His gaze snapped to me.
The transformation was instantaneous. The smug, confident mask shattered. The color drained from Liam's face, leaving a pale, waxy sheen. His jaw went slack with pure, undiluted panic.
But I didn't let him stew in it. Not from a distance. That was too easy.
A bright, sisterly smile effortlessly curved my lips as I slid off the barstool and walked right toward their booth. I moved with a casual confidence, as if drawn by the magnetic pull of family.
"Chloe? Liam?" I called out, my voice a perfect blend of surprise and delight, cutting through the club's bass. "What a coincidence! I was just meeting a friend, but she flaked. I thought I'd have a drink alone before heading home."
The effect was exquisite. Liam jerked back from Chloe as if electrocuted, his guilty panic now mixed with utter confusion. Chloe's seductive posture stiffened into rigid shock, her hand dropping from his tie as if it had burned her. The intimate bubble they'd built popped with an almost audible snap.
"Elara!" Liam stammered, scrambling to his feet. "You... You are here too!"
"Yeah! What a coincidence! It must be fate that brought us towards each other again here," I said sweetly, my gaze flicking to Chloe. "And look at you, sister! I see we had the same idea for a night out." I let my eyes sweep over her revealing leather dress, my smile never wavering. "What a bold choice. You're certainly… turning heads."
Chloe's smile was so tight it looked painful. "Elara. What a… surprise." The venom in her tone was barely concealed, which only made my performance sweeter.
"Don't let me interrupt," I said, smoothly sliding into the booth right next to Liam, forcing him to sit. I immediately placed my hand over his on the table, not lacing our fingers in any intimate way, but covering it completely—a gesture of calm, public possession. He looked at me and smiled, slightly relieved that I wasn't harping on what was going on just a moment ago.
I turned to him, edging my head closer. my voice dropping to a conspiratorial, "loving" murmur. "I was just thinking, darling, that painting we saw today would look perfect in your study. You have such a good eye." I was building a world from which Chloe was entirely excluded, a world of shared tastes and a shared future.
I reached for his scotch glass. "May I?" I took a small sip, my eyes on his over the rim—a simulated intimacy that required no actual touch beyond the hand still covering his. I made a slight face. "Still too strong for me. You'll have to finish it." I pushed the glass back toward him, my fingers briefly brushing his. The entire performance was a minefield of small, claiming gestures that screamed familiarity and ownership without crossing the line into genuine intimacy that would revolt me.
Chloe watched, her knuckles white around her champagne flute. Each laugh I let out, each shared glance I fabricated, was a needle pricking her inflated ego. She was forced to sit there and smile, a spectator to the "perfect couple" she was trying to infiltrate. The fury in her eyes was a dark, beautiful storm she couldn't unleash.
After I had watched the silent fury simmer in her eyes to my satisfaction, I decided to end the act. "Well, this was a lovely surprise!" I said, giving Liam's captive hand a final pat before releasing it. "Don't stay out too late, darling." I turned to Chloe, my smile sweet and sharp as a razor. "And you, sister, be safe. Text me when you get home."
I excused myself, heading for the restrooms. The moment I was out of their direct sight, I slowed, melting into the shadows near a pillar. I stole a glance back.
Just as I predicted, the moment I was gone, Chloe's mask shattered. She was on her feet, leaning over the table, her brand of wide-eyed innocent doe on her face as she tried to play the character of a loving sister wishing only for the best. Liam on the other hand, was torn between this hot goddess right in front of him, and his long-time girlfriend, who just walked away. The scene was even more satisfying than I had imagined.
Satisfied, I continued toward the restroom corridor, which was quieter, dimly lit. I was rounding a corner when a large, unsteady man blocked my path. He reeked of whiskey and entitlement.
"Well, hello there, pretty thing," he slurred, his gaze crawling over my dress. "All alone? Why don't you keep me company?"
He reached for me, his hand closing around my bare arm. A cold spike of genuine fear shot through me. I tried to pull back, but his grip was like a vise.
"Let go of me," I commanded, my voice colder than I felt.
"Don't be like that, sweetheart," he leered, pulling me closer. I could smell the whisky in his breath, my insides turning.
Just as he reached out to place his hand on my waist, a hand clamped down on the drunk's shoulder, spinning him around with effortless, brutal force.
"I believe the lady asked you to let go."
The voice was low, calm, and utterly lethal. It vibrated through the hallway, silencing even the distant thrum of the music.
Kaelen.
He stood there, in his expensive suit. His expression dark and unreadable, but his eyes held a promise of violence that made my blood run cold. The drunk, sobered by a fraction of sheer terror, mumbled an apology and scurried away like a cockroach.
Kaelen's gaze shifted from the retreating man to me. It swept over my face, my disheveled hair, the faint red mark on my arm from the drunk's grip. The intensity in his eyes was unnerving.
For a moment, we stood in silence, the aftermath of the confrontation hanging between us. My heart was still pounding from the fear, now mixed with a dizzying confusion at his presence.
"Mr. Kaelen," I finally managed, my voice slightly unsteady. "What are you doing here?" The question was out before I could stop it, a breach of my usual composure.
"Business," he said, the single word clipped and final. "A tiresome, but necessary meeting with investors who prefer to discuss mergers over martinis." His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering along its line. "A question I should be asking you. What are you doing here, wandering alone in a place like this?"
He took a step closer, and the corridor seemed to shrink. The scent of sandalwood and cold night air that clung to him was a stark contrast to the club's stifling atmosphere. The agitation I had seen in the restaurant was back, but it was sharper now, more potent.
"Playing with fire in a room full of kindling, Miss Sterling?" he murmured, his voice a low, angry thrum that seemed to resonate in my bones. "First, you publicly shackle yourself to a man you despise, then, you parade yourself in front of him. And now I find you here, nearly prey for any drunk with poor impulse control." His eyes narrowed, the granite chips in them glinting. "Tell me, does your grand strategy for victory include becoming a victim? Is that the strategic sacrifice you planned?"
The accuracy of his words was a slap. He had not only witnessed my confrontation with Liam and Chloe, he had understood its every nuance. He saw the game, and he saw the reckless gambit I was playing.
"I can handle myself," I retorted, straightening my spine, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me.
"Can you?" he bit out, the calm facade cracking to reveal a flash of raw, unnerving frustration. "That wasn't 'handling yourself.' That was blind luck. My luck. What was your plan, Elara? To talk him down with your sharp wit while he had his hands on you?"
He used my first name again, not as an intimacy, but as a weapon to punctuate his fury. He was angry. Truly, deeply angry that I had been in danger. The realization was as unsettling as the drunk's attack.
"I... I wasn't thinking," I admitted, the confession torn from me.
"That is precisely the problem," he said, his voice dropping, losing its mocking edge and gaining a gravity that was far more dangerous. "You are so focused on destroying them, you seem intent on taking yourself down with the blast. You are a queen sacrificing her own squares to capture a few worthless pawns."
He looked at me, a long, measuring look that saw past the dress and the smoldering makeup, past the feigned smile, right down to the raw, grieving girl clinging to a cliff edge by her fingernails.
Before I could summon a reply, before I could even process the shift in his tone from critic to something resembling a furious protector, he turned, his posture rigid with suppressed emotion.
"My car is here. I'll see you home." He said as he draped his jacket around me.