Page 132 of These White Lies

“Just helping out tonight,” I offer. “Covering a shift.”

The shorter one giggles, eyes darting up and down me. “Well, damn. They should’ve called you in sooner.”

I curve my lips slightly, already angling toward the door. “Guess I’m making a good impression.”

“You single?” the tall one presses, stepping closer.

I lift the tray between us. “Nope.” I slide past, using my shoulder just enough to make space. They don’t follow, thankfully.

I shove the swinging door open with my elbow and walk into the ballroom. The difference between the two rooms couldn’t be more pronounced. Despite the soft music and low chandelier light, I am on alert. The air is cooler out here, but it doesn’t ease the heat simmering under my skin.

My eyes sweep the space automatically. One main exit at the front. Two service hallways at the rear that cut back to the kitchen—one behind me, one near the loading dock where our van is covering the outside. A poorly marked fire exit by the stairwell—either intentional or some hotel negligence. Probably both. And a hallway on the east wall that leads back to the bathrooms with a connecting hallway to the hotel lobby.

I spot at least five private security contractors in the crowd. They aren’t blending. Wires visible, posture stiff, eyes sweeping at set intervals. Their job isn’t to protect—it’s to be seen.

As a warning, it’s not bad and could be effective for crowd control, reminding people not to cause trouble. That is until someone wants to causerealtrouble.

I adjust my grip on the tray and start a slow circuit through the crowd.

“Elizabeth Gowan, meet Seth Wyland. He is one of the sponsors for my charity match.”

The words sound through my earpiece. I don’t slow my steps through the crowd, but every muscle twitches. My eyes lock on them near the mirrored bar—Ray on one side, Elizabeth between him and Seth.

She looks gorgeous. Composed. But I know her. Her spine is too straight, and her chin tips a fraction too high.

The crowd shifts, and I lose my sightline. My chest tightens. I move the tray to my other hand, angle left, trying to keep her in view.

“What are these?” A couple steps into my path, eyeing the tray.

Fuck.

“Crab tartlets,” I say, repeating what the frazzled woman in the kitchen had told me.

They hover, fingers tapping at their napkins like they’re making life-and-death decisions over appetizers. The seconds drag, and I’m one breath from shoving the entire tray into their hands.

And then I hear it through the comms. Seth is dropping Natalya Carrow’s name—using her torture and murder as a weapon. A threat aimed straight at Elizabeth.

My blood spikes. Rage floods so hot it’s like a switch being thrown.

“I might take a few,” the man says, reaching to stack more on his napkin.

My jaw locks. The man’s gaze takes in my expression, and his eyes widen before sliding two tartlets back onto the tray. “Okay, I’ll just take one.” His wife titters nervously, and they scurry off.

Yeah. My rage is showing.

Rhodes’s warning to me earlier tonight was correct—I’m too close to this. But there’s no world where Elizabeth goes into danger without me.

Ray’s laugh cuts across the comm, snapping me back. I realize I missed the last part of their conversation.

Unacceptable.

“Oops,”Ray says.“Sometimes I forget my own strength.”

I’m not sure what he did, but it makes me smile.

Then I hear it. Ray again, lower,“You went pale there for a minute.”

My stomach turns to stone and my chest cracks open.