Page 22

Isabel

Dean’s been uncharacteristically quiet since yesterday’s showdown. No calls. No texts. However, I can feel his influence in everything that’s happened since. In typical Maddox style, once he set his mind to it, he pulled the right strings at Club Greed. Now, here I am, smoothing my dress for the tenth time in the front seat of the SUV, listening to Lincoln’s slow exhale as he drives us through the city. The invitation to tonight’s VIP event practically fell into our laps this morning. There was no signature, but it was obviously my brother’s doing. Devereaux’s doing.

Lincoln shoots me a sideways glance, dark eyes full of concern. “You okay?”

I nod, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

Thinking about Dean—who, despite his anger, immediately worked his magic to get us on Rolfe’s elusive guest list. Thinking about how this might be our only chance to corner Morris and figure out who’s threatening me. And, of course, thinking about Lincoln, who sits so close yet feels a million miles away since our little slip with Dean.

We haven’t had much time to process. Between yesterday’s confrontation and this sudden party invitation, we’ve been operating at full throttle. But I can’t ignore the slow tumble of my heart every time I glance at Lincoln. Maybe it’s the way he helped me zip up my dress tonight, or the memory of his arms around me the night before Dean barged in. Whatever it is, I’m in free fall, and I’m not sure if I’m excited or terrified.

The SUV glides to a stop in front of Club Greed. This time, it’s an entirely different vibe from our previous visits. The exterior is decked out with velvet ropes, ornate lighting, and luxury cars lined up along the sidewalk. A valet wearing a sleek black suit opens my door, offering a polite bow, and I step onto the curb, acutely aware of how my heels click against the pavement.

Lincoln loops an arm around my waist—both protective and possessive—and a spark of warmth flutters in my chest. I try to ignore the way his touch makes me momentarily forget we’re here for dangerous business.

Inside, the club has been transformed. Where before it was loud neon and throbbing bass, tonight it’s a lavish gala. Chandeliers throw glittering patterns across marble floors, and servers circulate with trays of champagne flutes. Couples in formal evening wear mingle in hushed clusters, exchanging knowing smiles. My stomach does a slow flip.

A host in a tailored tuxedo meets us at the entrance to a hallway roped off with gold stanchions. “Mr. and Mrs. Zane,” he intones. “This way, please. Devereaux has asked that you be treated as honored guests.”

Lincoln’s grip on me tightens for a moment, a silent I’ve got you. I breathe out a small sigh of relief and follow the host. Dean might have thrown us into the deep end, but at least Devereaux knows we’re undercover now, which means less risk of being forced into questionable “tests.” Not that we’re completely safe, but it’s one less hurdle, right?

We pass through a set of ornate double doors that open onto a new wing of the club. It’s all opulent décor—plush carpets, gold-framed mirrors, sculpted pillars. The hum of conversation and tinkling laughter echoes through the cavernous space. There’s a discreet bar at one end, where a bartender wearing a half-mask pours glittering cocktails into slender glasses. The air smells like expensive perfume and the faintest hint of incense.

I lean closer to Lincoln, my lips near his ear. “Is it just me, or does this look like a scene from some decadent historical drama?”

He huffs a soft laugh, tension crinkling the corners of his eyes. “No, it’s definitely extra.”

The host leads us deeper into a series of rooms, each more luxurious than the last. I catch glimpses of couples conversing in hushed tones, some dancing to a string quartet in a side lounge, others sipping cocktails on velvet sofas. The entire atmosphere vibrates with a subtle undercurrent—desire, secrecy, the promise of something forbidden.

Finally, we arrive at a back room that feels more like an exclusive salon: a grand space with low lighting, luxurious drapes, and ornate couches arranged around a central dance floor. Soft music plays giving the room an air of refined indulgence. A handful of couples already populate the space, chatting, sipping champagne, leaning into each other in intimately close poses. My heart skips a beat when I realize that somewhere in this crowd is Morris Rolfe.

