Page 52 of Hunted By Valentine

At some point, the conversation shifts again, as do the bodies in the booth. People change seats, some even moving away, while they laugh and argue over trivial details of the trial. I haven’t even noticed I’ve moved as well, until I find myself next to Valentine.

He doesn’t even try to hide that his eyes are fixed on me as if the rest of the table has faded into the background.

“You seem different tonight,” he says quietly, just loud enough for me to hear over the chatter. His tone is casual, but there’s a gravity to his words that makes my pulse quicken.

I force a laugh, hoping to deflect. “Maybe it’s just the atmosphere. Or maybe it’s you.” I’m pretty sure it’s him that’s different.

He raises an eyebrow at that, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. “Me?”

“You’re… more relaxed,” I say carefully, choosing my words. “You’re not usually this carefree.”

His gaze sharpens, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve overstepped. But then, to my surprise, he smiles—a genuine smile that reaches his eyes, softening the harsh lines of his face. “You’re observant, Mrs. Simmons. I like that.”

The use of my formal title sends a jolt through me, reminding me of the roles we’re supposed to be playing. Teacher and student. Mentor and mentee. But in this moment, those boundaries feel blurred, as if we’re standing on the edge of something far more dangerous.

“Carefree,” he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue with a hint of bemusement. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the evening.” His voice lowers, becoming almost conspiratorial. “Or maybe I’m celebrating.”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. I should pull away, shut this down before it goes any further, but I can’t. The pull is too strong, and I’m too far gone. “I didn’t realize you could enjoy yourself,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. Then, instead of asking why he’d be celebrating, I add, “Or that men like you celebrated anything.”

He laughs, a low, rich sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “Everyone has their moments,” he says, leaning in just enough that our shoulders brush. The contact is brief, but it’s enough to set my skin on fire.

The noise of the bar fades into the background, and for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of us, caught in this strange, electric current that crackles between us. His gaze drops to my lips, just for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to make my breath hitch.

“Tell me, Ruby,” he says, his voice a soft purr. “Do you think the defendant deserved to lose today?”

The question catches me off guard, but I manage to keep my composure. His tone is soft, almost seductive, yet the question is harsh. He’s basically asking for my judgment. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I think the more interesting question is if he thought he deserved it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I believe that he sabotaged himself,” I reply, giving voice to a thought I’ve had since we watched the trial.

Sure, he admitted to what he’d done. But it’s more than that. Since the debate in the classroom, Valentine has been giving us more information about the case. He revealed that the real case was about a man, not a woman, and that the arsonist got sloppy. But not in an ‘oops I forgot’ kind of way. No, his sloppiness was more like carelessness—as though his reasons didn’t matter anymore.

Valentine nods, his brown eyes never leaving mine. “Self-sabotage,” he murmurs. “It’s a fascinating thing, isn’t it? The way people can be their own worst enemies.”

His words hit a little too close to home, and I feel a pang of discomfort. He’s talking about the trial, but there’s something more beneath the surface, something that feels personal. It’s as though he’s trying to tell me something, something I’m not sure I’m ready to hear.

Before I get the chance to respond, one of my classmates breaks the spell, laughing loudly and nudging me with her elbow. “Ruby, you’ve been quiet. What’s going on in that head of yours?” Unwillingly, I flinch as she touches me. My hope that she doesn’t notice is squashed when her laughter fades and she narrows her eyes on me. “Are you okay?”

I force a smile and look at her. “Yeah, sorry.” I gesture at my empty drink. “Maybe I’ve had enough to drink,” I say, trying to sound casual.

She smiles, but this time it looks forced. “Do you need me to get you some water or something?”

The shock of her offer makes me gape like a fish out of water. I don’t even know her name, haven’t cared to learn it, and here she is, offering to get me something as simple as a glass of water. Tears prickle behind my eyelids, causing me to blink furiously to get rid of them.

Jesus, it’s messed up when a simple act of kindness is enough to engage the waterworks. “It’s okay,” I say. “I think I’ll go to the bathroom and then head home.”

As I stand up and excuse myself, I realize it’s probably a good idea. My mind is still spinning, caught in the web Valentine has woven around me. Putting some physical distance between us might be exactly what I need to regain my wit.

The bathroom offers a brief sanctuary from the clamor outside. The flickering lights cast erratic shadows across the floor, adding to the eerie stillness of the space. My hands grip the edge of the sink as I stare at my reflection, my pulse still racing from the alcohol-fueled energy of the bar.

I take a deep breath and splash cold water on my cheeks. It’s a feeble attempt to calm the chaos in my mind. I’m not even sure why I came here with them. That’s a lie; I do know. But being near Valentine tonight feels dangerous—exhilarating, but dangerous.

Shaking my head, I turn to leave, stepping into the narrow hallway that leads back to the bar. I expect it to be empty, a few stolen moments before I rejoin the others, but instead, I find Valentine standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes dark and fixed on me.

Chapter 21

The Prey

---