Page 60 of Unholy Nights

"Excellent." She turns back to the florist but pauses. "Oh, and Cohen? Make sure you're both dressed appropriately tonight. The photographer is coming for the website's Christmas day message and I won't have either of you embarrassing me."

Both of us. As if Emerald and I are a unit in her mind.

She knows something's off, but her ego won't let her see the truth. She's too convinced of her own power, too certain that she's broken Emerald's spirit completely. Too arrogant to believe that her beaten down puppet of a daughter could ever defy her. And she thinks I married her for her money, her status, her brand—as if I need any of that when I have the Savage Society's backing.

Let her underestimate us. Let her believe she's still in control.

It'll make tomorrow night that much sweeter when her world shatters.

Emerald stirs in her chair, those endless green eyes finding mine across the room, and everything else just... disappears. She's exhausted, worried about the party, anxious about her mother's mood—I can read it all in her face like she's speaking directly to my soul. When she looks at me like this, it's impossible not to drown in her, to forget where we are, who might be watching.

I force myself to break our connection, glancing quickly at Madeline, but she's too busy terrorizing the florist to notice how her daughter and husband just got lost in each other.

"I have a few calls to make," I say, though walking away from her feels like having my heart ripped out through my throat. "I'll be back for the photoshoot."

By this time tomorrow, everything changes. Our lives, our future, our family.

But first, I need to figure out exactly what Madeline's planning.

Because as I left the room, that woman's smile promised war.

She has no idea that while she's been playing chess, I've already positioned every piece for checkmate.

And I never lose.

Everything I've donefor the past two years has led to this moment.

I stand at my study window, watching fresh snow blanket the grounds of the Delacroix estate while sipping my bourbon before tonight begins.

My phone buzzes with a message from Cole confirming some of his and Lucas’s guys are in position just in case this goes to shit. Call them plan B.

In less than an hour, Madeline's carefully constructed world will burn. The thought brings a smile to my lips as I check the livestream link one final time. Every guest's phone is primed to receive it at precisely the right moment—when Madeline is at her most triumphant, playing perfect hostess to all the old money families she's spent decades manipulating.

But more than revenge, more than watching Madeline's empire crumble, my mind is consumed with Emerald. My everything. My salvation. My perfect match in every way that matters. She doesn't know all my plans yet—that once Madeline is gone, we'll be free to make this official in every way. The same way she doesn't know she's carrying my child.

My hand tightens around my phone as need burns through my veins like poison. We've been apart for hours while she prepares for the party, and every second without her feels like withdrawal, like my body's shutting down without the antidote. She's an entire floor above me in her room, and even that distance is too much for my sanity to bear.

I've never craved anything the way I crave her. Never needed anyone the way I need her. She’s the other half of my twisted soul, as essential to me as oxygen, as inevitable as death.

A knock at my door breaks through the fog of my thoughts. "Mr. Astor?" Kendra's voice carries that edge of disapproval it always has when she addresses me. "Mrs. Delacroix wants to ensure you'll be downstairs in ten minutes to greet the early arrivals."

I don't bother responding. In ten minutes, Kendra won't matter. None of Madeline's minions will.

My phone buzzes again—Tristen:Just watched Madeline almost have an aneurysm when we showed up. Worth coming just for that. The others are here too.

I send back a quick acknowledgment before tucking the phone away. The Savage Six's presence tonight isn't strictly necessary, but their support sends a message. That I'm not just some lawyer who married above his station, as Madeline likes to imply. That I have the backing of the most dangerous men in Emerald Hills.

That I'm a part of the real power in this town.

These hours of forced separation from Emerald have every nerve ending raw, my body achingly aware that she's somewhere above me getting ready for tonight. Knowing what's coming—how everything changes after this party—makes the wait even more excruciating.

I check my reflection one last time, adjusting my tie. The blood-red tux is a statement. A warning to anyone paying attention. This isn't a celebration. It's an execution.

And I'm the executioner.

Music spills from the ballroom as the first guests arrive. Through my window, I watch a stream of luxury cars pull up to the entrance. Madeline's carefully curated guest list—all the "right" people, all the old money families who matter in this town.

All the people who are about to witness her destruction.

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