Page 81 of Unleashed By Eden

I scrub both hands over my face.

“Yeah,” I say to no one. “I’m a goddamn idiot.”

***

The film premiere sits on the schedule like a rock in my shoe, wedged right in the middle of our last stretch of Paris downtime.

Technically, it’s a “day off.” But the label wants us on the red carpet because we wrote and recorded the soundtrack, and PrimeTime+ wants the footage. The only thing I want is for Violet to stop looking at me as if she’s reconsidering every decision that led her into my bed.

She barely said two words to me all day. Moved around the suite in silence that said more than yelling ever could. I handled this morning like a caveman—more mouth than brain.

She needed to upload and back up photos, so I gave her space. What I wanted was to drag her onto the bed and apologize with my mouth in between her thighs, work forgiveness out of her one lick at a time.

I step out of the elevator into the lobby, and the circus is already assembled.

Chris is scanning the night’s schedule on his tablet. Megan is tapping away on her phone while trying not gape at me dressed in a suit. Dave and Mika are messing with camera bodies and batteries. Security is in a row by the doors, ready to push us into the flash storm outside. The guys are clustered near the entrance, dressed in suits as well.

But I only ever have eyes for her.

Violet’s standing a little off to the side in a black dress that moves as if it were designed for the way she walks. Her skin glows against it. Her hair’s straight and glossy, a sheet of midnight down her back. Eyes rimmed dark. Mouth painted a violent red.

She doesn’t smile.

She watches me with an unreadable look that tells me she’s thinking too many things at once, and none of them are flattering.

I want to walk over, put my mouth on that red and drag her back upstairs, lock the world out, and start the day again.

Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets, stride past her, and bite out, “Let’s get this over with.”

Chris claps, trying to summon enthusiasm from thin air. “That’s the spirit.”

The doors open, letting in the noise of fans pressed against barricades outside. Security flows us out in two groups: band and management into one SUV, PrimeTime+ into the next. Before the doors yank closed behind me, I catch one more glimpse of her—dark dress pooling like ink, camera strap looped around her wrist.

Then the hotel swallows her, and I’m in the back of the car with Kai, X, Theo, and Chris.

Inside, the guys fall straight into talking crap. I sink lower in the leather, phone in my hand, pretending to scroll. All I can think about is how badly I want the night to be over so I can get her alone and make it right.

Kai leans forward and taps my knee with his knuckles. “You still in the doghouse?”

“Shut up,” I snap, not looking up.

X snorts beside me. “You could just apologize, you know.”

I lift my eyes long enough to give him a flat look. “Wish I’d thought of that. Thanks, Doctor Phil. Any other wisdom?”

Theo barks a laugh, and Chris grumbles something under his breath about emotional intelligence.

I tune all of them out and watch Paris fly past the tinted glass until the car slows and the noise outside shifts into a chaotic thunder, cameras firing like machine guns and voices rising in waves that press against the windows.

We inch forward down the barricaded lane. Security pushes back the wall of fans screaming my name along with the band’s. When the car finally stops at the carpet entrance, I can hardly see with the blaze of flashes bouncing off the metal and glass. The strobes are rapid and disorienting, bright enough to burn through my eyelids even if I close them.

The guys spill out one by one, met by a fresh blast of strobes. Photographers call out their names, shouting for poses, demanding to look their way.

Chris taps my arm. My turn.

I step out into a firing squad.

The intense wall of flashes is like walking into the sun, and for a moment, I can’t see anything at all. The crowd behind the barricades, the press lined up along the velvet ropes, even the ground under my feet is all washed white.