Julian didn't go to the restroom. He slipped out the back alley door like a thief.
Seraphina saw him through the restaurant window—a shadow darting into the alley. Something in her, the part that had spent three years reading his tells, knew exactly what he was doing. He was going to his friends. To brag. To decompress.
She settled the bill and followed him into the cool night air.
She stood in the shadows of a brownstone stoop and watched him climb into a black Cadillac Escalade. The vehicle was the antithesis of his carefully crafted "struggling student" image.
A yellow cab appeared at the corner. She flagged it down, sliding into the back seat.
"Follow that Escalade," she told the driver. "Keep a safe distance."
The cab weaved through the Manhattan traffic, trailing the luxury SUV downtown. It finally pulled up in front of an unmarked door in SoHo, guarded by a single, massive man in a black suit.
Seraphina paid the fare, pulling the collar of her trench coat up to obscure her face. She walked toward the entrance.
The bouncer put out a hand, stopping her. "Private club, ma'am."
She didn't argue. She simply pulled a slim black card from her wallet and flashed it. It was a universal membership card for the exclusive clubs owned by her maternal grandfather's Beaumont family—the one inheritance her stepmother hadn't managed to claw away.
The bouncer's expression shifted instantly from dismissive to deferential. He pulled the heavy wooden door open for her.
The interior was a world of dark wood, plush leather, and glittering crystal chandeliers. The air smelled of expensive whiskey and cigar smoke.
Her eyes swept the room, and she found him almost immediately. Julian was in a secluded booth with a group of young men, all of them dressed in the casual, expensive uniform of the wealthy. She recognized one of them, a blond named Leo Hayes, one of Julian's closest friends.
Seraphina didn't approach. She chose a seat at the far end of the bar, partially hidden by a large potted palm. From here, she could hear them perfectly.
She ordered a tequila, straight. The bartender raised an eyebrow but poured the drink.
Julian's voice, loud and triumphant, cut through the low hum of the club. "You should have seen it! She actually got on one knee! God, it was terrifying. I thought I was a dead man."
Leo Hayes let out a braying laugh. "I told you! A repressed prude like Seraphina Scott was bound to pull a stunt like that. So, Julian, does this mean the bet is settled? Three years, and you still haven't gotten her into bed. Now she's trying to trap you with a ring. It's pathetic!"
Seraphina's fingers tightened around her glass, her knuckles turning white.
A bet. Three years of her life. A bet.
She had spent the last hour wondering if there was still something worth saving. Now she knew the answer.
She had known Julian was a liar. She had known he was playing a part. She had built her entire strategy around that knowledge. But knowing something in your head and hearing it confirmed out loud—by his own mouth, laughing about it with his friends—were two very different things.
"Settle? It's not over," Julian said, his voice slurring slightly. "The bet was to make her fall in love with me, to make her so dependent she couldn't leave. She just proposed. I'd say that proves I've won."
Another man whistled. "I don't know, man. You turned her down. What if she gets pissed and dumps you?"
"Her?" Julian snorted. "She wouldn't dare. She's desperately in love with me. And without me, her position in that snake pit of a family is nothing. I'll say a few sweet things, and she'll come crawling back."
He paused, his tone dropping into a lewd conspiratorial whisper. "Besides, I haven't even tasted her yet. Women who act that innocent are always wild in bed. I'll have my fun, and then I'll dump her."
A wave of raucous laughter erupted from the booth.
Seraphina sat very still. She had expected cruelty. She had prepared herself for it. But the casual brutality of it—the way he said "she wouldn't dare," as if she were a trained pet, not a person—made something inside her go very quiet.
Not rage. Not yet. Just a hollow, ringing silence, like the moment after a bell stops and the air is still vibrating.
She threw back the tequila. It burned, but she barely noticed.
She ordered another drink. Her second one. She sipped it slowly, her gaze wandering across the crowded room. The bar's noise gradually faded into a muffled blur. Even the laughter from Julian's booth became nothing but background noise.
She thought of her mother. Her mother had used her own death to teach her that neither love nor marriage was reliable. Never trust a man. Never place expectations on one. Julian had only approached her as a youthful, arrogant prank—a bet among friends. She had been the fool, forgetting her mother's warning, and now she was reduced to this pathetic state. She should have known better. A man like Julian had seen countless beautiful women. There was never any such thing as love at first sight. It was all a joke. Nothing serious.
She finished that drink, feeling the edges of the world soften and her head grow hazy. The pain didn't disappear, but it seemed to be held at a distance—like watching flames through glass.
She wasn't thinking clearly anymore. She knew that. She also knew she didn't care.
She gazed at the amber liquid in her glass, as a wild, desperate, yet brilliant idea slowly took shape in her shattered heart.
"Do you think you've won, Julian? Do you think I'm someone you can toy with at will?
Do you think I'm a prude? Do you think my purity is a joke?
I'll show you just how impure I can be."
