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I could stay here all night, hidden in plain sight, watching the players move and listening to their meaningless chatter, the clink of champagne flutes, and the dull thrum of meaningless small talk.

I’ve learned more about human nature in these rooms than I care to admit.

These people? They think they have power because they have wealth. But I know better.

They’re all just puppets. And I’m the one pulling the strings.

I shift my attention to the food—finger sandwiches, caviar, and canapés with so many layers of unnecessary fluff that it’s a wonder anyone eats more than a bite.

The servers are circulating, dressed in black, smiling too brightly, and acting like they don’t know their whole purpose is to keep these people fat and happy until they can go back to their miserable little lives in the morning.

Then I spot her. Lyra.

She steps into the ballroom, her aura crashing through the scene like a thunderstorm after a clear sky.

For a second, I don’t even see her fully.

I just see the way the room quiets, like everything stops breathing for a second.

She’s dressed in the daring mini dress that barely covers her ass, the fabric shimmering under the lights.

The dress hugs her body like it was made for her, every curve and every line emphasized to perfection.

The updo she’s chosen is a stark contrast to the disheveled fire I just saw behind closed doors.

I want to fuck her and make her scream my name and come harder than she just did.

But the moment she walks into the room, the strain I’ve been carrying snaps into something sharper.

Her eyes scan the crowd, and even though her face is painted with the sharp, confident smile she’s perfected over the years, I see it. The hint of exhaustion behind her eyes. She’s walking into this den of snakes with the same grace she walks into everything. But underneath that? She’s shattered.

She knows it. I know it.

And every fucking person here can see it too.

My hand clenches my glass, and I step away from the shadows.

I let the crowd swallow me as I casually start to circle the perimeter, watching her as she’s approached by Harper and Declan.

Harper flashes a smile too wide to be sincere, just like the last time I saw her, but I can see through it.

She’s too nervous to make eye contact, like she’s the one under the spotlight, not Lyra.

Declan isn’t much better. He stands too close, his hand casually placed on Harper’s lower back, but I can see the way he watches Lyra.

There’s hunger in his eyes, a different kind of hunger than what I’ve seen in some men.

This one is dangerous. He’s calculating, sizing her up like a predator deciding which part of his prey will taste the sweetest.

I feel the heat rising in my veins, but I keep my distance, moving like a shadow, never too close, just close enough to know exactly what’s going on. I hear snippets of their conversation, pointless chatter, and meaningless compliments that don’t even matter.

But I can see it in Lyra’s face. She’s not interested. Not in Harper. Not in Declan. Not in any of this. She’s just playing the game, smiling through clenched teeth, and holding her mask in place while she waits for the right moment to tear it down.

I’ve seen it before.

The powerlessness she carries with her in every breath. It’s there in the way her eyes move, always on alert, always looking for the exit, the way she shifts when Declan’s hand comes a little too close, and the way she fights the urge to turn on her heel and walk away from all of this.

But despite it all, she doesn’t. She never does.

I take another sip of my drink, keeping my gaze on the crowd. The room is alive with laughter, light, and too many whispers for anyone to know what’s real. But in the midst of the noise, I can’t help but track them.

Harper and Declan.

They’re moving around the room like they own it, always a little too close, always exchanging glances that don’t quite meet the surface level of friendliness.

It’s subtle at first, just a few moments of prolonged eye contact.

Then Harper laughs, bright and fake, her fingers brushing against Declan’s arm.

And just like that, the entire room seems to hold its breath for a second.

I see it. They’re scheming together.

Whatever it is, it’s more than friendship. More than business. And it’s definitely more than casual.

The way they move in sync tells me there’s a plan. A purpose. And I know I need to figure out what the hell is really going on between them.

I take a step back and adjust my position to keep an eye on them, letting the conversation around me blur.

Declan notices me watching. There’s a trace of recognition in his eyes, but his expression never changes.

He’s playing his part well, too well. He gives me a casual nod, like he’s seen me here a hundred times before, and I almost want to laugh.

Because I’m not the one he’s worried about.

It’s Lyra. It has always been Lyra.

I watch as Declan steps closer to Harper.

His hand rests lightly on the small of her back, but it’s possessive.

It’s subtle, but the intent is there. She doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she leans into the touch, but there’s something else in her eyes, something devious.

It’s almost as if they’re performing for the room and fooling everyone into thinking they’re just two rich people caught in a moment of social camaraderie.

But I know better. They’re trying to cover something up.

A second later, Declan turns to Harper and whispers something in her ear—it’s too quiet for me to hear what he says—and she responds with a brief nod.

The chemistry between them shifts. It’s no longer the playful, flirtatious connection they’ve been sharing.

This is something darker, more intense. And then Declan does it, his eyes move to the door like he’s checking for something. Or someone.

And then he starts walking.

He doesn’t look back, not even for a moment. But with the way his body shifts, the subtle turn of his head is a signal. Harper watches him go for a second too long before her eyes flick over to me.

She doesn’t know I’m watching.

And just like that, she follows him. She moves with a practiced ease, but there’s no mistaking it. She’s trailing him like a shadow in a room full of light.

I wait a beat, watching her every move, the slight sway of her hips, and the purposeful stride that matches Declan’s pace. The crowd around them doesn’t notice. Or if they do, they don’t care. But I care. And I’m not about to let this slip by.

I stay at a distance, just close enough to be unseen. I move with the crowd, keeping my movements natural. I know these halls. I know where they’re going. The side exit is tucked away, a quiet path where anyone with a plan can slip away unnoticed.

Harper steps outside the main door, just behind Declan.

She pulls her coat a little tighter around her shoulders, her head tilting as she takes a deep breath of the cool air.

I stop a few steps away, just out of their line of sight.

My instincts are screaming at me to stay hidden, stay patient, and wait for the right moment.

It doesn’t take long.

Declan lights a cigarette, leaning against the stone wall, his posture relaxed. But his eyes are on the door. Waiting. Watching.

Harper steps closer to him, but this time, there’s no pretense.

She stands inches from him, her voice too low for me to hear.

I can see her lips moving, though, and the way his eyes flash.

This is more than a casual conversation.

This is the kind of conversation that’s full of promises and secrets.

She’s telling him something. Or maybe he’s telling her.

I step forward, moving discreetly through the shadows, keeping low. I don’t want to get too close. I don’t want them to feel me before I know exactly what they’re planning.

I can hear snippets of their conversation now. It’s quiet but intense.

“I told you this would get messy,” Harper says, her voice low, almost too calm.

Declan takes a drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving her. “Messy? Maybe. But we’re not the ones with everything to lose.”

Harper’s eyes bat with something darker, something I can’t place. “We don’t get to walk away from this.”

I freeze for a moment, my pulse picking up.

Something about the way she said that… it’s like a warning. Like they’re not just playing with fire. They’re starting a damn blaze.

And Lyra is the spark.

I step back, carefully retracing my steps, staying hidden, staying far enough away. I need to see where they go from here, what their next move is. They think they’re alone, but they’re not. And they don’t even know how much they’re about to be exposed.

Harper turns her head for just a second, her eyes scanning the surroundings before she walks back toward the door. Declan follows, his footsteps heavier now, like he knows he’s done whatever it was he needed to do.

I let them leave. Because what else can I do right now? Torture them to get the truth? Yeah, that’ll get me fired in a minute. Fuck, I hate these trust fund babies.

But I’m not done. Not by a long shot. I’ll follow them wherever they go.