The host inclines his head politely. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Morris will be by shortly to greet you.” Then he vanishes into the swirl of well-dressed guests, leaving us standing on the threshold.

Lincoln’s arm remains around my waist, and I feel the subtle press of his fingertips through the fabric of my dress. “So,” he murmurs, scanning the room. “Morris is here. Somewhere.”

I swallow, trying to quell the jitters that threaten to make my voice shake. “Now what?”

He glances down at me, the flicker of a gentle smile ghosting his lips. “We do what we always do. Stay calm, blend in, see who we can talk to. Dean made sure Devereaux’s aware we’re not to be ‘tested’ again, but we can’t assume we’re off the hook. At least now we might get an introduction instead of prowling around begging for scraps of intel.”

Relief mingles with nerves. “Let’s just hope it goes smoothly.”

As we move further into the room, several pairs of eyes slide our way—some curious, some appraising. A woman in a sleek red gown passes by, offering us a flirtatious smile, and I wonder fleetingly if she’s friend or foe. Lincoln steers me gently toward a secluded corner, where a velvet settee and matching armchair create a small seating area.

He settles in beside me, our shoulders touching, and I grab a glass of champagne from a passing server. The bubbles dance along my tongue, and I force myself to sip slowly. My pulse is already racing without additional fuel.

“If Morris is as cagey as everyone says,” Lincoln murmurs, leaning in so his breath warms my ear, “he might not approach us first. We might have to make ourselves known.”

I tilt my head to meet his gaze. “Should we ask Devereaux directly?”

Lincoln gives a half-shrug. “Possibly. But let’s give it a beat. People are still arriving. If Rolfe is here, he’ll make his rounds. We can always corner Devereaux if we get desperate.”

The mention of cornering Devereaux reminds me of the tension between him and Dean. My brother may have manipulated events to get us here, but there’s no telling how Devereaux truly feels about hosting a pair of undercover infiltrators at his prized VIP party. The precariousness of our position tightens my chest.

I take another sip, scanning the room. “Who are all these people?” I murmur. “High rollers, obviously. Maybe business tycoons looking for… a different kind of networking?”

Lincoln snorts softly. “Wouldn’t surprise me.” Then he motions with his chin. “Over there?—”

Following his line of sight, I spot Vera and Trey from before, chatting with a tall man in a crisp white suit. My stomach flips. “Looks like old acquaintances are here,” I say wryly.

We share a look, uncertain whether we should engage them now or wait. But just as I’m about to suggest we mingle, Vera’s gaze flicks our way. She smiles, waves discreetly, then nudges Trey’s arm. They excuse themselves from their conversation, making a beeline for us.

I brace myself for another sultry greeting, but to my surprise, Vera merely offers a friendly grin. “You two made it! And invited this time, no less.”

Trey nods in agreement, a half-smile on his lips. “So you really are on the VIP list. You must’ve impressed somebody.”

Lincoln’s hand presses a bit more firmly against my hip. “Something like that.” He keeps his voice casual. “We heard Morris might be around tonight.”

Vera’s expression turns knowing. “He is,” she confirms. “Somewhere. You might see him once he’s done with his current business… or you might not. He’s unpredictable.”

Trey arches a brow. “We can let him know you’re here, if you’d like.”

That suggests an in, but a cautious part of me wonders if it’s wise to appear too eager. One wrong move could scare Morris off. Before I can respond, Vera leans in, lowering her voice. “He’s got eyes everywhere, though. So maybe wait and see if he approaches you.”

Lincoln gives a short nod, acknowledging the advice. “We appreciate the heads-up.”

Vera and Trey exchange glances, then Vera shrugs elegantly. “Well, no sense fretting over it. In the meantime, you two look stunning.” She eyes my black dress, the neckline a bit more daring than I’m used to, and a flicker of something playful crosses her face. “Come find us if you want to dance—or anything else.”

