Page 99 of Cursed

“Whatever you’re hiding, I will find out. I always do.”

“There’s nothing to find.” The lie comes easier this time. “Can we just get through tonight? Please?”

There is a flicker of uncertainty that’s gone so quickly I might have imagined it. He leans back, studying me for a moment.

“Fine. But when we return home, we’ll revisit this conversation.” His hand settles possessively on my thigh, fingers digging into my skin. “And I expect complete honesty.”

I nod, knowing I might not survive to see that conversation. Orlov wants Landon in the garden at midnight. Whatever happens after that, I doubt either of us will be returning to the penthouse tonight.

I have until midnight to figure out how to save both Jolene and myself—and maybe, despite everything he’s done, Landon too.

The car pulls up to the venue, a historic hotel with soaring columns illuminated by spotlights. Photographers line the red carpet, their cameras flashing like lightning.

Landon’s hand settles on the small of my back as we walk inside. “Remember,” he murmurs, “you’re representing the Blackwood name tonight.”

The grand ballroom glitters with crystal chandeliers and wealth. Women dripping in diamonds turn to stare as we enter,their gazes lingering on Landon before sliding to me with curiosity. I can almost hear their thoughts.

Who is she?

What makes her special enough for Landon Blackwood?

If they only knew the truth.

“Landon!” A silver-haired man approaches, hand extended. “Good to see you. This must be the young lady I’ve heard so much about.”

“Thomas, meet Sadie Reynolds.” Landon’s arm tightens around my waist. “Sadie, Thomas Whitmore, our foundation’s biggest donor.”

I force a smile and shake his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

As Landon navigates us through the crowd, I scan the room for exits, checking my phone discreetly. Nine PM. Three hours until Orlov’s deadline.

“Champagne?” Landon offers me a flute, watching me over the rim of his glass as he sips.

“Thank you.” My fingers tremble as I take it.

“There’s Xavier,” Landon says, nodding toward his brother across the room. “We should?—”

“Actually,” I interrupt, placing my hand on his arm, “could we dance first? Just one song before business takes over the night?”

Surprise flickers across his face. “Of course.” His eyes narrow slightly. “I’d be delighted.”

As he leads me to the dance floor, I check the time again. Nine fifteen. Somehow, I need to create a scene convincing enough to make Landon follow me outside alone, yet not so suspicious that he immediately recognizes the trap.

God help me, I have no idea what to do.

Landon pulls me close, his body moving with grace as we glide across the dance floor. Despite everything, there’s no denying the chemistry between us.

“You’re a natural,” he breathes.

“I took lessons in college.” My voice sounds breathless even to my own ears.

His hand slides lower on my back, not inappropriate for public but possessive enough to make my pulse race. “Another piece of the puzzle that is Sadie Reynolds.”

The string quartet transitions to a slower song, more intimate. Landon draws me closer until we’re chest to chest, his heartbeat steady against mine. His eyes—those piercing blue depths—hold mine captive.

“Do you feel it?” he asks.

“Feel what?”