Chapter 302: Three

ROMEO POV

She didn’t sit. I thought she would, the hesitation had been there—brief, almost imperceptible. The slight shift in her weight, the way her fingers tightened like she was considering it.

Then it disappeared. A soft scoff slipped past her lips and before I could say anything else—before I could decide if I even wanted to—she turned.

Just like that. No more arguments. No more questions. No more trying to force an answer out of me.

She walked away. I watched her go. The movement was quick at first, like she needed distance immediately. Then it steadied, her shoulders pulling back, her spine straightening as she moved through the crowd like she hadn’t just stood in front of me, voice uneven, eyes sharper than I’d ever seen them.

Like she hadn’t just….My gaze narrowed slightly.

Interesting. Because that wasn’t the same girl who had stood in my office months ago, pulse jumping under my fingers, breathing like she wasn’t sure whether to run or stay still.

That Katya would have sat. Even if she didn’t want to. Even if she hated me for it. This one didn’t.

This one looked at me, challenged me and when she didn’t like what she got, she left. My thumb tapped once against the side of the glass resting on the table.

A faint, almost humorless exhale left me as I leaned back into the couch again, my arm settling along the backrest.

Where exactly did that come from? Because it wasn’t just anger. Anger I understood.

This was something else. I let my gaze follow her through the crowd again, tracking her without effort as she slipped back toward the bar where Chiara was waiting.

She didn’t look back.

Not once. Another small shift settled in my chest at that.

Familiar and Unwelcomed. I picked up the glass in front of me, turning it slightly in my hand, watching the way the amber liquid caught the flashing lights from the dance floor.

My jaw tightened faintly. She had walked across the entire club, stood in front of me, demanded answers and then left before I gave her any that mattered. And for some reason, that bothered me more than if she had stayed.

My gaze lifted again. Back to her. Chiara was already talking—animated as usual, leaning forward, completely unaware of what had just happened across the room. Katya responded, but even from here, I could see the difference.

Subtle.

But there. The way her shoulders were just a little too tense. The way her grip lingered on the edge of the counter before she forced herself to relax.

She was still thinking about it. About me. The corner of my mouth tilted slightly, though there was no real amusement behind it.

Of course she was. I leaned forward just enough to set the glass down again, my fingers releasing it with quiet precision.

Across the room, Michael moved.

My eyes shifted instantly, locking onto him as he stepped out from behind the staircase his attention flicking toward Katya again.

The faint trace of something colder settled in my expression.

There it is. That was the problem. Not the club. Not the music. Not even the fact that she had snuck out.

Him. The way his attention returned to her like it belonged there. The way he watched without understanding what he was looking at.

My jaw jaw tightened, just slightly. From where I sat, the bar was nothing but motion layered over light—glasses flashing, hands moving, bodies leaning too close just to be heard.

The music swallowed everything whole. Whatever was being said over there died before it ever reached this side of the room.

But words didn’t matter. Not when people were this easy to read. The bartender slid something across the counter toward her. I saw the movement before I saw the glass.

Katya’s hand moved toward it almost automatically, fingers curling around it like she needed something to ground herself.

Chiara was still talking. Head tipped, hands moving, expression animated in a way that pulled attention without asking for it.

She leaned in closer to Katya, saying something I couldn’t hear, laughing at her own words before Katya even reacted.

Katya didn’t laugh. She nodded once. Distracted. Her focus wasn’t there. It lingered somewhere else. I didn’t have to guess where.

Michael stepped in closer then, slipping into the space beside her like it was already his. His shoulder angled slightly toward her, his attention narrowing in a way that didn’t match the rest of the room. Everyone else was scattered—looking, moving, shifting.

He wasn’t. His gaze dropped to the glass in her hand. Then back to her face. Something in his expression tightened. Not obvious. Not enough for anyone else to catch.

Enough for me. His mouth moved—short sentence, maybe two. Questioning. Controlled. Katya didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers tightened around the glass instead.

Then Michael reached out, It wasn’t aggressive. Not sudden. Just a quiet movement of his hand toward hers, like he intended to take the drink before she could finish deciding what to do with it.

He didn’t get the chance. Katya pulled it back fast. Fast enough that the liquid inside shifted hard against the sides, catching the light in fractured reflections.

Her grip tightened, knuckles paling just slightly under the pressure. Her mouth moved.

Refusal. Even from here, I could see it. My gaze sharpened slightly. She didn’t hesitate again. She lifted the glass and took a drink.

The reaction hit immediately. Her shoulders jerked, just slightly, and even without hearing it, I knew she coughed.

The movement gave it away—the abrupt hitch, the way her head turned a fraction as if she needed a second to recover from whatever she had just swallowed. Her face twisted in disgust.

