Page 49 of Taking What's Mine

That suggests an in, but a cautious part of me wonders if it’s wise to appear too eager. One wrong move could scare Morris off. Before I can respond, Vera leans in, lowering her voice. “He’s got eyes everywhere, though. So maybe wait and see if he approaches you.”

Lincoln gives a short nod, acknowledging the advice. “We appreciate the heads-up.”

Vera and Trey exchange glances, then Vera shrugs elegantly. “Well, no sense fretting over it. In the meantime, you two look stunning.” She eyes my black dress, the neckline a bit moredaring than I’m used to, and a flicker of something playful crosses her face. “Come find us if you want to dance—or anything else.”

Trey winks. “We’re over there, mingling with the usual suspects.”

They drift off, leaving the faintest swirl of perfume behind. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “They’re certainly… friendly.”

Lincoln’s lips twitch. “They mean well, I think. But keep your guard up.”

We lapse into a brief silence, the hum of hushed conversations and the clink of glasses filling the space. My gaze roams the lavish room again, noting the curved arches, the draping curtains, the subtle interplay of dim light. I catch glimpses of couples drifting behind partitioned screens and wonder what sort of indulgences this VIP party truly allows.

Lincoln’s hand slides up my spine, a subtle gesture that sends a ripple of comfort through me. He leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “How are you doing?”

I manage a small smile, letting my free hand rest on his thigh for the sake of appearance—and maybe for my own reassurance. “I’m okay. Nervous, but okay. You?”

He exhales slowly. “Same. Feels like we’re walking a tightrope.”

I bite my lip. “We are.” But I force a steady exhale. “At least we’re not alone.”

Our eyes lock, and for a moment, all the glitz and glamour around us fades. The memory of the other night’s confessions, the heated passion we shared before Dean barged in, lingersbetween us. My heart beats uncomfortably fast under his gaze, and I have to remind myself to breathe. I might be half in love with him, or maybe it’s just the adrenaline talking, but either way, there’s no denying the pull I feel when he’s near.

Before we can say more, a low chime rings out. A server in a burgundy vest steps forward, clearing his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for gracing us with your presence this evening,” he announces in a cultured tone. “Devereaux invites you to enjoy all the amenities. Please, indulge yourselves—and if you’re lucky, you may have the honor of speaking with our esteemed host, or with the elusive Morris Rolfe and Lazarus Delgado.”

At the mention of the names, a ripple of murmurs spreads through the room. My stomach knots and my eyes widen at the mention of Lazarus Delgado.

“Lazarus?” I whisper to Lincoln. “The DelgadoMafia boss?”

Lincoln’s eyes widen. “Do you know him?”

I nod, slowly, chills skating over my skin. “Yes, doesn’t everyone?”

Could Lazarus be the one threatening me?It makes sense.

Lincoln brushes his hand against mine. “Stay close. We don’t split up unless absolutely necessary,” he says under his breath.

I nod, adrenaline sparking in my veins. “Agreed.”

With that, we rise from our seats, merging into the flow of couples moving deeper into the luxurious quarters—toward private rooms, small parlors, and alcoves lit by dim sconces. Every surface glistens with opulence, every face masked in polite intrigue. We’re shepherded into a chamber beyond aset of gilded doors, where a fountain bubbles in the center, surrounded by couches arranged for discreet conversation.

I spot Vera and Trey again, perched on one of the couches with a pair of older socialites. Beyond them, a cluster of people stands around a tall man with dark hair, speaking in hushed, animated tones. Is that Morris? My pulse leaps, and I nudge Lincoln, trying to be subtle.

He follows my gaze, jaw tightening. “Could be him,” he murmurs. “Do we approach?”

I hesitate, watching the man’s confident posture, the way others hang on his words. He could definitely be the infamous Morris Rolfe, but there’s no telling until we get closer. “We should at least circle around. See if we catch his eye.”

Lincoln nods, slipping his arm around my waist again. Together, we ease through the throng, stopping to exchange polite nods with other guests. My heart pounds at the possibility that the next moment could bring us face-to-face with the man who might be behind my threats—or at least connected to them.

Every breath I take feels laced with tension, every brush of Lincoln’s hand on my hip a comforting reminder that I’m not alone in this. I can’t help wondering what new charade we’ll have to perform tonight, how far we’ll have to go to seal the illusion of Mr. and Mrs. Zane. And, in the private corners of my mind, I wonder what it’ll mean for me and Lincoln when all this is over.

A low,pulsing bass thrums through the dark, opulent chamber. All around us, couples are shedding inhibitions under the sultryglow of chandeliers and tinted lanterns. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume, spiced liquor, and something more primal—desire crackling across the room like electricity.

Lincoln and I hover near a plush velvet settee, watching the scene unfold. I can feel his heartbeat through the arm he’s wrapped around my waist, the tension in his body humming in time with the music. Everywhere I look, people are leaning closer, exchanging hungry kisses, laughter dissolving into moans, and the boundary between public and private blurring in this decadent den. Part of me is on high alert—scanning the faces, searching for a glimpse of Morris—but another part can’t ignore the relentless, throbbing awareness of Lincoln by my side.

It doesn’t help that half the guests have already noticed us. Men and women flash bold smiles, some offering coy winks, others outright staring as though sizing up new additions to this secretive world. I shift in my heels, the swirl of my dress brushing against Lincoln’s leg.

Just then, Vera and Trey reappear, threading through the crowd with a predatory grace. They both have the faint sheen of champagne-induced warmth on their cheeks, eyes bright with excitement. Vera’s gold gown shimmers under the lights, hugging her curves, while Trey’s crisp suit jacket hangs open, revealing a glimpse of tanned collarbone.

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