Page 71 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Sixty

T he words were right there. On her lips. Ready to be spoken.

Victoria could feel them, heavy in her chest, a truth that had been clawing at the edges of her soul for far too long. The love she had spent so long denying, fighting, running from. It had caught her. Wrapped around her like an unshakable force, pressing against her ribs, demanding to be freed.

She was in love with Tristan.

Not the kind of love that was soft and simple, but the kind that was all-consuming. The kind that rewrote the fabric of her being, burned through her fears, and left her breathless in its wake.

And he needed to know.

Her fingers curled into the lapels of his suit, gripping the fabric like an anchor, as if letting go would send her spiraling. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the music, the voices, the world beyond him.

“Tristan, I…”

She faltered.

Not out of hesitation. Not out of doubt.

But because of the way he was looking at her.

Like she was the only thing in existence.

He already knew.

His eyes burned into her, dark and unwavering, yet somehow so achingly familiar, like a promise she had spent a lifetime trying to decipher. His hands at her waist, the way he was holding her so effortlessly close, like she belonged there, like she always had… it unraveled her.

Victoria swallowed hard, her breath hitching as she tried again.

“I—”

A sharp vibration between them.

His phone.

The sound was intrusive, shattering the moment like glass hitting marble.

Tristan’s jaw clenched, something flickering behind his gaze. A curse whispered under his breath.

He didn’t move to answer it right away. His grip on her waist tightened, his brows drawing together in hesitation. The phone buzzed again, insistent.

For a second, just a second, she thought he might ignore it. That he’d choose this. Her.

Then, with a sharp breath, he pressed his forehead to hers, his voice low. “Hold that thought.”

A brush of lips against her forehead.

Then the warmth of him was gone.

Her arms felt cold without him.

She watched as he turned away, phone already at his ear, his voice low and clipped as he answered.

“You’re interrupting me. Why?”

His words were sharp, edged with irritation, but he kept moving, disappearing into the crowd before she could breathe again.

And just like that, the moment was stolen.

Victoria stood frozen in the center of the dance floor, the ghost of his touch still lingering against her skin. The confession still burned in her throat, unsaid, suspended in time.

Because of course.

Of course fate wasn’t going to let her say it yet.

Not when it had spent almost a year keeping them in this slow, agonizing pull. Never fully letting go, never fully giving in.

Not when she had finally stopped running.

She swallowed hard, dragging in a breath, willing herself to steady.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she sees Justin and Taylor.

Dancing. Laughing. Caught in their own little world.

And despite everything, despite her distrust of Justin, despite the war raging in her own chest, she felt relief.

Taylor looked happy. Really happy.

Victoria let the moment settle, pushing away the unease that still lingered like a shadow in her mind.

She turned toward the bar, thinking a drink might dull the sharp edge of emotions still thrumming through her.

But before she could take a single step, a hand wrapped around hers.

Firm. Steady. Not unkind.

For a heartbeat, she hoped it was Tristan, already back, ready to reclaim their moment.

“Can I have this dance?”

The voice was smooth. Refined. Laced with effortless charm.

It wasn’t Tristan.

It was Tyson.

Victoria’s stomach dropped, but she schooled her expression, lifting her gaze to meet his.

He was watching her with the same poised, unshakable confidence he always carried…

almost regal in its presence. The kind of man who could ask for a dance and make it sound like both a request and an inevitability.

“You look like hell.”

“You should see the other guy,” a flicker of amusement in his gaze told her he knew exactly what he was doing.

Her first instinct was to refuse. To pull away.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to have a mask on?”

The smile that spread across his beautiful sculpted face made her uncomfortable.

Instead of pulling away, like her mind warned her to do, she exhaled slowly, slipping her hand into his.

“One dance,” she said, voice cool.

Tyson’s smirk deepened, a flicker of emotion veiled just beneath his gaze.

“That’s all I want.”

The moment Tyson pulled her into the dance, he moved with effortless control, leading her like it was second nature. Victoria followed, her steps light but guarded, her body tense despite the easy sway of the music.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she murmured, keeping her gaze level with his.

Tyson let out a quiet chuckle. “I’m here to pick up Tristan. But you already knew that.”

Her jaw tightened. “Then why the dance?”

“Because I wanted one.” His grip on her waist remained featherlight, but his presence was anything but. “And you're standing here alone, where is that brother of mine anyways?”

