“Head high, little dove,” Dion murmured as he stopped the car and climbed out to open my door. “Whatever happens in there, remember you're not just a name.”
I didn’t trust my voice enough to answer, so I nodded at him gratefully. Dion was a sweet man. Far too kind and good to be working for my father.
Eyes followed me as I made my way toward the spinning entrances, Erevale’s elite looking and assessing. I briefly considered ditching my cell and running away. But running wouldn’t save me, not with my father’s reach. It would only make the inevitable worse. So I straightened my shoulders and walked through the nearest revolving door, lettingAzureswallow me whole.
Inside, the air shifted to something exspensive. Music threaded low under the clink of glass and laughter meant to be overheard.
“Welcome toAzure,” the maître d’ greeted, her smile warm and rehearsed. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Darzi,” I replied, smoothing my dress as if it mattered. “I’m meeting Mr. Kostas.”
Her smile shifted, recognition or pity, I couldn’t tell. “Of course. The other party has already arrived. Please,” she said, gesturing for me to follow. “This way.”
Threading through the maze of tables and hushed conversations, I followed the hostess as she navigated a room where money hung in the air like expensive perfume. The elevator awaited us—sleek black glass edged in gold that multiplied my reflection into infinity. Each version of me stared back: shoulders squared, chin lifted, a performance of belonging.
A soft chime announced our arrival to the top floor. The doors parted, releasing a cool whisper of air carrying notes of distant music. Dimmed lights cast everything in amber andshadow, creating an intimacy that felt borrowed from someone else’s reality.
“This way, Miss Darzi,” the hostess murmured.
I measured each step, conscious of the eyes tracking my movement across the room. My heartbeat quickened traitorously beneath my composed exterior. Beyond the diners, floor-to-ceiling windows consumed Erevale’s skyline, the city lights scattered like fallen stars. Far below, the bay mirrored the heavens, vessels cutting silent paths through liquid silver.
In the farthest corner, a man rose to his feet as we approached—Alaric Kostas.
At first glance, he wasn’t what I expected. He wasn’t the man from the photographs. Those had shown someone glacial and distant; all hard edges framed in expensive suits. The man before me radiated heat and made me feel almost short.
The immaculate stubble darkening his jaw matched his hair—shorn tight along the temples but rebellious on top, as though even his grooming refused complete obedience. His charcoal suit hung with the precision of old money, but the open collar betrayed a shadow of ink crawling up from beneath pristine fabric alongside his neck. He sported a tattoo on his hand as well, and I wondered if there were more hidden away.
His eyes captured my attention and held it. There a stunning shade of pale blue, standing out against his golden skin. When he smiled at me, it was a contrast in itself.
“Miss Darzi. It’s good to finally meet you.” His voice rolled deep, carrying cultured notes of somewhere else, somewhere far from here.
“Selene,” I corrected lightly.
“Selene,” he repeated, extending his hand. “Then please, call me Alaric. There’s no need for any formalities between us tonight.”
I placed my hand in his, expecting the customary shake. Instead, he turned my palm upward and brushed his thumb across my wrist where my pulse quickened traitorously.
“You’ve always been more gorgeous in person,” he stated casually, releasing my hand and gesturing to the chair opposite his. “The photographs never capture half of what they should have.”
I slipped into the offered seat, arranging my face into something pleasant but noncommittal. “I wasn’t aware there were photographs,” I replied, spreading my napkin across my lap with practiced ease.
His smile deepened. “Your father has been thorough.”
Of course he had. I suppressed the urge to ask exactly what my father had promised him. Instead, I reached for the glass of water before me, letting the cool liquid soothe my throat where my father’s fingers had pressed just an hour before.
I fell back on autopilot. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”
“The anticipation was worth every second.” His eyes never left my face, studying me with an intensity that felt almost intrusive. “I’ve ordered ahead for us both. I hope you don’t mind.”
How predictable. “Not at all.”
A knowing smile touched his lips, not reaching the cool assessment in his pale blue eyes. “You could have said youdomind; I wouldn’t have been offended.”
His words hung in the air between us. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. The practiced responses I’d been taught since childhood seemed suddenly inadequate. Men had always been distant planets in my orbit, my father’s business associates who looked through me when they weren’t perving out, drivers who spoke only to confirm destinations, waiters trained tobe invisible. None had ever asked what I wanted, let alone suggested I could have refused what was offered.
A server materialized at our table then, carrying a silver tray with two crystal glasses.
“A 1926 Macallan Fine and Rare,” the server explained as he placed the glass before me.
