Page 94 of Declan

But her face?

It’s a perfect mask of confidence—fiery and untouchable. Her look says she doesn’t want to be here. If Alek’s men are watching—and I know they are—they’ll think she’s pissed, maybe even forced to come. Exactly the image we need.

Connor arrives with Kian, and as they take their seats, the show begins. I nurse glass after glass of what looks like whiskey but isn’t. Pretending to be drunk, I drape an arm around Viviana’s shoulders, pulling her close for a kiss.

She scowls, shoving me away. “Don’t!” she snaps, her voice sharp with disdain.

I laugh loud enough to draw attention. “Always the same cold bitch,” I taunt as she stands, glaring at Flynn.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she snaps, grabbing her purse.

“You better get your ass back here,” I warn, leaning back in my seat, bitch,” I mutter, finishing the rest of my fake whiskey in one gulp.

Even though it’s all an act, the words weigh heavy. Talking to her like this—especially in front of these VIPs—makes me feel like shit. The women glare at me like I just kicked a puppy while some men look at Viviana with pity.

“Women, can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em, eh mate?” Flynn laughs, raising his glass. I join him.

We should be up for an Oscar.

Connor and Kian invite a couple of women to the table—the usual attention-seekers hoping to overhear something worthselling. Tonight, we’re betting the highest bidder will be Koslov. Viviana returns with the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.

Good girl.

“Drinks,” she announces as the waiter delivers fresh glasses. Flynn sticks to bourbon while Connor, Kian, and I sip whiskey. Flynn’s glass is spiked, just as planned. We agreed on small sips, but Flynn, being Flynn, downs half his drink. Moments later, he starts coughing—hard. His hands clutch his chest as foam spills from his mouth.

“Oh my God!” one of the women screams as Flynn’s men rush to him. I shove Viviana aside, nearly knocking her over in the chaos.

We haul Flynn up, dragging him toward the VIP back door as shouts of “Poison!” ripple through the crowd. Drinks spill, people scramble—it’s the perfect cover.

“What the fuck happened?” Flynn’s right-hand man demands.

“Someone poisoned him,” Connor yells, jumping into the driver’s seat.

“We’re taking him to the estate,” I bark, daring anyone to object. Flynn’s men follow without question. Everyone knows the estate clinic is the best—no cops, no questions, no mercy for whoever did this.

As I climb into the car, I glance back and see Kian on the club’s stairs. He shrugs, and my stomach drops, Viviana.

Connor speeds off, and I realize I’ve lost sight of Viviana in the chaos. She is supposed to follow us. Goddamnit!

I look back; Flynn is down, looking dead, drooling foam out of his mouth. This shit is good! I turn back now that we are alone in the car and give him the antidote, not an antidote, just something to bring him back. I wait, holding my fucking breath until he begins to cough, and I let out a sigh of relief.

“Did it work?” he rasps, his face gaining some colour.

“Maybe too well,” I grunt, my mind racing.

Where the fuck is Viviana? Every part of me wants to turn around and find her. But if Alek’s men have her, she’s only safe if they think she did this.

Fuck.

Arriving at the estate, Flynn’s men, that follow behind us, rush to the car while Flynn plays dead like a fucking dog. We rush him to the clinic where our trusted doctor is waiting, ordering his men not to follow. They nod, and I tell them to wait in the living room.

My phone dings.

I’m safe.

It’s from Viviana’s burner phone; the one Connor got her this morning in case she needed to contact any of us. Though she says she’s safe, it doesn’t ease my worries. I need to find her.

Kian texts,I have her.

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