Page 57 of Velvet Corruption

We weren’t far.

The car sat in the driveway, both of us unmoving. Kieran looked at me, his eyes saying everything. The house loomed, a silent challenge, and my stubbornness warred with exhaustion. I couldn’t tell if the pain in my hand was worse than the bruising on my pride.

He had lived in an apartment when we had been seeing each other back in the day and it had been nice. But this Brownstone was incredibly impressive, with a yellow painted facade and seven steps leading up to the double brown doors, vines on the fence outside.

“New apartment?” I said, though I knew the answer before he spoke.

“Nope.” He shook his head. “This is my house.”

“I’m not going to ask how you can afford this.”

“Good. That seems incredibly personal. And you know how private I am,” he said, winking at me. “Anyway, are you going to get out or are we sleeping in the car?”

I shoved the door open with my shoulder, trying not to wince as I stepped out.

Kieran climbed out of the driver’s seat, locking the car behind us like I’d somehow make a run for it. He moved toward the steps of his brownstone, expecting me to follow. I hesitated, lingering by the car, but the sharp pulse in my hand reminded me I had nowhere else to go.

“Are you coming, or do you want me to carry you?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes and started up the stairs. Each step felt heavier than the last. When we reached the door, he unlocked it smoothly, pushing it open with a quiet click. The inside was just as impressive as the exterior—warm lighting, dark wood floors, and furniture that looked like it had been chosen with actual care rather than stolen from a bachelor pad catalog.

It smelled like leather and something faintly spicy—his cologne, probably. It was annoyingly familiar.

“You redecorate since the last time I was here?” I asked, feigning indifference.

Kieran smirked, shutting the door behind us. “I moved, Ruby.”

“I was joking. At least pretend I’m funny.”

“I’ll need a drink before I do that.”

“Ha-ha,” I said dryly.

I lingered near the entrance, unsure of where to go. He sighed, tossing both our keys onto a console table before disappearing into another room. A second later, he reappeared with a glass of water and handed it to me without a word. I took it begrudgingly, my throat suddenly dry.

“You should sit down,” he said, nodding toward the living room. “You look like you’re about to drop.”

“I’m fine.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed. “Your hand’s busted, you’re running on fumes, and your kid’s with your husband, who you don’t seem to like that much. You’re not fine.”

“He’s my ex,” I muttered. “We’re just not telling anyone yet. We’re worried it’ll affect the campaign.”

Kieran went still. Blinked once.

And then—smirked.

Slow, smug, infuriatingly satisfied.

“Oh,” he said, drawing the word out like it tasted good. “Well, that’s a relief.”

I gave him a look. “What?”

“I was gonna have to kill him.” He shrugged, all mock-casual. “This saves me the paperwork.”

I gaped at him. “Please tell me you’re not being serious.”

“You’re the one who keeps saying I’m some kind of danger to society,” he laughed.