She lowered the glass, staring at it like it had personally offended her. Chiara noticed instantly. Leaned in. Her expression shifted between amusement and curiosity, her hand gesturing toward the drink like she was asking what exactly Katya had just done to herself.

Michael wasn’t amused. His expression hardened. His gaze dropped to the glass again. Then back to Katya.

Something sharper there now. Something closer to irritation than concern. He said something else.

Shorter. More pointed. Katya didn’t respond. Not the way he expected, at least.

She lifted the glass again. Slower this time. Took another sip. Her face didn’t twist as sharply, but the discomfort was still there, the slight narrowing of her eyes, the faint tension at the corner of her mouth before she forced it smooth again.

Stubborn. My thumb tapped once against the side of my own glass. She was proving something.

The question was to who. Her eyes lifted across the room, straight to me. No hesitation, the connection locked instantly.

Everything else faded into background movement. Noise without meaning. Light without focus. Just that line between us. Her expression hardened the moment our gazes met.

There it was again.

Not fear. Something sharper, something that pushed back. Behind her, Chiara followed her line of sight first.

Curious. Then confused.

Her head turned, scanning the direction Katya was staring, trying to find whatever had pulled her attention so completely out of the moment.

It didn’t take long. Recognition flickered. Michael noticed next. His gaze shifted from Katya, following the same path, moving across the crowd until it landed…On me.

He stilled.

I held his gaze for a fraction of a second. Long enough. Then dismissed him.

My attention returned to Katya like he had never mattered. Because right now. He didn’t. Her grip tightened around the glass again.

I saw it. The tension running through her hand, up her arm, settling somewhere in the way her shoulders drew back.

She didn’t look away.

Neither did I. A faint scoff threatened at the back of my throat. So that was how she wanted to play this.

Fine. I reached for my glass slowly. My fingers closing around it with the same unhurried control I carried into everything else. The amber liquid shifted inside as I lifted it just enough for a silent gesture.

A mockery toast from across the room to her and then I drank.

This time, I didn’t let the whiskey sit untouched. The burn hit sharp and immediate, sliding down my throat in a clean line of heat. I didn’t rush it. Just held her gaze as I swallowed.

Katya didn’t move. But the reaction was there. In the faint flare of something in her eyes, anger, maybe. Frustration. Something hotter than either.

Behind her, Chiara looked between us now, confusion settling more clearly across her face. Her brows pulled together, gaze flicking from Katya to me and back again like she was trying to piece together a conversation she hadn’t heard.

Michael didn’t look confused. While Chiara’s attention bounced between us and Katya held my gaze like she refused to be the first to break it, his had already shifted.

He turned slightly, leaning toward one of the men stationed near the edge of the floor. A few words. Nothing exaggerated. No urgency in the movement.

But it was enough. The man straightened immediately. A second later, two more peeled off from their positions, falling in beside him without needing to be called.

My gaze dipped briefly to their formation. Three. Not random. The corner of my mouth moved faintly.

So that was the route he chose. I leaned back further into the couch, posture loosening instead of tightening, my arm still draped along the backrest as if none of it concerned me in the slightest.

Across the room, Katya hadn’t looked away yet. Even as Michael stepped closer to her again, even as his hand hovered, this time not for the glass, but her arm, her attention held on me.

Stubborn. My fingers tapped once against the side of my glass. Then stopped. Michael said something to her. I didn’t need to hear it to understand the shift.

His head angled slightly toward the staircase behind him, his hand guiding subtle, but firm enough to make the intention clear.

Upstairs. Chiara blinked, clearly thrown for a second before she slid off the stool, already talking, already asking something.

Katya didn’t move immediately, She stayed where she was for just a second,her fingers still wrapped around the glass, her shoulders set like she was deciding something.

Then her gaze broke. She set the glass down harder than necessary. Turned. And let Michael guide her away.

My eyes followed without effort. The three security men were already cutting through the crowd, not rushing, not drawing attention—but not subtle enough to miss if you knew what to look for.

And I always did. Their path wasn’t toward the stairs. It was toward me.

Of course. Another faint exhale left me as I lifted my glass again, rolling the remaining whiskey once before bringing it to my lips. The burn didn’t feel as sharp this time.

Across the room, Katya and Chiara reached the base of the staircase. Chiara glanced back once—quick, uncertain.

Katya didn’t. Michael’s hand remained at her back as he led them upward, his posture composed, his attention no longer on the floor behind him.

A mistake. My gaze shifted forward just as the first of his men reached the edge of my table.

Hello, I really sorry for the low update rate, I have many things irl to do and I’m trying my best to finish my werewolf book so I can focus on this one and the new book I’m planning.

Thank you all for the support and encouragement, I wouldn’t have come this far without any of you!

Thank you and God bless!