Trey winks. “We’re over there, mingling with the usual suspects.”

They drift off, leaving the faintest swirl of perfume behind. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “They’re certainly… friendly.”

Lincoln’s lips twitch. “They mean well, I think. But keep your guard up.”

We lapse into a brief silence, the hum of hushed conversations and the clink of glasses filling the space. My gaze roams the lavish room again, noting the curved arches, the draping curtains, the subtle interplay of dim light. I catch glimpses of couples drifting behind partitioned screens and wonder what sort of indulgences this VIP party truly allows.

Lincoln’s hand slides up my spine, a subtle gesture that sends a ripple of comfort through me. He leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “How are you doing?”

I manage a small smile, letting my free hand rest on his thigh for the sake of appearance—and maybe for my own reassurance. “I’m okay. Nervous, but okay. You?”

He exhales slowly. “Same. Feels like we’re walking a tightrope.”

I bite my lip. “We are.” But I force a steady exhale. “At least we’re not alone.”

Our eyes lock, and for a moment, all the glitz and glamour around us fades. The memory of the other night’s confessions, the heated passion we shared before Dean barged in, lingers between us. My heart beats uncomfortably fast under his gaze, and I have to remind myself to breathe. I might be half in love with him, or maybe it’s just the adrenaline talking, but either way, there’s no denying the pull I feel when he’s near.

Before we can say more, a low chime rings out. A server in a burgundy vest steps forward, clearing his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for gracing us with your presence this evening,” he announces in a cultured tone. “Devereaux invites you to enjoy all the amenities. Please, indulge yourselves—and if you’re lucky, you may have the honor of speaking with our esteemed host, or with the elusive Morris Rolfe and Lazarus Delgado.”

At the mention of the names, a ripple of murmurs spreads through the room. My stomach knots and my eyes widen at the mention of Lazarus Delgado.

“Lazarus?” I whisper to Lincoln. “The Delgado Mafia boss ?”

Lincoln’s eyes widen. “Do you know him?”

I nod, slowly, chills skating over my skin. “Yes, doesn’t everyone?”

Could Lazarus be the one threatening me? It makes sense.

Lincoln brushes his hand against mine. “Stay close. We don’t split up unless absolutely necessary,” he says under his breath.

I nod, adrenaline sparking in my veins. “Agreed.”

With that, we rise from our seats, merging into the flow of couples moving deeper into the luxurious quarters—toward private rooms, small parlors, and alcoves lit by dim sconces. Every surface glistens with opulence, every face masked in polite intrigue. We’re shepherded into a chamber beyond a set of gilded doors, where a fountain bubbles in the center, surrounded by couches arranged for discreet conversation.

I spot Vera and Trey again, perched on one of the couches with a pair of older socialites. Beyond them, a cluster of people stands around a tall man with dark hair, speaking in hushed, animated tones. Is that Morris? My pulse leaps, and I nudge Lincoln, trying to be subtle.

He follows my gaze, jaw tightening. “Could be him,” he murmurs. “Do we approach?”

I hesitate, watching the man’s confident posture, the way others hang on his words. He could definitely be the infamous Morris Rolfe, but there’s no telling until we get closer. “We should at least circle around. See if we catch his eye.”

Lincoln nods, slipping his arm around my waist again. Together, we ease through the throng, stopping to exchange polite nods with other guests. My heart pounds at the possibility that the next moment could bring us face-to-face with the man who might be behind my threats—or at least connected to them.

Every breath I take feels laced with tension, every brush of Lincoln’s hand on my hip a comforting reminder that I’m not alone in this. I can’t help wondering what new charade we’ll have to perform tonight, how far we’ll have to go to seal the illusion of Mr. and Mrs. Zane. And, in the private corners of my mind, I wonder what it’ll mean for me and Lincoln when all this is over.

A low, pulsing bass thrums through the dark, opulent chamber. All around us, couples are shedding inhibitions under the sultry glow of chandeliers and tinted lanterns. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume, spiced liquor, and something more primal—desire crackling across the room like electricity.

