Page 75 of Inheritance

She looked down.

“Or maybe everyone is right, I’m an idiot and he’s evil, I’m tired of pretending to care even if that were true.”

I set the bottle down.

“We should go,” I said.

“Okay, but only if you agree to help me avoid Isabelle until the Gala starts,”

“Deal.”

My head felt light, but not fuzzy. Just aware. Calm.

We stepped back into the hall together, the noise of the house folding around us again.

Sophia

The room had gone quiet in that way only money could command. Dozens of tables, each dressed in white linen and gold trim, stretched across the hall. The air was dense with perfume, candlelight, and expectation.

I sat beside Gabriel, his hand resting near mine—not touching, but close enough to count. My pulse ticked faster with every glance I caught from well dressed strangers.

A crystal glass clinked in a call for a toast. A man three tables over stood with deliberate ceremony, his suit sharp, smile sharper. He raised his glass, voice pitched just enough to carry.

“To prosperity,” peace, he said, gaze sweeping the room. “And to the future we build—together.”

A few others lifted their glasses in return, but mostly everyone ignored him. Some regarded him with a sideways glance as if raising their glass to his attempt at a toast would stain them.

Damien didn’t move. He leaned slightly toward me, voice low. “He toasts us now, but yesterday he was sucking Sinclair cock,” he said, almost bored. “Now he’s trying to crawl his way back into our good graces. Watch him.”

I looked at the man again. His smile quivered, and something about it felt too careful now—like he knew exactly what this toast had failed to erase.

Damien settled back like he hadn’t spoken. His eyes drifted lazily across the room, but I could feel him watching me, scrutinizing me.

Gabriel hadn’t looked up in a while. His thumb rubbed a slow, steady circle against the stem of his wineglass. His jaw was tight. His shoulders, broad and still.

My gaze dropped to the table. The centerpieces were low and elegant, designed to let people see across and whisper through them.

Across from me, Isabelle watched a group near the doors with a gaze sharp enough to kill. Caroline sat beside her, quiet, working on her second glass of wine.

I felt eyes on me and looked sideways. A short, plump man with patchy stubble was staring directly at me. And when I made eye contact with him, it was like he’d taken it as an invite. He smiled—and started walking toward our table.

I gave Caroline a look. She just raised an eyebrow.

“Who is that guy?” I asked.

“One of the weird ones,” she said tiredly.

“Ah. Great.”

He was close enough now that I gave a tight, polite smile. It was all I could manage.

He stopped just behind Gabriel, hands clasped in front of him.

“Evening,” he said, eyes fixed on me. “Marvin Johnson. I handle oversight for the city’s utility contracts.”

His smile was too wide—like it hurt to hold.

“Hello,” I said, giving him a small nod.