People love a beautiful lie. Wrap nonsense in a six-foot frame with soulful eyes and a white linen shirt and suddenly no one cares about facts. Jude could wave a bundle of sage over your head, whisper something about energetic alignment, and next thing you know, you’re paying fifty bucks for a chakra cleansing and calling it a medical expense.
And it pisses me off.
Not because he’s attractive. Not because he turned me down—[muttered] we’ll unpack that in another episode, maybe never—but because he’s good at this. He knows exactly how to walk the line between mystic and messiah, between humble and holy. He plays the long game. Says the right things. Smiles like forgiveness incarnate. And behind it all? I see the con.
The soft-spoken ones are always the worst.
So here’s the plan.
I’m going back. Back to Riverbend. Back to the incense-soaked air and moonstone madness.
And this time, I’m not just looking—I’m watching.
I’m asking the right questions. Recording the right answers. And when I find the cracks in the halo, I’m going to pry them open until the whole illusion shatters.
Because Jude Brooks isn’t a savior.
He’s a performance artist.
And I’m going to prove it.
Beat. Voice lowers, more intense.
This time, nothing’s going to stop me.
Chapter Eleven
Jude
The Chalice & Cherry was unusually mellow for a Friday night. No karaoke. No wild dance floor revival. Just soft lighting, low conversation, and the occasional clink of ice hitting glass. I sat at the bar, elbows resting on its worn mahogany edge, beginning to feel buzzed.
Percy, the bartender, raised an eyebrow as he slid another glass in front of me. “This your third?”
I didn’t answer right away. Just watched the amber liquid swirl.
“Normally you stop at one,” he added, giving me that pointed look only bartenders and mothers have perfected.
I sighed. “Yeah. I know.”
He gave a low whistle. “Damn. Must be serious.”
It was. Though I hadn’t said it out loud yet. Not even to myself. Not really.
Julian.
Even thinking his name made my pulse skip. Ever since he’d come onto me and then left town like a thief in the night, I’d felt unmoored. Not devastated. Not heartbroken. Just… rattled. Likesomeone had reached into my chest and rearranged everything without warning.
The alcohol didn’t make it better. But it kept the edges from cutting so sharply.
The door creaked open, letting in a draft of humid night air and the soft jingle of bells. I glanced over my shoulder.
Zephyr.
She stepped in as if the wind brought her, long linen skirts trailing behind, a moonstone pendant swinging above her sternum. She rarely came in here. The Chalice wasn’t exactly her scene. Not enough crystals. Too many carbs.
She sat beside me and offered Percy a serene smile. “A glass of Lotus Bloom Rosé, please. Chilled.”
Percy barked a laugh. “You want me to decant it into a mason jar and bless it under a waning moon while I’m at it?”
