Page 41 of Rook

“Hey,” he says softly, tilting my chin up so I’m looking into his eyes. “We’re here because we choose to be, not because we’re forced. Big difference, Aisling.”

I nod, drawing a deep breath as I step out of the car, my boots hitting the polished cobblestone. I want to believe him, want to trust in the distinction between past and present. But shadows cling to places like these, and I know better than to think they don’t whisper old ghosts back to life.

The lobby of the Bellanova swallows us whole, a sea of tailored suits and silk gowns. Oberon and I, we stand there like a couple of sore thumbs–all leather and denim in a world spun from gold thread and champagne dreams.

“Didn’t exactly pack for a high-society ball,” I mutter, scanning the room for an exit strategy that doesn’t exist. The glinting chandeliers throw a mocking light on my scuffed boots.

Vance sidles up to me, his presence a column of warmth. “Don’t worry about it,” he says low enough so only I can hear. “You need a dress, you’ll have one.”

I glance at him, feeling that old familiar tug–part thrill, part terror. Vance Solace, with his promises wrapped in steel and velvet, but I’ve danced to this tune before. Been the doll in his gilded cage, my will clipped like a bird’s wings.

“Thanks,” I manage, the word tasting like ash. “But let’s not make a habit out of it, yeah? And maybe get me a matching pair of shoes this time.”

He gives me a half-smile, sharp as a razor’s edge. “Hey…I learned the hard way that you’ll always run anyway—no matter how bad I want to keep you.”

And damn if that doesn’t send a shiver through me–not of fear, but something wilder. Because despite everything, Vance knows how to play the strings of my soul like a maestro.

And I hate that I almost want to hear that melody again.

“Room keys for you all.” The desk clerk slides them across the marble counter, her smile tight as a drum. “Ms. Toure took care of everything personally.”

“Isn’t that cozy,” Oberon mutters next to me, his voice low and laced with sarcasm.

“Keep your friends close, huh?” I snatch up the keys, feeling the weight of that personal touch like an anchor in my palm. Gunnar’s possible betrayal still churns in my gut, but now isn’t the time to dwell on it. “And your potential enemies booked in the suite right next door.”

Oberon’s chuckle is a quiet rumble, soothing despite the storm brewing inside me. He grabs his key, and we head to the elevator, Rook and Luka trailing behind. Vance breaks off toward the presidential suite with nothing more than a nod–alpha solitude written in the lines of his back.

The elevator dings at the fourteenth floor, doors sliding open to reveal a corridor lined with plush carpet that swallows our footsteps. A bellhop waits, poised to escort us, his uniform crisp and eyes carefully blank.

“Right this way, Ms. Faye.” His tone is practiced – polished and impersonal.

“Lead on.” I force a smile, though I’m about as comfortable as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

He opens the door to our suite, and it’s like stepping into another world. Crystal chandeliers drip light onto surfaces too clean, too perfect. Everything screams luxury, from the silk drapes to the art on the walls that probably costs more than I’ve ever held in my hands.

The view hits me first, an eerie echo of Dreamland’s manicured deception. Glittering lights blink in the distance, winking like mocking eyes from a world that feels too much like a cage I’ve known before. The room is vast, walls adorned with abstract paintings whispering secrets I’m not sure I want to hear.

“Doesn’t this remind you…?” My voice trails off, and I can’t finish the sentence as my eyes fall on the rack of clothes. They’re the kind of dresses that demand attention, crafted from dreams and priced like nightmares. My fingers brush against a silk gown, and it’s like I can feel the ghosts of Dreamland clinging to the fabric.

Oberon’s hand lands on my shoulder, grounding yet heavy. “Aisling?”

I turn, my face tipping up to meet his gaze. “I hate this,” I admit, the words raw and achingly honest. “It’s like we walked into a painting that’s gonna turn macabre any second now. And Gunnar…” The name is a blade cutting through the already tense air.

“Is he really behind this?” Oberon’s voice is a tether, trying to pull me back from the edge of panic.

“Every instinct screams yes. We shouldn’t have come. Something’s off, Oberon. It’s all too perfect, too staged.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Like a trap with velvet ropes.”

He nods, his expression set in a frown that echoes the thunderous unease building inside me. “We’ll stay sharp. We always do. But for now, we play along–because whatever game this is, I’m not letting it claim us.” His grip tightens, not just a gesture of comfort but a silent vow of protection.

“Right,” I say, steeling myself with a shaky nod. “Let’s not give them anything more than they already think they know about us.”

Chapter nineteen

Rook

I zip up my jacket, giving myself a once-over in the mirror before I step out. Luka’s already waiting outside his room, looking sharp and grim as usual. We make our way down the hall, a silent agreement to play this night cool.

The door to Aisling and Oberon’s room swings open as we approach, and there she is.

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