Sweat darkens the collar of Zuriel’s battered jacket as bodies and voices churn in rivers through the half-lit warehouse. Every footstep echoes with greed. He stands near the loading bay, fists clenched. His eyes—dark, hard, glimmering with a possessive fever—never leave Lys as she glides through the crowd, collecting secrets and offers with a sly flick of her lashes. Her silver dress clings to her, hair pinned up so only stray wisps frame sharp, knowing eyes. She laughs too sweetly at a bidder’s joke, but her gaze flickers—searching—for him.

Axton looms at the center, silk tie crooked, lips pressed into a faint, icy smile that never touches his eyes. He moves like a man who owns every broken clockwork of this night. When Lys brushes past him with the smallest tilt of her hips, he grabs her wrist—gentle, but there are claws in his touch. “Try not to lose yourself,” he murmurs. “I’d hate to see you fall.” She shakes him off, her laugh brittle.

Valein lurks on the fringe, paint smeared on her jeans, eyes rimmed red. She’s too small for the shadows she hides in, chewing the edge of her thumb, watching Lys—always Lys. She tries not to look, tries not to hope.

The auction explodes in action—deals made, trust shredded in whispers. Lys, dizzy on tension and fear, slips through a side door. Zuriel catches her, his hand rough on her elbow. He pulls her away from the chaos, through a maze of crates, his breath ragged. “You lied to me.” His words slash, raw and trembling. “You think I wouldn’t find out?” She jerks free, chin high. “I did what I had to.” Her eyes are wild, glassy with adrenaline and something deeper. “You’d do the same!”

He backs her against cold concrete; his jaw flexes. “I would kill for you.” The confession cracks through the air. She shakes, equal parts terror and need as she spits, “Then prove it.” Their mouths crash, desperate and bruising, hands tangling in silk and denim, scraping buttons, wrenching cloth. His touch is violent—possessive—her nails leave crescents in his neck. Each thrust is an accusation, every gasp a plea for forgiveness they can’t voice. She presses her forehead to his, tears blurring her eyes. “This isn’t love.”

He stills, body trembling, and for a moment his defenses falter. “Maybe not. But it’s all I have.” He clutches her so fiercely she thinks she might shatter. They both do—coming undone in a rush, then sagging together, ruined and breathless, the warehouse’s noise muffled beyond the walls.

Down the corridor, a shout splits the air. Valein’s sabotage—her theft, her longing—has been discovered. Maren drags her by the wrist, voice sharp. “You’re done here, Valein. Go.” Valein stares at Lys, hope draining from her face, shoulders curving inward. She stumbles for the door, shoving past Zuriel, who can’t meet her gaze. The cold slams into her skin as she disappears into the night.

On the mezzanine, Axton is seized by two enforcers. Lys’s planted evidence—her last, desperate gambit—has found its mark. He snarls, hair falling over his eyes, rage and hurt twisted in his features. As the steel cell slams, he locks eyes with Lys, betrayal burning between them.

Zuriel stands in the aftermath, blood on his knuckles, Lys’s lipstick smeared along his throat. He grabs her hand, but she tears away, eyes raw—no more lies tonight.

Suddenly, crashing footsteps and a gun’s metallic click slice the tension. The warehouse hushes. Someone’s here who shouldn’t be, rage scrawled across their face—Tash, drawn by jealousy and vengeance, storms in. “You think you’re untouchable?” he screams, gun swinging wildly. Secrets are about to spill. Zuriel steps protectively in front of Lys, pulse hammering.

Everything is poised to explode.

To be continued...