Page 69 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Fifty-Eight

A slow, sultry melody drifted from the string quartet in the corner, the notes curling around the room like smoke, setting a rhythm of whispered promises and dark temptations.

The ballroom was breathtaking. Gold-trimmed walls, chandeliers dripping in crystals, and a sea of masked figures moving in a world of excess.

But none of it held Victoria’s attention.

Golden light bathed the space in a warm, decadent glow.

Chandeliers hung like frozen stars above the crowd, their crystals refracting light over silk-draped tables and towering floral arrangements.

The air was thick with the scent of roses, aged whiskey, and something intoxicatingly sweet. Wealth, power, and secrecy.

Victoria stepped inside, her fingers still laced with Tristan’s, a single red rose held delicately in her other hand.

The room was stunning, but so was she. Her dress, a bold crimson, hugged her frame like it had been made for her alone.

The deep V-cut dipped dangerously low, while the high slit promised a glimpse of bare skin with every step.

The silk whispered against her thighs, a second heartbeat to the rhythm of her heels clicking against the marble floor.

Eyes found her instantly. Conversations dipped into hushed murmurs. Gilded masks concealed identities, but nothing could hide the weight of their curious, sometimes envious and definitely intrigued stares. Some recognized Tristan, some only saw the woman beside him. Either way, they watched.

Tristan didn’t pause. He moved through the space like he owned it, because he did.

His family’s name was etched into the very walls of this hotel, in the foundation of this world.

And with each step, each whisper that followed them, it was clear: standing beside him was as much a statement as it was a danger.

He led her straight to the center of the floor, where the light was brightest, where the attention was sharpest. The silk of her red dress clung to her skin, the high slit teasing with every step.

He turned to face her, his hold never faltering, his palm sliding along the small of her back until she was flush against him.

A shiver ran through her as his fingers traced slow, languid paths up and down her spine.

A sharp inhale. A brush of heat at her ear.

"You’re triggering me in all the right ways, love," Tristan murmured, his voice deep, deliberate, and dripping with seduction.

His fingers tightened at her waist, a barely-there touch that burned through her skin.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear as a slow smirk tugged at his lips. "When can I give you my last name?"

Victoria’s breath stilled. Her eyes snapped to his, searching, waiting for the punchline. But there wasn’t one. Just dark intensity staring back at her.

She exhaled, tilting her head ever so slightly. "Bold of you to assume I’d take it," she shot back, her voice steady despite the wildfire in her chest.

His smirk deepened, a glint of wickedness sparking in his gaze. "Bold of you to pretend you don’t want to."

She scoffed, but it was all for show. He saw right through it.

Before she could form a response, he moved. One hand still firm on her waist, the other capturing her fingers, guiding her into a dance. The music swelled around them, and suddenly, nothing else existed.

They moved in perfect sync, his lead undeniable, her steps instinctive. The space between them was nonexistent, heat and tension crackling in the air. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, his lips dangerously close to her temple.

The song bled into its final notes, and the world crept back in.

She hated how easy it was to fall into this with him, how effortlessly he disarmed her with a single touch, a single word.

"Mr. Locke!" A voice cut through the moment, shattering the delicate thread between them.

A journalist stood nearby, cameras flashing, poised to capture whatever Tristan gave them. "One picture?"

Tristan didn’t hesitate, didn’t even glance at Victoria for permission. He simply turned toward the journalist, his grip on her unfaltering.

"Of course," he said smoothly. "I’d love to get one with my date."

Another flash. "And your date’s name, sir?"

His response was instant, effortless. "Victoria Grace, head midwife at Empire Health Center."

Her lungs forgot how to function.

The words rang in her head, louder than the music and the cameras. She barely heard the next question, barely registered the camera lens pointed at her.

What the actual fuck did he just say?

Tristan had just handed her name to the world. To the press. To Connors. To Cassian himself.

I need to find Taylor. Now!

The words barely sank in before a sharp pulse of panic gripped her chest. Her lungs fought for air. She turned, heels scraping against marble, ready to disappear into the crowd.

But she didn’t make it far.

Tristan’s hand clamped around her wrist, his grip unyielding as he pulled her back. The force sent her stumbling, breath hitching as she collided with his chest. Before she could even protest, he dragged her into the shadows, the bar’s dim light casting a golden glow over his sharp features.

“What the fuck, Tristan?” she shot at him, but her voice was drowned out by the noise of the bar.

She turned to face him, her pulse racing. “I need to find Taylor. Now.”

He smirked, acting like nothing was wrong. “What’s the rush?” His tone was too casual for what had just happened.

Her heart pounded. “Maybe give a bitch a heads-up before detonating her entire life?” Her voice was edged with fury, but the panic still bled through. “You have no idea who’s watching. What about your father?”

She ran a shaky hand through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts. The panic was almost too much to breathe through. She froze when the bartender walked up.

“Bourbon and coke,” he said, when the bartender approached. “And a glass of moscato.”

A shadow passed over Tristan’s eyes, something primal flickering to the surface. He stepped closer, pressing his body against hers, letting her feel his presence.

“You’re spiraling, love,” he said smoothly. Quiet. Lethal. His fingers found the back of her neck, anchoring her in place. “No one will fucking touch you.”

His smirk was slow, dark, and utterly merciless. “And if they try?” He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of her ear. “I’ll turn their world to fucking ash, You’re mine, Victoria. And I’ll burn every bridge, every soul, every fucking thing to the ground if anyone dares lay a hand on you.”

His lips brushed her ear. “I’ll walk through fire for you. And when I’m done, there won’t be a single fucking thing left of them. That’s a promise.”

“I’d like to find Taylor now.” Victoria didn’t know what to truly say because, at the core, the love she felt for Tristan was earth-shattering.

And it scared the living shit out of her.

She’d felt it the moment his lips brushed against her ear, the raw intensity of his words sinking deep inside her.

It was a promise, one she hadn’t been prepared to hear, but now she couldn’t unhear it.

It was suffocating, and yet it felt like the only thing that made sense.

God, why did he have to say that? The sheer force of it hit her like a wave, leaving her gasping for breath. She knew it was real, too real, but there was something about the depth of his feelings that made her heart race, and her fear flare up all over again.

“I forgot to tell you that she was here with Justin.” The words tumbled out faster than she’d meant, an attempt to shield herself from the suffocating truth in his gaze. She needed something, anything to hold onto other than the raw, terrifying certainty of his love.

Tristan pulled back just enough to study her face, his dark gaze narrowing as if reading every line of emotion she was trying to hide. He didn’t miss the way her breath hitched, the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

“That’s not exactly the response I was expecting,” he murmured, almost dangerous in its calm.

Her steps were sharp, her heart thundering as she moved closer, her body language daring him to challenge her. If she were just a bit taller, they’d be nose to nose. She leaned in, her voice silky and seductive, “When you actually say the real words, then I will.”

He grabbed her hand, and as she started to walk forward, he pulled, making her stumble back into him. His chest pressed against her back, the heat of his body sending an electric jolt through her.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he leaned down, his lips against her ear as he took a deep breath.

“You’re a maddening woman.”