Page 33

Reign

T he bar Terry picked out smells like cheap beer, and someone’s leftover fries. We sit near the back, where the lighting’s low and the noise from the front doesn't reach us. My beer’s cold, untouched. His is halfway gone, but he’s been talking more than drinking.

“Mate,” Terry says, shaking his head and laughing. “Volkov nearly strangled me today. Strangled . Like full-on ‘what do you mean they are not coming today?’ with the accent getting thicker by the second.”

I smirk, tapping the side of my bottle, letting the condensation soak into my fingers. “What’d you tell him?”

“I told him you were off helping your father plan the gala,” he says, raising a brow. “And Angelique was... also helping.”

I give him a look. Everyone at imperium knows my father takes full control of gala planning. In all the years I’ve worked there, he’s never had me help him with it. And he most certainly would not have Angelique helping, too.

He raises his hands in mock innocence. “I didn’t say what kind of help. Anyway, Lando handled the rehearsal like a professional, Reign. That guy’s unreal. Even with Wendy raging all over the studio because you weren’t there, he just tuned her out and danced.”

“He’s good,” I say quietly, still tapping the bottle.

“No, he’s better than good.” Terry leans in, eyes serious now. “I’ve been thinking about it. Why the hell hasn’t Lando ever had a lead role before? I know he’s done small, featured stuff here and there, but he’s got the skill, presence, and the work ethic. Everything.”

The bottle in my hand sweats and I track the bead of water running down its neck.

“My father always said Lando didn’t like the attention,” I murmur after a long pause. “That he preferred supporting roles because leads made him uncomfortable.”

Terry scoffs. “That doesn’t sound like Lando.”

No. It doesn’t. It never really did.

I keep my gaze fixed on the table; brow furrowed as something cold twists in my chest. I think about the way Lando laughs when the spotlight is on him at parties, how he owns a room without even trying, dancing like he’s on fire.

I wonder if my father never gave him the lead because he thought it would scandalize or stain the company’s precious legacy somehow. It’s no secret he hasn’t been supportive of Lando’s sexuality. I make a mental note to talk to them both about this. I won’t watch from the sidelines anymore.

“Anyway,” Terry says, taking another swig. “We should let Lando take more leads in future productions. He’s ready.”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Good idea. ”

There’s a lull in the conversation as he nurses what’s left of his beer. I rarely talk much—Terry’s used to filling the silence—but tonight I need to say something.

“I’ve been composing,” I say, taking a quick swig from my bottle.

His eyes jump up. “Composing what?”

“Music,” I reply, fingers tightening around the bottle. “Mostly piano pieces, some full scores. It started small, but now it’s... something I do when I’m not dancing…something I’m considering doing instead of dancing.”

Terry stares at me for a beat, then breaks into a grin. “Seriously?”

I nod.

“That’s fucking sick,” he says. “You gonna let me hear something?”

“Yeah,” I say, then hesitate. “Terry, I want my music in our Swan Lake production.”

His eyes go wide. “Wait, what?”

“I’m serious,” I say. “I’ve rewritten a few scenes. Just alternative themes—variations on Tchaikovsky’s structure. I think it could give the production something different.”

Terry blinks, then slowly a wicked grin spreads across his face.

“No fucking way,” he says. “Reign Harrington going rogue on a classic? You have to show me.”

“I will,” I say. “Tomorrow.”

He looks like he’s about to explode. “Mate, this could be insane. A modernized Swan Lake with your music? Angelique dancing to you? That’s got revolutionary written all over it.”

I’m about to say something else when my phone vibrates. I flip it over and see a text from Angelique. It’ s a photo of Lando in the middle of a crowd, champagne being poured down his entire face, grinning.

Angel:

Your brother has started a riot.

I exhale a laugh through my nose and rise, grabbing my leather jacket off the back of the chair.

“There’s a party we have to get to.”

Terry grins like he’s just been called into battle. “Lando’s?”

“Where else?”

He chugs the rest of his beer, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then stands, pulling on his jacket.

“Let’s go,” he says.

The party is already unhinged by the time we get there.

The first floor is packed wall-to-wall—music blasting, bodies swaying, laughter echoing off the floorboards and up the staircase.

The air reeks of expensive cologne, sweat, and spilled liquor.

Champagne fizzes in cups and onto the floor.

Someone’s already dancing on the goddamn coffee table.

Terry steps in beside me and immediately whistles. “Jesus. He really threw one tonight.”

