Page 56 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Forty-Six

T he weight of another long day pressed on Victoria’s shoulders as her footsteps echoed in her apartment’s entryway.

The familiar hum of the city felt strangely distant after everything that had happened—the gym, the fight, Tristan.

It had been four days since that night, and somehow, life was starting to slip back into its usual rhythm. Or at least, it seemed to be.

When she reached her door, something caught her eye. A single rose lying on the doormat, its petals deep red and fresh, as though it had just been picked. Beside it was a small envelope, its edges crisp and clean.

She stopped, heart hammering in her chest for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. For a moment, she just stared at the rose, the quiet presence of it sending a rush of memories through her mind.

Tristan.

With a sigh, she knelt down, picking up the rose first, the cool stem cold against her fingers. She smelled it without thinking, the fragrance both soothing and strange, like an echo of something she couldn’t place. Then, her gaze shifted to the envelope.

Her name was scrawled across it in black ink, the handwriting unmistakable.

She turned it over, her fingers trembling slightly, then slid the paper open, half-expecting it to be some cryptic message from him, but what she found instead made her heart skip.

A simple note:

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the letter, the weight of it settling over her. It had been four days since they had shared those quiet, tangled moments, and still, he found a way to invade her space and her thoughts.

For a brief, irrational second, she wished she could just ignore it, to turn the note into another small thing that didn’t matter. But she knew better. Because Tristan didn’t do small gestures. Not like this.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, shattering the moment. She pulled it out, and her heart stopped. Tristan.

She hesitated for only a second before answering, slipping the note into her pocket and holding the rose tightly in her hand.

“Tell me, Victoria. Am I under your skin yet?” His voice was dark and indulgent, smooth as aged whiskey, with just enough bite to make her breath hitch.

Stunned and confused she said the first thing that popped into her head.

"You’d have to matter for that,” she scoffed, “I mean… I thought you were going to hand me over to your dad.”

Silence. Her chest tightened. She hadn’t meant to say that… not out loud. You idiot.

Then finally, low and calm, his voice came through. “No, Victoria.”

Her throat went dry. Damn him. Damn his voice. And damn the way she had no idea how to answer.

Before she could come up with something, anything, he spoke again, voice smooth and unwavering. “Get your ass in the house and pick out something nice. I’m taking you to dinner.”

Her pulse spiked.

“Excuse me?”

"You heard me." A pause. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The line went dead.

And just like that, she was left standing there, heart racing, staring at the phone like it had personally offended her.

The low rumble of an engine sent a pulse of warning down her spine. She was already standing by the door when the knock came. Three short raps, firm and expectant.

Victoria’s fingers tightened around the doorknob before she swung it open.

Tristan leaned against the frame like he owned it, head tilted, dark eyes dragging over her slowly. Too slowly. His gaze was smoldering, but his smirk? That infuriating, cocky half-smile that made her want to smack him and kiss him in the same breath? It was firmly in place.

Oh my god, could he get any sexier?

His voice was a slow drawl, thick with approval. “Good girl.”

Heat shot straight down her spine. She crossed her arms. “Screw you.”

Tristan’s smirk deepened. “Tempting.” Then, offering his hand like he wasn’t a whole damn problem, he added, “Ready, love?”

Victoria stared at his outstretched palm like it was a trap. Which, knowing Tristan, it was.

But still… she took it.

As Tristan’s gaze swept over her, his smirk faltered for a second, just long enough for her to notice. His eyes darkened with appreciation, and the edge of his voice softened. “ Damn, love.”

Victoria raised an eyebrow, glancing down to make sure she actually had shoes on. “What?”

He held up a finger, then moved it in a slow circle, a silent command that had her spinning. Her cheeks went crimson as she gave him the full view. He never let go of her. His grip remained firm, like a reminder that he had the power to pull her back whenever he wanted.

His eyes lingered on her navy dress, the low-cut back, the bow that tied at her waist. His gaze moved up to her messy bun, the strands framing her face with effortless grace.

“You look... perfect.” His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the heat behind it. “I told you to pick something nice, but you’ve gone and made it impossible to look away.”

Victoria’s breath caught, but she fought to keep her composure. “Flattery won’t get you out of whatever trouble you’re in tonight.”

