Chapter 8: The Wager

She stomped down the hallway, heels echoing like gunshots. I waved sweetly, savoring her frustration.

Harrison and I strolled through the club. At a corner, he suddenly plucked the pearl hairpin from my bun.

My hair tumbled down, catching the light. I gasped, but he just twirled the pin, eyes locked on mine.

My hair spilled over my shoulders. My eyes flashed.

I fought the urge to snatch the pin back, letting him see a flicker of annoyance. He grinned, clearly entertained.

He spun the hairpin in his fingers, leaning against a marble pillar, his gaze roaming over me.

His posture was lazy, but his focus was razor-sharp. I felt exposed, but refused to look away.

In his gray eyes: mischief, admiration, and a flicker of something hot and dangerous.

The air between us sizzled. A shiver ran down my spine, equal parts excitement and caution.

“Calm under pressure, decisive… and beautiful.”

His words were soft, almost reverent. I let a small smile play at my lips, accepting the compliment with a nod.

“Is Mr. Whitmore satisfied with me?” I asked, my tone light but my eyes challenging him.

“If it’s sharing a bed, very satisfied. If it’s sharing a grave—not enough.”

His voice was low, the words hanging in the air. I raised an eyebrow, matching his intensity.

Ordinary spouses, yes. Soulmates, no.

I got the message, but just smiled coolly. “But I want a sea burial, when the time comes.”

My voice was calm, a gentle challenge. He blinked, surprised, then laughed—a deep, genuine sound.

Harrison drove me home. Before I got out, he mentioned a yacht party this weekend, asked if I was down.

The engine purred, city lights flickering outside. His hand rested on the shifter, casual but close.

I agreed instantly.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I replied, breezy. He grinned, satisfied.

Harper was waiting at the door, blocking my way, arms crossed, foot tapping. “What do you mean? Didn’t you say you’d let me have Harrison!”

Her shadow stretched across the porch, the light sharp on her angry face.

Looking at her furious face, I replied gently, “There’s a yacht party this weekend. Harrison will be there. Come with me—I’ll help you get close to him.”

My tone was soothing, as if I was doing her a favor. She hesitated, suspicion flickering.

Harper sneered, glaring at me. “At least you know your place.”

She spun on her heel, muttering. I watched her go, a small, secret smile tugging at my lips.