Lincoln and I hover near a plush velvet settee, watching the scene unfold. I can feel his heartbeat through the arm he’s wrapped around my waist, the tension in his body humming in time with the music. Everywhere I look, people are leaning closer, exchanging hungry kisses, laughter dissolving into moans, and the boundary between public and private blurring in this decadent den. Part of me is on high alert—scanning the faces, searching for a glimpse of Morris—but another part can’t ignore the relentless, throbbing awareness of Lincoln by my side.

It doesn’t help that half the guests have already noticed us. Men and women flash bold smiles, some offering coy winks, others outright staring as though sizing up new additions to this secretive world. I shift in my heels, the swirl of my dress brushing against Lincoln’s leg.

Just then, Vera and Trey reappear, threading through the crowd with a predatory grace. They both have the faint sheen of champagne-induced warmth on their cheeks, eyes bright with excitement. Vera’s gold gown shimmers under the lights, hugging her curves, while Trey’s crisp suit jacket hangs open, revealing a glimpse of tanned collarbone.

They approach us, hands linked. Vera’s crimson lips curl in a lazy grin as her gaze travels over Lincoln and me. “You two look so tense,” she purrs, leaning forward as if sharing a secret. “We thought you might like to… loosen up.”

Trey slides his free hand over my shoulder, letting his fingertips brush the bare skin there. “The night’s just getting started,” he adds softly, voice edged with a dare.

My pulse jumps at his touch, and I sense Lincoln stiffen beside me. A low, possessive sound rumbles from his chest—a near-growl that sends a jolt through me. This moment is precisely why we came under the guise of a couple who’s “open to new experiences,” but the reality is dizzying, especially with Lincoln’s tension radiating like a live wire.

Still, we have a role to play. If we recoil now, Trey and Vera might take offense or suspect we’re not who we claim to be. They’re close to Morris, after all; we can’t risk losing any chance to gather intel. So I place a reassuring hand on Lincoln’s chest, silently telling him to hold it together.

“We’re… interested,” I say, mustering a confident smile. My voice quivers slightly, but the music and chatter hopefully drown out any tremor. “What did you have in mind?”

Vera’s eyes gleam. She glances over her shoulder at a cluster of low couches in a dimly lit corner of the room. “How about something to drink first, to help everyone relax?” Her gaze flicks to Trey, who inclines his head in agreement. “Then maybe we see how we all… mesh.”

Lincoln’s arm tightens around me, a subtle warning. But aloud, he nods. “Fine. A drink sounds good.”

Trey directs us toward a quiet alcove where a small table holds an assortment of exotic-looking bottles. Soft cushions and plush chairs form a loose semicircle around it, and several couples are already there—chatting, leaning into each other, letting hands wander under the faint glow of candlelight. There’s an undercurrent of uninhibited sensuality that sets my skin tingling.

I settle beside Lincoln on one of the cushioned benches. Vera and Trey take the seat opposite us, and a server appears as if by magic, pouring amber liquor into crystal glasses. The aroma is sweet and spicy, laced with something I can’t identify—perhaps an infusion of herbs for “liquid courage,” I think wryly.

Vera lifts her glass, eyes dancing between Lincoln and me. “To new experiences,” she toasts, her silky voice practically wrapping around the words.

We clink glasses, and I take a tentative sip. The flavor burns pleasantly down my throat, leaving a heated trail behind. Lincoln downs his, jaw still tight, though he angles himself closer to me on the cushions. Trey and Vera exchange knowing glances.

“So,” Trey says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. The overhead light catches the sharp angle of his cheekbones. “You two have been around a bit, but I get the sense you’re… new to these deeper waters. Right?”

I force a teasing smile. “We like to explore, but we’re still finding our footing.”

