“I’m not Trystan,” Lucien suddenly said.
The name hit me like a slap, and I went rigid, my fingers gripping the edge of the table. He knew Trystan’s name?
Of course he did. This town thrived on gossip, and nothing gossiped more efficiently than old vampires with too much time and too many connections. But to say his name aloud? In front of me? In front of his sisters?
He hadn’t just drawn blood—he’d twisted the knife.
“You don’t get to say that name,” I said, quietly. Coldly. “Not to me. Not like that.”
Doubt crept into his gaze.
I slowly rose from my chair, because if I moved any faster, I wasn’t entirely sure I wouldn’t hurl the whole damned table at him. Thorne stood with me, silent but solid at my side, her energy suddenly all claws and tension.
“You may not be Trystan,” I said. My voice was steady, but only because I willed it to be. “But I’ve learned to recognize the type. You, Mr. St. Germain, are arrogant and entitled. You belief you can buy whatever you want, even things you have no right to.”
The café went quiet. Conversations died mid-sentence, silverware paused midair—every supernatural ear tuned to the tension crackling between us, like the whole patio had collectively realized they were witnessing a showdown and didn’t want to miss a single word.
Lucien didn’t interrupt. Maybe I’d surprised him. Maybe not. He’d expected me to flinch, but he was so very wrong. And I was happy to disillusion him of that.
“You think throwing money at me will make me grateful.” My eyes narrowed. “But I didn’t crawl out of the wreckage of my old life just to sell myself into a new kind of debt. I’m not for sale. Not now. Not ever.”
Juliette’s gaze flicked between me and her brother. I wasn’t sure what she saw, but her expression told me she wasn’t happy.
“Have a good day, Mr. St. Germain,” I said. And with that, I turned on my heel and strode out of the café with my head held high.
Because I would not let anyone buy me.
Nor would I let anyone break me.
Not again.
Chapter
Ten
LUCIEN
The blood in my glass was older than most of the town’s residents and spiced with something dark and floral I couldn’t quite name. I drank it anyway. Slowly. Thoughtfully. Like it might have answers I hadn’t yet uncovered.
It didn’t.
My office was quiet, save for the low pulse of jazz bleeding up through the floorboards. Elias was running the floor tonight, which meant The Veil would remain standing. I should’ve been reviewing schedules, going over inventory, analyzing the quarterly projections I hadn’t touched in two days. But instead, I was hiding and replaying every detail of that dreadful café lunch.
It hadn’t gone the way I’d intended. I took pride in my strategic abilities. But today, something had slipped. I’d gone in expecting a negotiation ending in a happy resolution. Instead, I’d pissed her off.
She was right—I had expected her to accept my offer. Be grateful for it, even. A way out of this mess her ex-mate had landed her in.
Clearly, I’d miscalculated.
Especially when I’d spoken his name.
I’d known it the moment the air shifted. The moment her smile had vanished, and something colder had settled in its place. I truly hadn’t meant to provoke her. And certainly not in front of the others. I’d meant to take control of the conversation again, but also, to prove I was nothing like her ex-mate.
I exhaled slowly, running a thumb along the stem of my glass.
Isadora wasn’t supposed to matter. A vampiress in her position should’ve been easy to discredit and run out of town.
Except, from the first moment we’d met, everything had gone wrong.
