Page 68 of Veil of Secrets

Nico.

He’s at the edge of the floor. Arms crossed. Not moving. Not leering. Just watching.

Like I’m not dancing for them.

Like I’m dancing because I want to.

That matters more than I’m ready to admit.

His stillness isn’t passive. It’s grounding. The kind of quiet that cuts through chaos. It settles me more than the music ever could.

I spin again, grab the bars above me, pull myself up a little higher. The metal is slick under my palms. I grip tighter. Drop into a low split, then push up again.

The crowd roars.

I drop low, slide against the edge.

Eyes stay on him.

I spin again, step forward, let the lights chase the movement of my thighs. The music thrums through my chest, but the pressure is in my head—memories of the forged papers, of Vince’s face when he smiled like he’d already won.

He hasn’t.

I won’t let him.

People who used to back me with quiet nods now whisper near the bar.

They’ve seen the papers.

Or the rumors that followed.

Doesn’t matter.

They’re looking for a crack.

I won’t give it to them.

I spin again. Harder this time. Let my hair whip around my face.

Then I stop at the far end of the cage.

Breathe. Just once.

They want to see me break.

I’ll give them the opposite.

The music dips for a beat, then surges again.

I drop into a squat, knees wide, palms on the floor, head tilted up like I’m offering the whole room my throat—and then I smile.

It’s not fake.

It’s not for them either.

It’s for me.

And maybe, just a little, it’s for the man who hasn’t stopped watching me.

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