Vera trails a hand along the neckline of her gown. “Don’t worry, we’re not pushy.” She slides a half-lidded glance at Lincoln, then at me. “But if you want to join the fun—tonight’s the perfect place.”

The gentle strains of music from another room waft over us, mingling with the rhythmic pulse of desire that seems to fill the air. I catch sight of a couple on a nearby chaise lounge, locked in a deep, leisurely kiss, hands roaming. The scene is undeniably erotic, and I feel the passion of it seeping into my own blood.

Trey shifts, leaning in until he’s close enough that his hand grazes my knee. “We could start slow,” he murmurs, voice low, “unless you two prefer to dive in headfirst?”

Lincoln bristles beside me, and I sense the surge of protective jealousy in every taut muscle of his body. But he plays his part, managing a throaty laugh that sounds almost genuine. “We’re good with slow,” he says, sliding a hand up my arm in a show of possession. “Right, darling?”

My heart hammers at the pet name—both from the pretense of it and the underlying truth. “Slow is fine,” I echo, taking another sip of the liquor.

Vera smiles, then shifts closer, one hand brushing against my arm in a featherlight caress. “You’re tense, Isabel,” she whispers. “Let go a little. You’ve got your husband right here. You can trust him, right?”

A spark of nervous excitement flares in my core. I shoot Lincoln a quick look, letting my gaze linger on his lips before meeting his eyes. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I trust him.”

Then Vera leans in, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. Her fingertip trails a path down my neck, and my breath catches. I can almost feel Lincoln’s gaze burning through the side of my face. But we asked for this—didn’t we?

Trey lifts a hand to hover near my other shoulder, not quite touching but close enough that I feel the warmth of his presence. “We can just enjoy each other’s company,” he says quietly, “see how the night unfolds.”

Lincoln’s arm slides fully around my waist, pulling me snug against his side. His voice is tight but controlled. “We don’t share easily,” he warns, eyes flicking pointedly to Trey’s hand.

A small thrill runs through me at Lincoln’s possessiveness, despite the precarious scenario. Vera notices too, a sly grin curving her lips. “Possessive, huh?” she teases. “We like that.”

I swallow, suddenly very aware that we’re straddling a razor edge. We have to maintain the illusion that we’re comfortable in this world—keep Vera and Trey happy enough to remain allies. But if I show too much reluctance, we’ll blow our cover. If Lincoln shows too much aggression, same deal.

So, I force myself to relax into his hold, letting out a controlled breath. “We’re still learning boundaries,” I say, offering a small, apologetic laugh. “Tonight’s… new territory.”

Vera’s gaze softens. “I get it,” she says, glancing at Trey. “We’ll take it easy. Just a little closeness, yeah?” She leans nearer, the scent of her perfume wrapping around me as she lifts a hand and brushes her fingertips over my collarbone.

Lincoln tenses, but to his credit, he doesn’t pull me away. I tilt my head, allowing the touch while scanning Trey’s expression. He’s watching with rapt focus, mouth curved in a slow smile. The air between us hums with tension, the promise of something both electrifying and dangerous.

I feel Trey’s hand settle lightly on my shoulder, and Vera shifts close enough for a gentle brush of her lips at the base of my neck—more a whisper than a kiss. My pulse thrums so loudly I can’t hear the music anymore. If I glance up, I know I’ll meet Lincoln’s gaze, see that smolder of jealousy, and maybe desire. There’s a heady power in realizing I have him at my side, while two near-strangers try to entice us into something more.

For a moment, I can’t help but wonder if Morris is watching. If he is, does he see a devoted couple open to new experiences, or does he sense the underlying tension? The question flickers through my mind like a warning.

Still, my body doesn’t seem to care about logic. The mixture of Vera’s soft touches and Lincoln’s hard presence pressed against my side has me breathing in shallow gulps.

“Isabel…” Lincoln growls softly, low in my ear, and a tremor ignites in my stomach. I don’t need words to guess he’s asking if I’m okay—if I want him to step in or if we keep going.

