Page 129 of His Fury

“And, Isla?”

I looked up.

Rye leaned in slightly. “Keep it good, keep them entertained, but keep itboring. We don’t want anything to bring attention to Elixir tonight.”

That earned him a real smile. “That’s the plan.”

He’d left not long after. I hadn’t seen Zayn since this morning. I had forced myself to shove down my worry for him and concentrate on the club.

When the guests started arriving, along with the otherextrasshe’d insisted on, I didn’t have time to worry about anything other than the event. My earpiece was secure, and I was linked toeverything.

I coordinated timing with the DJ, handled a complaint about the light rig, smoothed over a spilled cocktail on a thousand-dollar dress, and smiled like I hadn’t spent yesterday afternoon wondering if I was about to walk into a crime scene.

Because Zayn’s world didn’t pause for convenience; it didn’t slow down because I decided I was ready. But still—it was easier than I thought it’d be.

Until I saw the man in the dark-red jacket near the stairs to the VIP booths.

He didn’t belong.

Not in the curated crowd of influencers and minor celebrities. Not with his sharp eyes and the way he didn’t smile when someone laughed beside him. He wasn’t drinking. He wasn’t talking. He was watching.

And I knew—even before he turned away—that he’d noticed me, too.

Something cold slid down my spine.

I caught Jayden’s eye across the room and gave him a tiny nod. He looked once at the man in red, then at me. His jaw tightened. One subtle gesture—a tap to his headset—and he was on the move.

I didn’t follow. Because I wasn’t sure what would be worse: being afraid…or being right that the man was trouble. I watched four security, including Jayden surround him and walk him out.

As the night went on, the music shifted—the bass became heavier and the lights dipped low and flickered gold. The party had reached its peak.

Every table was full. The bar was a controlled storm of drink orders, credit cards, and false smiles. A couple laughed too loudly at a booth near the back. The scent of money and overpriced perfume clung to everything.

I stood near the entrance to the VIP booth that the birthday girl was in, my tablet tucked under my arm and my earpiece feeding me staff updates every thirty seconds. I’d caught her twice trying to sneak into the other booths to see who was there. The sports guys didn’t want to be disturbed, especially by some drunk twenty-one-year-old, and I was basically babysitting the booths.

No Rye.

No Zayn.

Just me.

It was exhilarating. I knew why I was doing this, but I also knew, in his own way, this was a show of trust. From Zayn or from Rye. Either way, I refused to fail.

“Section two’s short-staffed,” James said through theearpiece at the same time one of the bouncers from the main floor spoke.

“We’ve got a situation down here.”

“Define situation,” I asked, already moving towards the stairs.

“Suit trying to sneak past the rope. Says he knows Zayn.”

Of course, he does.

I descended quickly. A man in a slick navy suit with perfect hair and a smug look was leaning into one of the bouncers, his voice low but heated.

I stepped between them. “Everything okay here?”

The bouncer’s shoulders dropped slightly. “He says he’s on the list. I don’t see him on the list.”

---