Page 142 of Shattered By Grace

She moved quickly, heels clicking against the pavement as she walked up to the back entrance, a red veil affixed to the door. No guards. No line. Just an unspoken rule: If you belonged here, you already knew where to go.

Victoria slipped inside.

Heat and noise crashed over her. The reek of whiskey, cigar smoke, and adrenaline clung to the air. The room stretched wide, packed with bodies. Unlike the usual underground fights she was used to, where bloodstained concrete and rusted cages set the scene, Crimson Veil was drenched in opulence. Crystal chandeliers hung above the carnage, casting glittering reflections against the sweat-slick floor. Velvet-lined booths cradled the city’s elite, their laughter curling around the screams from the pit below.

And despite the violence, the spectators were dressed like royalty. Tuxedos. Gowns. Heels that cost more than most people’s rent. It was a masquerade of a different kind, one where money shielded them from the blood staining their hands.

She was overdressed for a fight, but here, no one noticed. No one cared.

Victoria wove through the crowd, her pulse syncing with the announcer’s voice booming over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets. Tristan Locke steps into the ring in ten minutes!”

Her breath hitched. She moved to the edge of the pit, peering down. Nothing but the mat.

I need to get closer. But first, I have to lose the dress.

Victoria slipped through the crowd like a phantom, unseen yet impossible to ignore. Every step was deliberate, every glance calculated. The gown was a disguise, a tool but now it was dead weight.

She caught sight of a hallway veiled in shadows, just beyond the watchful eyes of Cassian’s men. Slipping into the darkened space, she exhaled, steadying her pulse.

No hesitation.

Her fingers found the zipper, peeling away the silk like shedding old skin. The fabric pooled at her feet, she kicked it off into the corner. Beneath, she was dressed for anything but a gala. The black shapewear hugged her frame like a second skin, its U-plunge front exposing just enough to blend in with the extravagance outside, while the sheer mesh along her thighs kept her movements unrestricted. Perfect for disappearing into the chaos.

As she stepped back onto the floor, rolling her neck as the tension bled from her muscles,the chandeliers bathed her in a golden glow, their light catching on the sheer panels of her bodysuit, just enough to hint at the skin beneath, not enough to expose. But it was enough to be noticed.

And noticed she was.

A man, grinning, far too comfortable in a place like this, sidled up beside her, whiskey clinging to his breath. One hand wrapped around his glass, the other finding her waist like he had every right to touch her.

“I came here for a fight, but damn if you aren’t the one knocking me out,” he mused, voice smooth, smug. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Victoria’s lips curved, not in amusement, but in warning. She turned to face him, placing a hand on his chest. His grin widened, confidence in his eyes as his hand slid lower, fingers brushing the top of her ass.

She let him think he was winning.

Then, in one swift motion, her other hand wrapped around his manhood, squeezing just enough to make his breath hitch.

“See, love,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear, “If I wanted you on the floor, you wouldn’t be conscious to enjoy it.”

Victoria stepped away from whiskey-breath, snatching his glass as she moved. She downed the amber liquid in one smooth motion, fire trailing down her throat as a soft, dangerous laugh slipped past her lips. Setting the empty glass on a nearby table, she didn’t bother looking back. She didn’t need to. He was either frozen in place, rethinking his life choices, or nursing a bruised ego. Either outcome suited her just fine.

Bodies pressed tight along the railing, shouting, placing bets, lost in the carnage. The roar of the crowd masked the sound of her movements as she wove through them, scanning for the stairs.

She needed to get down there. Needed to get closer.

But more than that, she needed eyes on Taylor.

Her pulse thrummed as she searched, her gaze cutting through the sea of faces. Justin was here. He had to be. And Cassian? The devil never missed a show.

Victoria kept moving, careful not to draw any more attention. At least, not yet.

She saw an opening in the crowd as people made their way toward the pit. Her heels clicked against the concrete, her gaze sweeping the room with the practiced ease of someone who’d seen monsters in every form.

And then she spotted her.

A group of men gripped the arms of a girl who couldn’t be older than eighteen, her hands trembling as she struggled to balance a tray of champagne. Her uniform was crisp, her posture stiff, but the terror in her eyes gave her away. Victoria’s gazedropped to the bruises circling the girl’s wrists. Deep, ugly marks that didn’t belong on someone serving drinks at a party.

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