Falling In Love With You

Chapter 17

Sera

The gala was a sea of champagne, fake smiles, and the stifling scent of lilies. Normally, I could navigate these events in my sleep, moving from donor to board member with the grace of a well-oiled machine. But tonight, every time someone clapped me on the back or a waiter brushed past me in the crowded ballroom, a sharp, white-hot reminder flared under the fabric of my gown.

I was wearing a floor-length, backless silk dress in a deep emerald green. It was stunning, elegant, and—most importantly—it hid the bandage on my ribs.

"You look radiant tonight, Seraphine," Elias murmured, appearing at my elbow. He was wearing a tuxedo that probably cost more than Kayla’s motorcycle, and he was looking at me with that same proprietary glint in his eyes.

"Thank you, Elias," I said, my voice tight. I took a sip of my sparkling water, my eyes scanning the room for an exit.

"Your father mentioned you’ve been 'adventurous' lately," he said, stepping a little too close. He lowered his voice, his breath smelling of expensive scotch. "Taking the long way home? Exploring the... lower districts? You have to be careful, Sera. A woman like you shouldn't be wandering around those parts of the city alone."

I felt a surge of cold fury. He was tracking me. Or at least, he was paying enough attention to my schedule to notice the gaps.

"I can take care of myself, Elias," I said, my hand instinctively moving toward my side, hovering just above the hidden ink.

"Can you?" He reached out, his hand sliding toward my waist as if to guide me toward the dance floor.

The second his palm pressed against the silk over my ribs, I almost screamed. The tattoo was only forty-eight hours old; the skin was still raw, swollen, and hypersensitive. His touch felt like a branding iron.

I flinched away, my movement so sharp and sudden that I nearly knocked the glass out of his hand.

"Don't," I hissed, the "Perfect Girl" mask slipping for a terrifying second.

Elias froze, his brow furrowing. "Sera? What’s wrong? You’re pale."

"I... I have a migraine," I lied, my heart racing. "The lights. I need some air."

I didn't wait for his response. I turned and practically ran toward the balcony, the heavy velvet curtains muffled the roar of the party behind me. The night air was cool, a blessing against my flushed skin.

I leaned against the stone railing, gasping for breath. I looked down at the city, the lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of gold and white. I felt like I was living two lives. In one, I was the emerald-clad princess of a marketing empire. In the other, I was a woman who had stood in a basement and let a stranger carve a bird into her skin.

I reached up and touched the back of my neck, my fingers tracing the line where my hair was pinned up. I thought of Kayla’s hands—rough, gloved, and surprisingly steady. When she touched me, it was to change me. When Elias touched me, it was to claim me.

The difference was starting to make me feel sick.

I pulled my phone from my clutch, my fingers hovering over the search history. I shouldn't. I was at my father’s gala. I was surrounded by the elite of Manhattan.

I clicked on the gallery of Inked by K anyway.

I scrolled through the photos of her work, my eyes lingering on a piece she’d done of a rose wrapped in barbed wire. It was beautiful and brutal. Just like her.

"Everything is permanent," I whispered to the night sky.

I wasn't just thinking about the ink anymore. I was thinking about the way she looked at me. The way she challenged me. I realized with a start that I didn't want to go back inside. I didn't want to be radiant for Elias or my father or the board.

I wanted to be back in that basement. I wanted to hear the roar of the machine. I wanted to see if the woman with the amber eyes would still call me "Cupcake" if she knew I had survived the first night without breaking.