I spot Lando first, his shirt half-unbuttoned, curls damp from champagne, arms thrown around two people I don’t recognize as he grinds against someone else entirely. He’s glowing. Completely in his element.

When his gaze finds us across the room, he lights up like he’s just won the lottery.

“Teeerrrrryyyyy! ” he screams, waving a hand and completely ignoring me .

Terry groans. “Oh my.”

Lando sprints across the room, wrapping himself around Terry with zero hesitation. “You came!” he squeals, breath sweet with alcohol. “You’re here! You didn’t tell me you were coming!”

Terry fumbles to steady him. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m celebrating , ” Lando corrects, poking Terry’s chest. “We killed rehearsal today. That deserves a fucking parade.”

“You’re hot when you’re this chaotic,” Terry mumbles under his breath.

I shiver like someone poured cold water down my spine.

“Please,” I mutter. “Don’t say shit like that about my brother around me.”

Terry smirks. “What? Can’t picture him getting railed?”

“I said don’t.”

Terry just grins wider and holds up his hands in surrender, wandering off toward the kitchen with Lando.

I scan the room again until I find Angelique standing near the window, one hand curled around a bottle of water, curls falling loose down her back, cheeks slightly flushed from the warmth and noise.

Her dress is black and long, stopping loosely mid-shin, low in the back.

But she’s not alone. There’s a tall, tattooed, tanned guy standing a little too close, wearing a smug grin. His body’s angled toward her, leaning in when he talks, like everything he’s saying is some kind of secret. She’s not smiling, but she’s not walking away either.

I know that look. She’s being polite.

But he’s laying it on thick, and it makes my jaw twitch. I can feel it rising inside me—the possessiveness that doesn’t care if I’m being irrational or dramatic. All I know is that guy does not know who he’s standing next to and he sure as fuck doesn’t get to look at her like that.

I thread through the bodies and noise, ignoring the way some random girl grabs my arm and slurs my name. I yank my hand free, keeping my eyes locked on Angelique, and when I reach her, I don’t introduce myself or make small talk.

I grab her by the waist, pull her in tight, and my mouth crashes against hers, deep and consuming as my tongue slides against hers like I’ve been starving for it.

Her open bottle tilts dangerously in her hand, and I feel her breath stutter against my lips.

Her hand finds my chest, fingers clutching the fabric, anchoring herself as she kisses me back.

By the time I pull away, her lips are parted, her breathing shallow, her eyes glazed with heat.

I look past her, straight at the guy who was talking to her.

He’s still standing here, watching us with an amused smirk.

Like he knows I’m jealous, knows I couldn’t take it, knows I had to mark her in front of him just to sleep tonight. And he’s right.

I tighten my grip on Angelique’s waist and stare him down until he finally shrugs and turns away, disappearing into the crowd. Only then do I exhale and let myself look at her again.

“Where were you?” Angelique asks, still a little breathless from the kiss.

“Terry and I were at the bar,” I murmur. “I was pitching him my music… for the production.”

She pulls back just enough to see my face, her eyes going wide. “Seriously?”

A slow warmth spreads through my chest, filling all the empty, cracked places. It’s the way she says it, like she’s proud. Like she believes in me, no hesitation.

I nod once, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “Yeah.”

She smiles back, and it’s so genuine it almost knocks the air out of me. I lean in and press a quick kiss to her lips, just a soft, affirming touch, but we pull apart almost instantly when cold liquid splashes across her shoulder and chest.

She gasps, flinching, and I feel her body jerk in my arms. I look up to find Wendy standing in front of us, holding an empty cup, smug as hell.

“Oops,” she says, with zero fucking sincerity.

My eyes drop back to Angelique. Champagne clings to her skin and soaks into the fabric of her dress. Her jaw tightens, and her fists clench as her shoulders tremble.

She’s pissed.

Lando’s across the room one second and beside us the next. He takes one look at Angelique and doesn’t hesitate. “Come on, gorgeous, let’s clean you up before you commit a crime.”

He glares at Wendy over his shoulder. “Maybe go fuck yourself with that drink next time.”

Angelique lets him lead her away, still trembling. And I instantly feel rage as I turn back to Wendy.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I ask, my voice low and dark.

She scoffs, trying to toss her hair like this is some kind of joke. “My problem?” she snaps. “She crept her way in, stole everything, and you just let her.”

I stare at her coldly, trying to calm my anger back to a manageable level .