“Welcome to a Dominion marriage,” Angel quipped with a soft laugh.
“You and Derrick aren’t like that, and this isn’t normal for us either. Alaric and I don’t do this.”
And we really didn’t.
I had come to learn that my husband wasn’t the most vocal guy, despite my first impressions. He wasn’t exactly some warm, sweet man with ready smiles and casual touches. He was intense, possessive in the way he always placed himself between me and any men who approached, and he came off as cold or blunt without trying to.
But he wore these qualities naturally.
He never pretended to be anyone other than exactly who he was—a man who took what he wanted and never, ever let it go.
Despite all that, his touch was my constant shadow. When we were in the same room, his hand claimed my waist, my shoulder, my hair with a possessiveness that burned. His fingers would lock around mine beneath tables or across car seats, grip tight enough to leave phantom impressions hours later.
He slept with his body caging mine, one heavy arm thrown across my waist like a brand, his breath hot against my neck as if inhaling me into himself afraid, I’d disappear. He did have asense of humor buried deep, and while he wasn’t some flowery romantic, he showed me he cared in small ways.
The distance between us made no sense to me.
Alaric had never been away this much. Even when he was buried with Dominion or Kostas work, he’d found a way to be with her, like when she was pregnant and he’d slept on a cot at the hospital for two weeks straight when she got admitted early. Or when a Citadel’s raids had claimed a Dominion warehouse in a single night, leaving my husband with bloodied clothes and a solution I hadn’t asked him to explain.
So why now?
Every time I opened my mouth to ask what had changed, my mother's desperate voice echoed in my memory. Her tearful"Is it me?"becoming a haunting refrain throughout my childhood as my father pulled further away.
IknewAlaric was different.
He'd never weaponize affection the way Darius Darzi did. His touch had always been tender, unless he was doing something that brought me pleasure. He had never yelled or raised a hand toward me—even when we did have a disagreement.
But logic couldn't silence the whispers of doubt that crept in at night, each of my mother's tearful questions to my father now reborn with my voice, waiting in the shadows of my mind for their chance to be spoken aloud.
I was terrified of becoming another version of her.
Santos’s jaw twitched, a rare sign of irritation and he suddenly said, “He’s been working too much.”
“I understand that better than anyone, but why does that mean radio silence after he leaves the house? Do you know something?”
“I know he doesn’t want you at Orpheum,” he said bluntly.
Angel turned fully and asked before I could. “Why?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crouched to lift Nikolai’s sippy cup off the floor when he accidentally knocked it from his tray, setting it back gently.
“That place isn’t for you right now,” he continued. “Not today. Not with whatever he’s dealing with.”
Of the family’s four clubs, Orpheum reigned supreme. More than a nightclub—it was where the elite vanished behind doors black as night. You’d look up and find ceilings soaring like a cathedral, making even shouted confessions seem like whispers. The bars gleamed obsidian, while lights bathed everyone in colors that weren’t their own. Every mirror created the unsettling feeling of being both observerandobserved.
Beneath the glitter and glamour, Orpheum functioned as the Kostas family’s nerve center. Within this neutral territory of the Dominion, men and sometimes the women they sent to play the field, clinked glasses while plotting, and a simple handshake might seal either a partnership or an execution order—all happening while other wealthy patrons sipped expensive liquor, served by beautiful people who saw everything and said nothing.
It was also where the walls themselves seemed to listen, every whispered secret finding its way to Alaric’s ear by morning. Where cash stained with blood and regret entered the back rooms only to emerge laundered and legitimate hours later. Where every lingering glance and every desperate plea was mentally archived by staff and discreet Wardens who knew exactly which vulnerabilities their boss might someday need to exploit.
The boss being my husband and in-laws.
“I’ve been to Orpheum plenty of times before,” I said, my eyes narrowing at Santos. “Why would now be any different?”
Santos’s expression remained carefully neutral. “Your husband simply requested you be kept away for the time being.”
Now, if Alaric had told me this himself, I wouldn’t have batted an eye. I knew full well there were certain areas of our life I was not supposed to be involved. It coming from Santos had alarm bells ringing.
I watched Nikolai now picking at the fruit tray Angel had placed in front of him as if he were a mini king, trying to ignore the whispers of doubt creeping through my mind. Apart from his VIP room and office, the Orpheum had a restricted level with private apartment like suites. I’d been inside his enough to know the exact layout.
