“You’re not my fucking shitty father. And you’re no fun at all.”
She spins on her heel to stomp off toward another table, leaving the bill behind. But the second she lets go of my table, her balance gives out—and she falls back.
Instinct kicks in. I reach forward and catch her just before she hits the ground, my arm sliding behind her back. She throws her head back, eyes wide as she stares up at me, stunned.
“T-Thank you,” she breathes, not moving, not even trying to stand. Just... frozen. Her brown eyes locked on mine.
“That’s a weird place for a tattoo,” she murmurs, gaze drifting up to my forehead.
Too drunk.Waytoo drunk.
“That’s it. I’m calling a taxi.”
I lift her and ease her into the chair across from mine.
“I’m. Not. Goin—”
“Diana!”
A voice cuts through the music.
We both turn. A woman is pushing through the crowd, zeroing in on us.
Shit. Too loud. Too much attention.
I flick my gaze toward Kayla’s table. Good. She’s still there.
Eyes only for that asshole.
Smile now, seaslug. It’s your last night.
“You made me so worried!” the woman says as she reaches us, crouching down to Diana’s level. “Who let you drink here?!”
“I’m fine, Ror. What areyoudoing here?” Diana crosses her arms like a sulking kid.
“Tatiana called me the second she saw you weren’t at her room earlier! What were you thinking coming here alone?!” Her voice rises, frustration spilling over as she grips Diana’s shoulders. “Youknowhow dangerous it is!”
“Apparently, she doesn’t.” My words cut flat between them, slicing through their family drama.
Now that they’re side by side, I see the resemblance. ButRor—taller, sharper, curves poured into a dress that demands attention—leans over Diana, and my gaze betrays me. My chest tightens, pulse kicking against my ribs. I should look away. I don’t.
Every detail drags me deeper: the angle of her neck, the ripple of muscle beneath smooth pale skin, the faint glint of light woven into her hair. The air feels thinner; my body is on edge, as if it knows something my brain refuses to admit. She’s magnetic—dangerous in a way that makes me want to step closer instead of back.
Then she turns. Her eyes catch mine, hard and accusing, snapping the tether like a whip crack. Her soul flickers—erratic, loud, impossible to read in here.
“You better not evendreamof touching my sister.” She rises, planting herself between me and Diana, spine straight, jaw set.
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Relax. I don’t touch minors. And I definitely don’t touch drunks.”
I scoop the bill from the table, then catch her hand. Her palm is warm, firm, resisting even as I press the money into it.
“Call a taxi. Go home.”
Her face shifts, confusion flickering through her eyes as she looks between me and the bill. Then, like she’s waking up, she snaps out of it and scoffs.
“We don’t need pity. And definitely notcharity.” She slaps the bill back on the table like it’s trash.
Then her eyes meet mine—really meet them—and for a second, everything slows. Her irises are a striking, almost ethereal blue. Bright enough to cut through the dim light of the bar.
