Chapter 17
The night air was cooler on the balcony, crisp against my skin as the heat of the gala gave way to moonlight and murmurs. The afterparty spilled golden jazz and laughter behind me, but I stood alone in the garden, one hand curled around my champagne glass, the other tracing the cold marble edge of the balustrade.
I had just finished speaking to my father, and of course he confirmed it. The serpent always slithered with purpose–Alina had orchestrated her little stunt tonight. Sent Dad to lure me away with some fabricated Royce estate issue, only so she could sneak into Zacharias’s lounge like a jealous ghost trying to resurrect herself from ashes.
I saw her, too. That smug flick of her dress as she vanished through the
corridor. And I let her.
Why not?
Let her degrade herself trying to revive a memory that no longer belonged to her. Let her whisper her lies into a man who already belonged to someone a man who already belonged to someone else. Because I knew–deep in my spine, in my blood–that Zacharias would
I never remember her the way she needed. And even if he did, it wouldn’t matter.
He was mine now.
I laughed, low and warm. A cruel sound that vibrated against the rim of my glass. “Pathetic,” I whispered to the night.
“You always laugh when you’re angry.”
The voice hit me like old perfume.
I turned slowly, keeping my expression flat, unreadable–like a dagger slipped beneath silk.
Winston Salerno stepped out from the shadows of the garden, his black suit molded to his body like it belonged there, tie loosened, jaw tense. His eyes were the same. That unrelenting Eastside burn–obsession dressed as regret. Once upon a time I would’ve melted on sight.
Now, I wanted to set him on fire.
I tipped my head. “Didn’t expect Eastside royalty to dirty his loafers in my direction.”
12:21 Mon, 19 May GM.
“Couldn’t help it,” he said. “You looked too damn good to ignore.”
“Try harder next time.”
He stepped closer. The air changed. Stillness sharpened.
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“You really married him,” Winston said, eyes burning. “You actually fucking
married Colombo.”
I sipped my drink again. “You sound surprised.”
“You did it to get my attention.”
I barked a laugh, sharp and cruel. “Oh, sweetheart, I married Zacharias Colombo to bury you and your bitch sidepiece six feet under. Don’t flatter yourself.”
His jaw flexed. “You’re lying.”
I turned to face him fully, eyes narrowing. “No. You just can’t stomach the fact that you were never the endgame.”
“You loved me,” he said, voice low, raw. “You told me once you’d die for me.”
“I would’ve,” I whispered. “Until you handed me the shovel and buried me alive.”
Winston moved in fast, hand snatching my wrist, breath hot against my cheek. “You think he’ll love you like I did? Like I still do?”
aprike
I yanked free and slapped him so hard his face snapped sideways. His jaw
clenched.
Then I spat.
Right on his cheek.
The garden went silent in my head.
“If you ever touch me like that again,” I hissed, “I will put a bullet between your ribs. I don’t give a damn if you’re the Eastside prince, or heir to all the Salerno blood money. You’ll die screaming my name while your family weeps over your useless legacy,”
He blinked, stunned for half a beat, before the smirk curled back on his lips. “You think that’s strength? You’re just angry I still make you feel something.” “You make me feel nauseous,” I said. “Like spoiled champagne and used condoms.”
Winston laughed, low and venomous. “He’s just a pawn. You married Colombo to wear the crown, to play queen. But you’ll always be mine underneath it.”
I stepped into him now, face inches from his, voice like smoke laced with
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arsenic.
ay
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“No, Winston. I married Colombo to ruin you both. You and Alina. I wanted to watch the world choose me over you, over her. I wanted to stand on the ashes of your empire wearing heels you once kissed.”
His throat worked, breathing uneven now. I saw it–the tremor beneath the arrogance. The obsession breaking through.
He grabbed my waist, pulled me in roughly, mouth crashing against mine in a kiss so violent and hungry it tasted like war.
For a moment, my body remembered. The thrill, the history, the ache. And then I remembered the betrayal.
I slammed both hands against his chest and shoved him off, teeth bared. “You disgust me.”
“You still want me,” he growled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t need to. Because I felt it. That chill up my spine.
A presence. I turned my head.
Zacharias stood at the archway, quiet, still–his eyes locked on mine.
He’d seen it.
All of it.
The slap. The kiss. The venom.
He said nothing. Not yet. But his gaze…
Something shifted behind it. A storm. A realization.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to ask what happened-
-or if I wanted him to believe I’d done it on purpose.
Either way, the fire was lit now.
And someone was about to burn.
***
The penthouse was dark when I entered, except for the low hum of city light bleeding through the floor–to–ceiling glass that wrapped around Zacharias’s private room like a crystal cage. It smelled like him–warm, expensive, masculine. Whiskey and midnight.
He stood near the window, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, tie loose around his neck. His hair was a little disheveled from dancing, or maybe from fury. I wasn’t
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sure which yet.
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He didn’t look at me when I closed the door behind me. Didn’t say my name. Just stared out at the city like he was holding back something violent.
I leaned on the door, deliberately lazy in my movements. “You summoned me like I’m one of your men.”
He turned slowly. His eyes locked on me.
“I didn’t summon you,” Zacharias said, voice low and calm, which meant danger. “I wanted you.”
I stepped forward, heels clicking. “Then want me with your words, not your rage.”
He closed the distance between us in two slow steps, stopping just before he touched me. The tension was magnetic. I could feel the heat from his body, from his breath, from the questions he wasn’t asking.
“You didn’t even flinch,” he said quietly, “when he kissed you.”
