THRALL

The invitation was white. Mine was stained with red wine and three years of rage. I still showed up. Vance Devereaux’s engagement party glittered like a knife. Crystal. Champagne. Liars in designer suits. And at the center of it all, him. He hadn’t changed. Same cruel mouth. Same hands that once mapped every inch of my skin before they signed the order that destroyed my family. My father’s company, gutted. My name, dragged through headlines. My heart, left bleeding on his penthouse floor. He thought I was dead. Or broken. Or smart enough to stay buried. He was wrong on all three counts. I took a glass of champagne from a passing tray. My fingers didn’t shake. They hadn’t, not since the night I swore I’d watch him burn. “Miss?” The security guard at the door eyed my dress. Red. Backless. A warning. “Name?” I smiled. The same smile I used to give Vance before I kissed him. “Elise Thorne,” I said. “Tell him his past is here.” The guard’s earpiece crackled. His eyes widened. Across the ballroom, Vance stilled mid-laugh. Then he turned. For one second, the mask slipped. Shock. Want. Fear. Then it was gone, replaced by that familiar, lethal calm that used to make me feel safe. Now it just made me want to carve him open. He excused himself from his perfect, plastic fiancée. Every step he took toward me was a countdown. Three years. One betrayal. A million reasons to hate him. And God help me, my body still remembered how to want him. He stopped a breath away. Close enough that I could smell him — whiskey, sin, and every bad decision I’d ever made. “You,” he said, voice low. Dangerous. “You’re supposed to be gone.” I tilted my head, letting my lips brush his ear as I passed him. “I am,” I whispered. “I’m here to ruin you.” Behind me, I heard the sharp inhale. The sound of a man realizing his addiction just walked back into the room. Let the games begin.