Page 94 of Velvet Corruption

I sat down beside Julian, wrapping my hands around a coffee cup, feeling the warmth seep into my skin, trying to absorb it, trying to let it reach the parts of me that still felt cold and uncertain. This was a good thing. I had to believe that.

The city stretched around us, vibrant and alive. Leaves danced from the trees in waves of color, covering the ground in a bright mosaic. People filled the park, families with strollers, couples with dogs, kids running wild and free. It was the perfect place to get lost in, the perfect place to remember what mattered.

Camille watched me, her eyes soft and understanding, and I felt a sudden rush of gratitude. For her. For Rosie.

Hell, even Julian. For all the things that anchored me when I felt like I might drift away.

“Polling is very good for you,” Sloan said, voice low. “And a tough as nails prosecutor from your background looks good for me.”

I bit the inside of my mouth. Julian shot me a look, but I couldn’t help myself. “Now, Mr. Mayor, what could you mean by that?”

“Well, you have a safe brand. Catholic. Latina. A mother. It’s a strong message in a city like ours. A powerful one. You represent a lot of what this city wants to believe about itself.”

The coffee suddenly felt too hot in my hands. Julian went very still beside me. Camille sighed, glaring at him for a second before squeezing my hand over the table.

“Sloan,” she said softly.

“What?” Sloan gestured, unconcerned. “It’s true. You’re a story people want to root for. You make people believe Boston can be different. And we need that, Ruby.” He took a sip of his coffee, gaze never leaving mine. “Optics matter.”

I exhaled, forcing a smile. “They do.”

They did. I knew that. I had built my entire career on that.

But something about hearing it out loud, so plainly, so politically calculated, made me feel like a mannequin dressed up for display. It stripped away the layers of who I was, reducing me to parts and labels, making me a figure instead of a person.

I’d been working my entire life to be seen, to be heard. And here it was again, that feeling of exposure, of fragility, of being placed on a pedestal and waiting for it to crumble.

I forced my voice to stay steady. “I guess I should be flattered.”

“Relax,” Sloan said, sensing the shift in my expression. “I mean it as a compliment. You’re going to win.”

I nodded, but something about the conversation sat wrong. Maybe because, for the last few weeks, I hadn’t felt like a symbol or a story or a campaign. I had felt like a woman barely holding onto control, tangled in something dangerous. I had felt hunted.

And then my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I almost didn’t check. I wanted to stay in this moment, let the warmth of the coffee and Camille’s reassurance settle me. But then I saw Alek’s name—and the way my stomach turned over told me I already knew something was wrong.

A text from Alek.

Where are you?

Call me. Right ducking now.

*Fucking.

Chapter Twenty-One: Kieran

Even though it had been years, Malachy’s office still smelled like blood.

And Tristan hated working from there.

So the fact that he had asked me to go there…it was bad news. It was really bad.

Because we were far away. Away from his family. Away from the twins, from the baby, from Adriana. Away from his home. Away from what was important…from the things that made my brother human.

Tristan was fucking pissed, and he never worked in the pub if he didn’t have to. He only came here when he wanted to remind people exactly who he was. What he was capable of.

And right now, the person who needed a reminder was me.