Victoria schooled her expression, refusing to let him see how his words needled under her skin. “He stepped away.”

Tyson hummed in acknowledgment, leading her through a slow turn. “Convenient.”

Her eyes narrowed. “For who?”

He smirked, gaze flickering over her as if he were piecing together a puzzle. “For me, obviously.”

She scoffed, but Tyson only chuckled, the sound smooth and effortless.

“I was planning to wait until after the Reaping to have this conversation,” he admitted, tilting his head slightly. “But since we’re here, and I might actually have a chance to talk without Tristan around…”

His grip tightened, just for a fraction of a second, enough to make sure she was paying attention.

“I wanted to apologize.”

That caught her off guard. “Apologize?”

“For my… behavior at the gym,” Tyson said, his voice even, carefully measured.

He led her through a slow turn, his grip light yet assured.

“Or rather, for letting Tristan bait me into something so trivial.” His lips twitched, almost amused, though there was a sharper edge beneath it.

“I don’t usually entertain such theatrics, but you’ve likely noticed my brother excels at stirring up chaos. ”

Victoria arched a brow. “And yet, you still threw a punch.”

His smirk deepened. “Even the most disciplined men have their limits.” His hand flexed against hers, just for a second. “But I should have handled it better. And for that, I owe you an apology.”

Victoria blinked, momentarily thrown. She’d expected smugness, expected another round of veiled threats or insinuations, not this.

Her fingers flexed against his shoulder. “Okay,” she said cautiously.

Tyson exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s it? No gloating? No sharp remark?”

“No,” she said, studying him. “But I’m curious.”

Tyson smirked. “That’s dangerous.”

In this light, she could see the resemblance between him and Tristan. The same sharpness, the same charm, though Tyson wielded his differently.

She tilted her head. “Why does your father only call on Tristan to handle the fights?” Her voice was steady but edged with suspicion.

“Tristan may enjoy it, but why does it always fall on him? He had three fights lined up last night, and your father still made him fight the night before. Almost like he’s punishing him for something. ”

Tyson’s steps faltered for the briefest moment, but he didn’t waver. His gaze met hers, though something darker flickered behind his eyes.

“My father’s methods are his own,” he said coolly. “It’s always been this way. Tristan was always the better fighter. He’s older, and when the time comes, he’ll take over.”

He twirled her once more, then pulled her back in, his tone casual but precise. “I, on the other hand… I can hold my own, but the business side? That’s where I excel.”

Victoria’s grip tightened slightly. “And you’re okay with the family business?” Her voice was sharper than she intended, the weight behind her words unmistakable. He didn’t answer.

“That silence is really loud, Tyson.”

His smirk returned, slower this time, more thoughtful. “Since we are trying to understand things, I have a question.”

Victoria arched a brow. “Of course there’s a question.”

Tyson twirled her once more, drawing her back into his space effortlessly. “Why did you lie about your name?”

The shift was subtle, but she felt it. The way the air between them tightened, the way his gaze settled on her with something sharper than amusement.

Victoria’s breath hitched, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she forced a lightness into her tone. “You should know if you handle the business stuff.”

Before she could answer, before she could even formulate a response, Tyson’s gaze flicked past her, landing on something—or someone—over her shoulder. His smirk widened.

“Looks like I won’t be getting that answer tonight,” he mused, his grip on her hand remaining just a moment longer than necessary.

“Tyson.”

Tristan’s voice was sharp, cutting through the moment like a blade. Victoria barely had time to process before he stepped between them, his body a solid barrier.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tristan’s tone was controlled, but she heard the edge beneath it.

Tyson let out a dry laugh, utterly unfazed. “Dancing with your gorgeous date.” His gaze flicked to Victoria, full of amusement and something else she couldn’t quite place. His fingers still loosely held hers.

And then, with a slow, purposeful movement, he sidestepped Tristan just enough to raise her hand to his lips. The kiss was barely more than a brush, but the way his eyes met hers as he did it sent a shiver down her spine.

“I’ll see you soon, Victoria.”

The words felt like a promise. Or a threat. Maybe both.

Then, just as smoothly as he had appeared, Tyson turned away, letting her hand slip from his. “I’ll meet you in the car, Tristan.”

He disappeared into the crowd, leaving Victoria standing between the two men, her pulse racing.