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Nero flinches at my name. “Get. Out.”
He advances, and I look around, anxious. People are starting to look. “Nero… The guests…”
“She’s right,” Sergei smirks. “We wouldn’t want to make a scene.” He makes a show of slowly draining his champagne glass and giving me a nod.
“ Congratulations on your good fortune,” he says to the both of us. “You’d be wise to treasure it… While you still can.”
With that subtle threat, he turns and saunters away.
Nero exhales in a rush, still wound tight with tension.
“What was that?” I ask, reeling.
“What did he say to you?” Nero demands, still gripping me tightly.
“Nothing. Just small talk. Nero, you’re hurting me,” I protest.
He drops his hand. “Sorry.”
I clock his mood. This isn’t just Nero being a dick for the sake of it, something serious is going on. “Who was that man?” I ask, feeling a chill.
He just shakes his head.
“Nero—” I ask again, but he just grabs a glass from a passing waiter.
“It’s none of your fucking business,” he says harshly, and walks out.
Not just out of the room—but out of the whole party, disappearing through the crowd to the door.
I watch him go, shocked. What the hell just happened?
