“You’re scanning,” she says quietly.
“Yes.”
“For what?”
For whom. But I can’t tell her that. Can’t explain that the man from the cocktail party—the one I dismissed as “old history”—has been texting me surveillance reports on her family’s roomnumbers. That he mentions all of my past loves by name. That his silence tonight is louder than any threat he could make.
“Exits,” I say. “Habit.”
She doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the furrow of her brow, the way she files the lie away with all the others she’s been collecting. The cold skin. The untouched plates. The way I flinched when she pressed her ear to my chest and found that strange slow pulse where a normal heartbeat should be.
She knows something is wrong. She just doesn’t know how wrong.
My phone buzzes.
I check it without thinking—mistake, always a mistake—and just like that, he wrecks the night.
DAMIEN: She looks beautiful tonight. The green dress was a good choice. I can see her pulse from here. Can you?
I put my phone away. Force my expression neutral. But my hand has tightened on Poppy’s, and she notices.
“Julian? What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. What is happening when you check your phone and go pale?” She steps closer, lowering her voice beneath the music. “And don’t tell me it’s work. I’ve seen your work face—which by the way, is cool and collected. This isn’t that face.”
Across the dance floor, Violet is laughing at something Chris said. Catherine is holding court with the aunts, gesturing with her champagne flute. Preston and Serenity are performing for their phones in the corner, oblivious to everything that isn’t their own reflection.
Normal. All of it so achingly normal. And somewhere in the shadows, a monster is watching, waiting, planning how to burn it all down just to watch me suffer.
“Julian.” Poppy’s voice is firm now. “You’re scaring me.”
I look at her. Really look at her—the woman who handed me a laminated cheat sheet and asked me to pretend. Who kissed me in the ocean like I was something worth wanting.
She deserves better than lies.
She deserves better than me.
But I’m selfish. I’ve always been selfish. Two hundred and fifty-seven years, and I still can’t stop myself from wanting things I shouldn’t have.
“It’s because I love you.”
The words come out rough. Unplanned. Nothing like the careful confession I’d been rehearsing in my head.
This isn’t that.
This is terror. This is Damien’s text burning in my pocket. This is the sudden, visceral certainty that something is going to happen, and she doesn’t know—she doesn’t know what’s hunting her, doesn’t know what I am, doesn’t know that the man holding her hand is the most dangerous thing at this party.
Poppy blinks. “What?”
“I love you.” I grip her hands like she might disappear. “I know that’s not what this is supposed to be. I know we said this was going to be fake, but none of it has been a performance. I’ve been in love with you since our first date. I tried to honor our contract. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t help but fall deeper in love with you.”
“Julian—”
“And I need to tell you something.” My voice is shaking. I never shake. “Something I should have told you before I kissed you. Before I let any of this go as far as it’s gone.”
Her face has gone serious. Watchful. “Okay.”