He took a step closer, his voice dropping even lower as his eyes met hers. “Who says I’m in trouble, love?”

But Victoria knew better. He always was.

As they walked down the steps, she started heading toward a black car with its hazard lights flashing.

“Where you going?”

She turned, confused, glancing at the car before he pulled her toward a jet-black motorcycle parked at the curb.

“What the hell?”

Victoria’s voice was sharp, confusion visible in her eyes. “Tristan, you told me to dress nice and now you’re putting me on the back of a motorcycle?”

He smirked, dark eyes glinting with amusement as he looked down at her. “You didn’t think I’d take you to dinner in some stuffy car, did you?”

His words were laced with that same cocky, dangerous energy she was getting used to, and hating, even as her pulse quickened.

This motherfucker.

Pulling up to one of the fanciest restaurants in town, Tristan eased the bike to a stop right at the front entrance. He killed the engine, the sudden silence making Victoria even more aware of how many eyes were on them.

Swinging off the bike, Tristan turned and reached for her, his hands firm as he helped her off, making sure her dress didn’t ride up. His touch was confident, his fingers grazing her hips just a second longer than necessary.

He lifted a hand to the strap of her helmet, his knuckles brushing against her jaw as he carefully undid the buckle. There was something strangely intimate about it, the way he handled her, like she was something breakable, something that mattered.

The helmet slipped off, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Victoria’s hair, once secured in a messy bun, had loosened, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Tristan’s gaze flickered over her under the dim glow of the city lights.

His fingers brushed against her jaw as he set the helmet aside, his touch lingering just long enough to send a slow, tingling warmth through her skin. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching her, his expression caught somewhere between restraint and something far more dangerous.

"You alright?" His voice was low, rough.

Victoria swallowed, the night air cool against her skin. "I’m fine."

Tristan didn’t move for a long moment, his eyes dark, searching. Then, with a slow exhale, he stepped back, his hands dropping away.

"Come on," he said, turning toward the edge of the overlook. "I want to show you off."

Smooth. Always in control.

He tossed the keys to the valet without a second glance. “ Just keep it up here .”

The poor kid fumbled to catch them, visibly shaking. “ Y-yes, Mr. Locke, sir .”

Victoria huffed a quiet laugh. “ I guess you scare everyone you come into contact with.”

“ It’s just the name.” Tristan barely shrugged, holding the restaurant door open for her.

This cocky motherfucker.

They walked in hand in hand, heading straight for the elevator. Tristan pressed the button for the top floor without hesitation.

The moment the doors slid shut, the air shifted.

Standing this close, her hand still in his, Victoria could feel the heat radiating off him. The scent of leather and something distinctly him surrounded her, making her pulse hammer. Every small movement, every brush of his arm against hers sent a rush of awareness through her.

She wanted to touch him, really touch him. But instead, she just stood there, stealing glances, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself in check.

He never looked away.

She could feel his gaze on her, could practically hear the thoughts running through his head.

By the time the elevator doors opened, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to breathe a sigh of relief or pull him right back in and hit the emergency stop.

But all thoughts of Tristan scattered the second she stepped out and took in their surroundings.

The restaurant was stunning .

Exposed brick walls, softened by hanging florals, gave the space a warm, intimate feel.

Soft lighting bathed everything in a golden glow, flickering against ivory tablecloths and candlelit centerpieces.

It was effortlessly elegant, the kind of place that made you forget the world existed beyond its walls.

Victoria let out a breath. “Tristan, this place is stunning.”

As they approach the table, Tristan, ever the gentleman, pulls out Victoria’s chair. But just as she moves to sit, he leans in, his lips brushing just close enough to send a shiver down her spine.

"You look sinful in that dress, love," he murmurs, voice dark as whiskey. "If I wasn’t trying to behave, I’d find a much better use for that bow at your back."

Victoria nearly chokes, her breath catching as she grips the edge of the table. She recovers quickly, though, she has to, and shoots him a look, lifting her chin.

"Behave? You?" She scoffs, fighting the heat creeping up her neck. "I’d love to see you try."

Tristan just smirks, sitting across from her with a knowing look, like he’s in no rush to prove her right.