I let my hand slide up his chest, fisting gently in the material of his suit. My eyes find his, and the unspoken conversation is quick: We’re in this together. I’m all right, but be ready.

He nods once, tension rippling through the line of his jaw. Then, surprising me, he leans in and captures my mouth in a possessive kiss, forcing a gasp from my lips. It’s a clear message to Vera and Trey—Lincoln’s reminding them (and maybe me) who I belong to, illusions aside. I melt into him for a moment, letting the taste of champagne and raw hunger swirl between us.

When we finally break apart, my heart hammers so loud I’m sure everyone can hear it. Vera’s eyes glitter with intrigue, Trey’s brows lift in mild amusement.

“Well,” Vera breathes, “you two definitely know how to keep things interesting.”

My cheeks burn, and I bury my face in Lincoln’s shoulder, if only to hide the flush. This might be the most bizarre moment of my life—teetering between performance and genuine spark, with two other people trying to inch closer. But we hold our ground, and I feel Lincoln’s body coil like a spring beneath his suit, ready to snap if Trey or Vera push too far.

In the background, the music shifts to a sultrier beat. A couple across the room shifts on their couch, leaning back with parted lips and wandering hands. The entire atmosphere seems to tip deeper into hedonism, and I realize with a jolt that if we stay here too long, we may be expected to do more than just a few stray touches.

I swallow hard. We need a graceful exit—something that won’t offend Trey and Vera but gives us breathing room. “Maybe,” I say, voice unsteady, “we could dance again first?”

Trey hesitates, then exhales a playful laugh. “Of course. We can join you, or you two can have some private time on the floor.”

Lincoln lifts a hand, brushing Vera’s fingertips away from my collarbone with careful politeness. “We’ll meet you out there,” he says, leaving no room for argument. “In a minute.”

Vera and Trey trade looks, then nod. “We’ll be around,” Vera purrs, trailing a final caress across my shoulder before rising. Trey offers a charming smirk as he stands, and together, they move back into the crowd, disappearing among other couples.

The moment they’re gone, I let out a long breath, half relief, half… something else. My entire body hums with the residual charge of the encounter. Lincoln’s eyes are locked on mine, tension carving lines around his mouth.

I force a shaky grin. “That was… yeah, insane.”

He exhales, the hard set of his shoulders easing fractionally. “Yeah,” he rasps. “You okay?”

I nod, sliding my palm over his chest for reassurance—his or mine, I’m not sure. “I’m fine. I just… we need to keep our cover, but also not lose ourselves completely.”

His hand closes over mine, warm and solid. “We won’t,” he promises. “I won’t let it go too far. But we might not have a choice if we want to keep them on our side.”

I swallow. “I know.” It’s a sobering reality. The entire reason we’re putting on this act is to get closer to Morris, and if indulging in these intimate games ensures Trey and Vera’s cooperation, it might be a necessary risk.

Lincoln glances around, then rubs his jaw. “Let’s find a way to slip out soon, see if we can catch a whisper of where Rolfe is, or Delgado.” His eyes darken with protective concern. “But right now, I need a minute with you, away from prying eyes.”

A tendril of warmth snakes through me at the rough edge in his voice. For a moment, I almost forget we’re in public. “Same,” I admit, voice breathy.

He stands, tugging me gently to my feet. The room spins with energy and pounding bass, but the weight of his hand at my waist steadies me. Together, we step back into the flow of the party, my heart slamming against my ribs, my mind spinning with the dual challenge of playing a role and confronting the real spark between us.

I cast one last glance back at the plush alcove where Vera and Trey sat, where desire and danger entwined in a dizzying dance. This is the life we’ve stepped into, I remind myself. If we’re going to expose Morris’s secrets, we have to be ready for whatever it throws at us—even if it means flirting with the edge of our own boundaries. And as Lincoln’s grip tightens on me, I vow not to let that edge swallow me whole.