Page 75 of Cold Mercy

Sophia lets out a breathy, startled laugh and pulls back, shaking her head.

“Ohh, you're good at this, aren't you?” She says with a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She points a warning finger at me as she backs away. “You're a real smartass, Reed. I see exactly what you're doing.”

I lift my hands in mock surrender, a lazy smirk tugging the corners of my mouth as I watch the firelight dance across the beautiful lines of her face.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I'm just enjoying you.”

CHAPTER 15

SOPHIA

I greet Elizabeth with a quick kiss on the cheek, pressing a chilled bottle of champagne into her hands as I cross the threshold into the warmth of their home. The house is already vibrating with the low hum of music and the chatter of James and Elizabeth’s friends, most of them familiar faces from the company.

I move through the room, nodding and exchanging polite smiles, but my eyes are subconsciously scanning the corners, searching for a specific height and a familiar, broad set of shoulders.

He isn't here.

A small, sharp pang of disappointment settles in my chest, and I hate how much it actually stings. I’ve spent the last few days telling myself that it wouldn't matter if he skipped tonight, but now that I'm standing in a room full of people, his absence feels like a physical weight. I feel exposed, almost fragile, without him nearby to catch my eye or offer that grounding smirk. I was so ready to spend the night fighting with him, or just being near him, and now the festive noise feels like a hollow reminder that the one person I truly wanted to see isn't here to share it.

“So, Sophia,” Elizabeth says, catching my arm and handing me a glass. “Any big resolutions for the New Year? Or are we sticking to the usual?”

“My resolution is simple, Liz. Survive. That’s about as ambitious as I can manage right now. But knowing you, I bet you already have a resolution mapped out for every single day of the year.”

Elizabeth lets out a snort, shaking her head with a bright, knowing grin. “Oh no, no, honey. I’m being much more practical this time around. My most important resolution is simply to make it to the altar and, if I’m lucky, not kill James in the process.”

Before I can reply, the doorbell rings, and James shoots me a quick, knowing wink as he heads toward the foyer to answer it. A moment later, Thomas steps into the living room dressed entirely in black, wearing a fitted dress shirt that clings to the hard lines of his shoulders and chest, tucked into dark pants.

My reason arrived.

Of course, he looks offensively handsome and criminally well-dressed in his dark attire, carrying a bottle of champagne as he effortlessly slips back into the impending collision we’ve been circling.

My heart does a traitorous little flip, but I keep my posture rigid, refusing to give him too much. Our eyes meet instantly across the crowded room, the air between us suddenly heavy and still despite the noise. ‘Hi’ I mouth silently, giving him a tiny, hesitant wave with my free hand.

Thomas doesn't move his hand from his pocket, but a slow, quiet smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he holds my gaze. ‘Hi’ he mouths back, his eyes dark and intent.

Almost immediately, one of James's colleagues catches Thomas’s attention, pulling him aside to talk. Thomas turns to listen, nodding slowly, but his gaze remains tethered to mine, his eyes drifting back to me every few seconds as if he is checking to make sure I'm still here.

I don’t look away from him for even a second when James slides into my personal space, leaning down with his face contorted into a mocking, wide-eyed expression as he mimics my wave.

“Hi,” James whispers in a high-pitched, comical imitation of my voice, fluttering his fingers toward me in a ridiculous gesture.

I roll my eyes and give him a firm shove on the shoulder. “Oh, suck it, James.”

James pulls Elizabeth away to mingle with the group, and since Thomas is still cornered by his colleague, I take the opportunity to refill my champagne and retreat to the quiet of the empty living room.

I rarely watch television, but I pick up the remote and flip the power on, the screen flickering to life with the New Year's countdown before it abruptly cuts to a somber news special.

“New Year’s Eve is traditionally a time for reflection, but for New York City, it marks a dark milestone. More than two years since the mysterious death of entrepreneur Noah Mercer.”

As the anchor speaks, a photo of Noah in his signature glasses and a sharp suit fills the screen. A surge of bile rises in my throat, making me feel so physically sick I’m afraid I might actually vomit right here on the carpet. This is the exact reason I keep the television off at home. My knuckles are turning white as I grip the remote and my champagne glass until my hands feel like they might snap under the pressure.

“The underground syndicate known as Aurora is reportedly thriving in the vacuum Mercer left behind. Even today, just hours ago, another body was discovered in a Queens alley, marked with the chilling message ‘For Aurora’ carved into the chest. The people of this city are demanding answers and a sense of safety that the NYPD has yet to provide.”

The presenter delivers the final line with a thick layer of intentional sarcasm, his mouth twisting as if the mystery is a game he’s tired of playing along with. And maybe he’s right, because the answer feels close enough to touch. It’s almost impressive how they can loop these reports for years without ever breathing the name Sterling.

Everyone in this city knows who he is, knows where the real power lies, and yet the press and the police treat him like he’s a ghost.

God, it’s so predictable. It’s a lot safer to pick apart a corpse that can’t talk back than it is to even whisper Sterling’s name.