“Killing it tonight,” she shouts over the music as I step down. “You okay?”
“Never better,” I lie, the words automatic now.
The VIP lounge offers a brief respite from the pounding music. I collapse onto one of the plush couches, suddenly exhausted. My fingers twitch toward my phone again. I slam it face down on the table instead.
“Theo Winters.”
I look up to find Marcus Reid standing over me, all six-foot-something of him filling the space with quiet confidence. His dark skin gleams under the soft lighting, and his close-cropped hair accentuates the sharp angles of his face. He’s wearing a fitted black button-up that stretches appealingly across his broad shoulders.
“Haven’t seen you since the Hunt.” His voice is deep, controlled—everything about him radiates composure.
“Marcus. Working tonight?” I notice the earpiece partially hidden by his collar.
“Just finished. Handing over to the night team.” He gestures to the empty space beside me. “Buy you a drink?”
I should say no. Marcus is uncomplicated in all the ways Victor is not. He knows what he wants and doesn’t hide who he is. That makes him dangerous right now.
“Yes,” I say anyway.
Two drinks later, Marcus’s hand finds mine. “Dance with me.”
It’s not a question, but there’s no demand in it either—just confident invitation. I let him lead me to the VIP dance floor, a smaller, more exclusive version of the main floor downstairs.
The track playing is one of mine—something with a deep, sensual beat designed to pull bodies closer together. Marcus moves with surprising grace for a man his size, his body finding the rhythm effortlessly. His hands rest lightly on my hips, respectful but unmistakably interested.
I close my eyes and try to lose myself in the moment. The music. The warmth of another body. The simplicity of attraction without the complications of shame that, frankly, neither of us should feel.
But my heart isn’t in it.
When I open my eyes, I scan the crowd reflexively, half-expecting to see Victor watching from the shadows with that possessive glare. Ridiculous. He’s never once stepped foot in Eclipse outside of my birthday. Why would he start now?
Marcus pulls me closer, his movements fluid and practiced. “You’re somewhere else tonight,” he murmurs against my ear.
I force a smile, placing my hands on his solid chest. “Just thinking about the next set.”
The lie comes easily. Too easily. Another dance, another partner. I need to prove to myself that I can do this—that Victor Kaine isn’t the only man in Ravenwood worth wanting. That the world didn’t start and end with his touch.
Marcus’s thumb traces a small circle at my hip, and I lean into him, trying to feel something—anything—other than the hollow ache that’s lived in my chest for weeks.
I’ve lost myself in someone who couldn’t even acknowledge me in public. Someone who kept me hidden away while I gave him everything—my body, my time, my heart.
Then I see him.
Victor, standing at the edge of the dance floor, looking completely out of place in this world of strobing lights and electronic beats. He’s gone rigid, those broad shoulders tense under his black t-shirt. He’s dressed simply—dark jeans, boots, a leather jacket he hasn’t bothered to check at the door despite the heat of the club.
Our eyes lock across the crowded space.
The jealousy on Victor’s face is unmistakable, all his usual control stripped away. His jaw clenches, throat working as he swallows. His fists are balled at his sides, knuckles white with the effort of restraint. In all our months together, I’ve never seen him this close to losing control entirely, this exposed.
My body reacts before my mind catches up—heart rate accelerating, breath catching. Marcus’s hands are still on my hips, his body still moving against mine, but I’ve gone completely still.
Victor’s eyes drop to those hands, then move back to my face. The muscle in his jaw jumps. There’s something else in his expression too—something beyond the jealousy. Pain. And behind that, a desperation I recognize from the rare moments when he’s allowed his walls to crumble entirely.
“Theo?” Marcus’s voice sounds distant, underwater. “Something wrong?”
I can’t answer. Can’t look away from Victor. Can’t process that he’s actually here, in my club, surrounded by everything he’s been afraid to be associated with.
Standing there. Watching. Making no effort to hide what he’s feeling.