(Luca)
I didn’t intend to come back drunk.
That was the lie I told myself as I left the mansion long after midnight, engine snarling beneath my hands, the city opening its throat to me like it always did when I needed it to swallow something ugly.
Control required distance.
And tonight, distance felt impossible.
The gala had been a battlefield dressed in silk. Alice’s eyes had followed every movement, every breath Aria took beside me, measuring, recalculating. I had seen the moment she realized she’d lost Aria—not because Aria chose me, but because she chose herself.
That kind of loss made people dangerous.
So I went out to make sure nothing followed her home.
The men I met didn’t matter. Their names didn’t survive the night. They were messengers, not masterminds—loose ends pretend
