitation. Flanked by two people I didn’t recognise, staffers maybe, her attention scanned the space, alert and engaged.

Henry shifted on his feet.

I glanced back at him, caught the moment before he masked it.

“You miss her,” I said quietly.

He didn’t look at me. “Some things don’t stop because they’re inconvenient.”

I knew that feeling far too well.

Henry lifted his glass to his lips. “God, she is simply stunning, isn’t she?”

“She does look rather radiant tonight, yes.”

“How profoundly irritating.”

I let out a ghost of a smile before Zara caught sight of us watching her. Henry looked away immediately. I held up my glass. And her expression warmed as she crossed the room. Henry straightened instinctively, smoothing down the front of his jacket. And watching him, watching the care he took not to reach for what he wanted, an echo settled low in my chest.

Some lives ran in straight, elegant lines.

Others curved sharply away, no matter how badly you wanted them to intersect.

“Tristan.” Zara greeted me with two light air kisses. “You look very Inner Temple this evening.”

“High praise,” I said. “Congratulations. It’s a beautiful turnout.”

“Thank you.” Her smile softened, then she turned politely to Henry. “Hen.”

“Zara.” He dipped his head, then immediately stepped back. “Excuse me, I just need to… find someone.”

We watched him disappear into a cluster of tuxedos.

Zara exhaled. “He still loves me.”

“He does,” I said. “Deeply.”

She snorted. “He dumped me by text, Tris.”

“I didn’t say he was emotionally competent.”

That got a real laugh out of her. She slid closer, shoulder to shoulder with me, the way she always had, conspiratorial as ever.

“So,” she leant in, “I hear you’ve been acquainting yourself, rather strategically, with Lord Wolfe.”

She gestured with her champagne flute towards the far side of the room, where Wolfe stood in animated conversation with two KCs and a man I recognised from Westminster.