I want to tell him that hate is easier than whatever is crawling inside me. That I couldn’t be with him even if I felt the same. Not when he’s also tarnished my best friend—my brother. I can’t look past that, no matter how much my heart longs for me to. I cling to my hate like armor, because it never asks for anything back. But the words die somewhere between my chest and my throat when his hand slides down my neck, thumb pressing against my traitorous pulse.
“I’ve been inside you,” he murmurs. “And yet, it’s you that’s inside me every fucking minute of the day. Every time you walk away, I feel you. You think I don’t notice how you look at me when you think I’m not watching?”
I exhale a shaky laugh. “You notice too much. That’s the problem.”
He doesn’t miss a beat when he quips, “Precisely.” Safra’s head tilts, eyes dark and searching for any scrap I might give. “Then you should know that pretending you don’t see me… See this between us… It’s useless. When I’m always so aware of you.”
The silence stretches taut and trembles like every muscle in my body. I can taste the moment before it breaks—the desire, the ache, and the inevitability. His lips hover close enough that I can feel the ghost of his breath. And just like that, the bubble ruptures in sync with buzzing sounds.
I look down at his phone on the counter, the screen bright with an announcement. I push away from him, collecting myown phone, and notice that there’s something I’m missing. My eyes dart around the space, not making it too obvious that I’m searching for something. Fuck!
Finally, I look down at the screen, swiping my thumb to open the notification.
WHAT THE FUCK…
The words blur. My throat tightens, and I glance up to Thiago, who’s already moving with wild eyes and a set jaw. He grabs his keys, not bothering to put on the rest of his costume, only his pants, while I struggle with the toga and opt to just stay in the shorts I came with. Just as he swings open the door, Elijah is standing there with a solemn look on his face.
“It’s bad, man. Mr. Roberts and your dad. Fuck, T. I tried looking for Wyatt,” Elijah informs Thiago.
“Where?” is all Safra manages to ask. Elijah shrugs and tells him about the accident.
From where I stand, I can see the color drain from Thiago’s face. He doesn’t say a word as he brushes past Elijah, leaving the door wide open with the echo of his departure ringing in my ears. I stand there, frozen. The Pulse post. When I finally snap out of it, panic settles in my chest. I need to find the USB.
My hands go to my pocket, empty. I tear through the room, not caring that Elijah watches me like a hawk.
“You lost something, Zayden?” he asks, too calm for someone who was just stammering his words when talking to Safra. Elijah lingers in the door frame for a while, expecting an answer he will never get. There’s something about that kid I just can’t seem to figure out. He’s in places he shouldn’t be. Too aware of things and asking too many god damn questions. I overturn glasses, cushions, anything that might hide it, and find nothing. It’s gone.
And something tells me… this is not good.
Elijah finally leaves, and I feel like allowing myself to truly search around. And I mean like dropping to my hands and knees while I look underneath the bed, the couch, and anywhere where it could have fallen. The door clicks shut behind him, and the noise outside swells—Velarium is unraveling at the seams. From inside the room, I can hear the panic surging through the club.Everyone who’s anyone is currently running around shouting orders. Pure and utter chaos ripples through Velarium. Voices collide, footsteps pound against the marble floor, and the stench of panic lingers thick in the air. I drag a hand down my face, sweat spreading through my pores. It’s no use.
I’ve searched through every space in this room, and I can’t find it. But who could have taken it? Sure, it had to be between Safra and Fabiola. There’s no way I dropped it before we got here. After a few curses and a little bit more panic searching, I step out of the room, having given up on the USB, the weight of the loss pressing against my ribs. I can’t help but chew on the corner of my nail, wondering what will happen next.
Walking down the hall feels ominous… It's empty.
The red door is propped open, no elites in sight. I’m sure they are hiding like the cockroaches they are. And even though I shouldn’t care about the fate of the man who raped and abused me before passing me off to his son as a gift, I find myself heading toward the main meeting room, the lounge where I’m sure I’ll findhim.
“Ezra…” His voice cuts through the silence of the hall. “What do we know so far?”
Ezra groans loudly before punching his fist down onto the table. “I don’t know, the cops were there before our people. They won’t talk.”
Peter paces around the room, hand threading through his hair, glasses dangling from his hand as he bites the end, like it’s the only thing keeping him sane.
“Thiago, I need your father’s firm working on sealing anything that can be damning. Find out what the cops have gathered so far. And for fuck's sake—where is Wyatt?”
The room hums with tension, but I don’t step inside.
I linger in the doorway, unseen and listening to the empire crack. My eyes dart down the hall to the red door that belongs toMr. J, and I wonder if Nico is there? I pull out my phone to text him, then stop myself from doing so when I hear his voice echo down the hall alongside Elijah.
“Zayden,” he says when he spots me, relief flooding his voice.
“Nico,” I repeat the sentiment, offering a small smile as my best friend closes the distance between us.
Elijah lingers, his head shifting from one direction to the other. “Have ya’ll seen Wyatt?”
Nico shrugs before replying, “No.”
I do the same.