Soren's POV
Watched from the deep shadows of the cypress trees as Elio led her away. His arm was a thick, possessive bar around her shoulders, steering her toward the stupid little car he drove. She was bundled up again, wrapped in her coat and scarf, a parcel he thought he was taking to safety.
Idiot.
The thrill from the garden was still humming under my skin, a warm, pleasant buzz better than any drink. She'd lied for me. Looked him right in his worried eyes and said it's nothing. My little ghost, keeping our secrets. It was almost… sweet.
I waited until the car's taillights vanished down the long drive, swallowed by the night. The grin I'd been holding back spread across my face, wide and genuine in the dark. A private victory.
Turning, I slipped back into the house through the utility door. The party noise hit me like a physical shove—bass pounding through the floor, shrieks of laughter, the cloying stink of sweat and spilled gin. Pushed through the crowd. Didn't smile. Didn't speak. A look was enough to make a path clear.
Spotted Juniper by the staircase, whispering with some girl. Her eyes went wide when she saw me, darting to the garden door, then back to my face.
The energy in the room was turning. The early, nervous excitement had curdled into something desperate and sloppy. I felt it like a pressure behind my eyes. Couldn't stand the smell of it—the need, the pretending. Needed to move.
I bypassed the kitchen and headed for the gym, the one place in this cavernous house that was ever truly quiet. Flipped the lights on. The fluorescents buzzed to life, harsh and clean.
And there they were. In the corner, by the free weights. Two bodies tangled, all frantic hands and wet, sloppy sounds. A boy I vaguely recognized and a girl. Too lost in each other to hear me come in.
A spike of pure, clean irritation shot through me. This wasn't a brothel. It was my space.
"Get out."
My voice cut the humid air. They froze, then scrambled apart like insects under a light. The boy's face went sheet-white. "S-Soren. We didn't—"
"I don't care what you didn't," I said, already turning my back, pulling off my jacket. "Piss off. Now."
The scramble of their exit was satisfying. The door hissed shut. Silence.
Good.
Didn't bother with wraps. Just started.
Thud. The garden. Her wide eyes in the dark.
Thud-thud.I hate you. The delicious lie in her voice.
Thud.Elio's hand on her back, leading her away.
Thud.The splash in the river, the boy's one good eye wide.
THUD.The thought of Sterling—of anyone—trying to one up me.
The punches got messier, harder. The bag swung violently. My breath sawed in my chest, knuckles burning. Could almost see it—the red wasn't just behind my eyes.
Didn't hear the door. Just felt the shift in the air.
"You're going to break your wrists."
Cas. Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. He'd changed into a black hoodie and sweats. He'd been watching. How long?
I didn't stop. "What do you want?"
"Came to clear my head. Found you trying to murder a bag." He walked over, calm. Stopped a few feet away, watching me like a problem to be solved. "Elio left early. With the girl. Zara."
Thud. A direct hit. "So?"
"So, he's distracted. And we just disposed of Sterling's cousin. Distraction is a luxury we can't afford right now. It makes you sloppy."
"He's fine," I grunted, throwing a vicious combo. Left, right, elbow. "He's not the issue."
"It's not about him. It's about the variable. This girl. If Sterling connects dots and finds a soft spot… she becomes leverage. A target." Cas's voice was ice. Pure logic. "We can't have that."
THUD.
The punch landed with a sick crack. Pain shot up my arm. I'd split the skin over my knuckles. I shook out my hand, breath heaving, and turned, leaning on the shuddering bag.
"So what's the play? Scare her off?Have a chat?" I tried to sound bored. It came out ragged.
Cas's eyes narrowed. He was reading the room. Reading me. "The play is control. If she's important to Elio, she needs to understand the rules. The dangers. For her own safety."
He kept saying his name. Elio. Elio. Elio.
But all I heard washer. Her safety. Her danger.
"She's not his," I said, the words out before I could freeze them.
Silence.
Thick, absolute silence, broken only by the drip of my blood on the mat. Cas didn't move. His gaze, usually so detached, was a laser.
"I see," he said, very quietly.
He'd heard it. The possession. The wrong name. He'd said Elio, and I'd reacted to her.
I turned back to the bag, pretending to examine my bleeding knuckles. Buying a second to ice over. Too late.
"Soren." His voice was low. Not angry. Calculating. "This interest. With Elio's friend. Is it a game? Or is it a problem?"
I looked at him over my shoulder, forcing a smirk. "Can't it be both?"
He didn't smile. He studied me—the sweat, the split knuckles, the violence still crackling in the air between us. He was piecing it together. The garden. My late arrival to the shed. This.
He was my best friend. He knew what I was.
"Just keep it clean," he said finally, each word precise. "And keep it away from our business. If this… project… of yours compromises the Kings, compromises what we just had to do, there will be consequences. Even for you."
He gave me one last, unreadable look, then turned. The door sighed shut behind him.
I stared at the swinging bag. The silence was heavier now. Charged.
Cas knew.
He didn't have the full picture, but he'd seen the edges. The shape of my obsession.
It should have felt like a warning.
All I felt was a cold, sharp clarity. The game had just levelled up.
And the thought of anyone else laying a finger on what was mine?
I looked at my bloody knuckles, a slow, dark smile touching my lips.