se walls. Salvatore was often gone-handling business, orchestrating a war, making good on his promise to burn the world down for her. When he was here, the air felt heavier, charged with

e knew she had lied to herself. Because she did care. And judging by the way his grip tightened around his glass of whiskey, so did he. He was leaning against the bar, his suit immaculate as always, though he had foregone a tie tonight, leaving the top two buttons undone. The sharp angles of his jaw and the cut of his cheekbones were made more pronounced by the golden light flickering from the chandelier above them. He was a picture of composed violence. And yet, for a single, breathless moment, she saw something else in his eyes. Something raw. He covered it quickly, taking a slow sip of whiskey before setting the glass down with deliberate ease. "You listened." His voice was low, laced with something she couldn't quite name. Celeste lifted her chin. "I didn't have anything else to wear." The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smirk, but close. "Liar." She crossed her arms, ignoring the way the movement pressed the fabric tighter against her curves. "You never said why you wanted me to wear this." His eyes darkened. "I didn't think I needed to." The air between them shifted. She should have looked away. Should have broken whatever moment was forming between them before it became something she couldn't escape. But she didn't. Instead, she let him step closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator approaching prey. When he was close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her arm. It was the lightest touch. But it set her whole body on fire. "You've been restless," he murmured. "You want to leave." Celeste swallowed hard. "Of course I do." He hummed, dragging his fingers up the length of her arm, lea