Izelle’s laughter was sharper than tequila as she pressed into the bar, her knuckles white against the cool edge, golden rings gleaming beneath the low tent lights. Her red silk tank slipped off one shoulder, exposing sun-brushed skin and the wild arrow tattoo at her collarbone. She downed another shot with Talya, whose sly smile kept pace with every tease. But Izelle’s gaze kept flickering—restless, searching—toward the shadows where Ryven stood rigid and alone, arms folded, his white shirt undone at the throat, hair tousled as if by wind or worry.

Ryven watched Izelle over the rim of a glass he never drank from. His jaw flexed every time she laughed—was it for him, or for the thrill of being seen? Heat rose beneath his skin, jealousy blooming unwelcome. Each time Talya edged closer, Izelle’s posture grew a touch more reckless, lips parting, laughter leaking like a dare. Ryven’s fingers tightened around his glass. He wanted to look away. He never could.

Across the tent, Selix moved through the room with calculated grace—black slip dress skimming her hips, high heels purposeful on the rugs. Her gaze locked momentarily on Brax, looming by the entrance, expensive suit dark as old secrets, eyes narrowing with familiarity and threat. Selix’s composure faltered—barely—the scar at her lip twitching as she brushed past Calder, whose stance sharpened into alertness. He reached to steady Selix, hand brushing her bare arm, grip just firm enough for Brax to notice.

Brax’s arrival sucked music and laughter from the space. He leaned in, a predator's smile tugging at his mouth. “Missed me, Selix?” His voice was velvet and razorwire. Selix met his gaze, spine ramrod straight, fingers curling at her sides. “You’re not a guest here, Brax. Not anymore.” Tension snapped between them, visible in the tremor of her breath, the way she recoiled when Calder closed the gap. “Everything all right?” Calder’s tone was harsh, betraying more than he wanted to.

Izelle slammed down a shot and stumbled sideways, hair messily spilling over her face. Talya caught her, arms circling in support, but their laughter was brittle now—Izelle’s eyes glossy with something unshed. Selix and Izelle found themselves shoulder to shoulder at the bar, silence a crackling promise. The edges of Selix’s dress brushed Izelle’s thigh; Izelle didn’t move away. “You ever wonder what would happen if you just let go?” Izelle’s voice was barely a whisper, but Selix’s breath shuddered at her ear.

Their lips met in a collision neither could claim as accidental—Selix tasted tequila, salt, the ache of someone who craved dominance but found herself undone. Izelle’s hand slid against Selix’s jaw, thumb brushing that sensitive scar, both women trembling as the crowd melted away. The kiss was exploratory, confessional—a tangle of desire and loneliness—Selix’s fingers threaded through Izelle’s hair, desperate, aching, wanting. The moment stretched, bright and reckless and so shockingly right.

Ryven witnessed everything, barely breathing in the shadows, heartbreak bruising his chest. The sight of Izelle, Selix—entwined, oblivious—shattered something careful and essential. He took a step back, the air thin and cold. A stone lodged itself beneath his tongue; trust tasted bitter now. Calder’s gaze met Ryven’s, recognition flickering—they were both losing what they wanted most.

Calder stalked after Selix once Brax had retreated to his private tent. Fury radiated off Calder’s body—veins thrumming, muscles tight beneath his black linen shirt. He caught Selix in a corridor, slamming the door behind them, pinning her between rough hands and rougher words. “You make a show of it now? With her?” Selix’s eyes glistened, defiance masking hurt. “It’s none of your business, Calder.” His mouth crashed down on hers, desperate and raw, their bodies colliding against the wall—kisses bruising, hands tangled in hair, fighting for control in a language only they spoke.

Clothes were torn, breaths stolen. For a moment, pain and longing blurred in a gasp, Selix yielding then biting back, nails raking Calder’s back. “Is this what you want?” she demanded, voice fractured. “Or just what you think you deserve?” Calder pressed her wrists against the wall, forehead sweating against hers. “I want you,” he ground out, “but I don’t want to share you.” Their passion was electric—dark, consuming, a wrestling match neither intended to lose.

Down the hall, Ryven stumbled into the night, fists stuffed in pockets, eyes storm-dark. Joryn intercepted him, cheerful façade slipping when he met Ryven’s look. “Rough night?” he ventured, but Ryven just shook his head, voice leaden. “You ever feel like you’re watching your own life burn down?” Joryn placed a gentle hand on his shoulder—silent, understanding—and didn’t let go until Ryven’s breathing slowed.

Inside, Izelle stared after Ryven—lips swollen, shame prickling under her skin, desire and regret at war. Talya stood at her side, quiet, steady. “He’ll come back,” Talya murmured, but Izelle shook her head, knuckles white as she picked at her rings. “What if I’m the one who always runs?” she whispered. Talya’s expression softened, but before she could answer, Calder’s voice echoed from the corridor—desperate, angry, wounded.

Later, Calder found a folded note on his pillow: Your secret dies with you—or with her. His face blanched, pulse thundering. Selix, fixing her hair in the mirror, caught his reflection. Fear ripple-brightened her eyes. In that instant, trust between them shattered, replaced by something colder and more dangerous.

The night bled toward dawn, the retreat’s fragile alliances destroyed, every heart marked by betrayal, lust, and longing. In the silence, Brax watched from the shadows, already planning his next move.

To be continued…