The Second Ring 💍

Chapter 4 – Ice and Embers

Grayson showed up at exactly 5:45.

Not a second too early.

Not a second too late.

I didn’t expect anything less.

My parents had left ten minutes earlier. As the future boss of Georgia’s Outfit, it would’ve reeked of desperation if Grayson Cole arrived at the DeTrolio Christmas party ahead of the crowd.

He stepped out of his car in a tailored three-piece navy suit with faint, pale-blue pinstripes, the matching tie knotted with surgical precision. He looked like control incarnate.

I froze the moment I saw him.

Of course.

I was wearing navy too.

To anyone watching, it would scream coordination. It wasn’t. But at that point, the damage was done. I'd survived three brutal days of detox just to fit into this skin-tight, backless dress, and I wasn’t changing. Not even if the earth cracked open beneath me.

The slit up the thigh made the long skirt tolerable. I could still walk—mostly.

Grayson’s sharp blue eyes slid over me in one practiced sweep.

“You look beautiful, Savannah,” he said, smooth and detached, like it was something he was trained to say.

“Thank you,” I replied, just as politely, and stepped toward him.

His hand grazed the small of my back, guiding me toward the curb where his sleek black Porsche waited—every inch of it polished to a mirror shine.

Then, for a fraction of a second, he stiffened.

His skin touched mine. Bare to bare.

And in that heartbeat of contact, I heard it—a short, sharp exhale. Barely audible. Almost like the touch had caught him off guard.

That breath, paired with the warmth of his palm against my spine, sent a shiver trailing down my neck.

Was that… a reaction?

But just as quickly, he gathered himself. His hand adjusted, lighter this time, composed. He opened the door like the

gentleman he always was.

I slid into the passenger seat, biting back a quiet, satisfied smile.

So. The iceman could melt.

Interesting.

Once we were married, I fully intended to test that theory. Repeatedly.

By the time we pulled up to the DeTrolio estate, the party was already pulsing. The whole place glowed, warm light

spilling from the tall windows onto the snow-covered lawn. We could’ve walked—it wasn’t far—but between my four-inch heels, the slush outside, and Grayson’s paranoia when it came to security, we drove.

He didn’t say a word the entire ride.

His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it never was—it just felt distant. Like his thoughts were pacing a different room

entirely.

When he offered his hand again to help me out, there was no sharp breath this time. No tension. Just composure.

Just ice.

Diane DeTrolio opened the front door with the poise of someone born to entertain. James stood behind her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders—affection, yes, but also a subtle reminder.

“Savannah! Grayson! We’re so thrilled you made it,” Diane gushed, her bracelets chiming as she pulled me in for a

quick, practiced hug.

James stepped forward and shook Grayson’s hand. “I must say, you have excellent taste. Your future wife looks

absolutely stunning tonight.”

It was obvious. Too obvious. Sugar-coated charm, painted on like cheap gloss. They were trying too hard. Everyone

knew Grayson could name his own Consigliere once he took over. Keeping James? That was optional. Not expected.

Grayson nodded once. “That she is,” he said simply, his hand returning to the small of my back.

I kept my smile soft. Measured.

Diane clasped both my hands. “We were so relieved when we heard Grayson had chosen you. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve a little happiness.”

I paused. Was that sincerity I heard?

No. Probably not. Especially considering they’d once tried to marry Nicole off to Grayson. This was a performance.

Still, I played my part. “Thank you,” I said gently. “That’s kind of you.”

“Come, come, the party’s not happening in the foyer,” James said, waving us toward the double doors. Laughter and

soft music drifted from the next room.

“Lauren’s excited to see you,” Diane added as we walked.

Lauren’s here?

I barely had time to register that before the crowd descended.

Smiles. Hugs. Congratulations. Compliments that felt rehearsed.

The sudden spotlight on our engagement story burned. I met it with poised nods and well-timed laughs, shaking hands with people I barely knew or didn’t care to remember.

My eyes scanned the room. Lauren stood at the far end, radiant in a soft mauve dress, her posture elegant. Her

husband, Nathan, had his arm locked tightly around her waist, possessive and firm. She looked... genuinely happy.

No sign of Nicole or Tony.

If my mother’s gossip held any truth, the DeTrolios were worried Nicole might make a scene.

Then Grayson’s thumb moved slowly along my bare back. A soft, deliberate stroke.

My breath caught in my throat.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to glance at him—but he was already looking away, his expression unreadable. I quickly smiled at the woman in front of me.

“Clarissa!” I reached forward, hugging her quickly. “How are you?”

She hugged back, brief and stiff, her smile thin. She didn’t say much—not here. Not with everyone watching.

Her husband, Gerald—sweaty, smug, and at least three decades older than her—stepped in and seized my hand, bringing it to his lips in a slow, exaggerated kiss. I plastered on a smile. But his gaze lingered too long, heavy and unsettling.

Leering. Absolutely leering.

Behind me, Grayson’s fingers flexed against my spine.

I flicked a glance up at him. His expression hadn’t changed—still cool, still composed.

But his eyes—his eyes had zeroed in on Gerald like a scope. Cold. Precise.

Gerald felt it. He cleared his throat, awkward and forced, then muttered something as he tugged Clarissa away by the elbow.

A waiter passed with a tray. Grayson plucked a champagne flute for me and a scotch for himself.

Gradually, the tide of well-wishers began to recede. The attention drifted elsewhere. And that’s when I noticed Nathan and Lauren beginning to make their way toward us.

Grayson’s posture changed. Not tense—but focused. Every part of him sharpened, like a blade being drawn but not

yet used.

Relaxed in a dangerous kind of way.

I leaned in slightly. “Why do you look like you're about to devour someone?”

“I’m not,” he said evenly, sipping his drink. “Unless someone gives me a reason.”

I turned my head, following his line of sight.

My eyes locked on Nathan.

And just like that, I understood—

Grayson already had a reason.