Chapter 23

VICTORIA –

The drive back to her apartment is quiet. The city passes in a blur of wet pavement and glowing streetlights, the car’s engine providing the only sound between us. We don’t need to talk – what happened at the office hangs heavy in the air, a presence all its own. It’s so consuming, it makes me forget the other threat looming over us: the leak. I’ve pushed it down, my mind instinctively making room because there’s no headspace for it right now. My entire focus is fixed on Avery.

Avery stares out her window, her hands resting on her knees, fingers curled tight like she’s holding onto something solid.

When we reach her building, she moves slowly, carefully, as if still feeling the ghost of unwanted hands on her body.

Inside, she goes straight to the couch and sinks into the cushions. Juno immediately curls into her lap, a warm, purring weight meant for comfort. Avery’s right hand finds the cat’s fur, stroking in slow, steady rhythms. Her other hand cradles a mug of tea I handed her – steam rising, too hot to drink, but she holds it like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

I lower myself beside her, close but not crowding. Up close the details come into focus. The delicate line of her jaw is set with a tension I hadn’t noticed before. A pale trace of shock still clings to her features, and her eyes blink rapidly, as if trying to clear a persistent haze.

The fury that burned at the office cools now. Rage becomes protection. I rest my hand on her knee and rub little circles – slow, deliberate. My voice comes out low and even. “You’re not going back there.”

She lifts her head a fraction. “Victoria—” she begins, but I don’t let her finish.

“No.” I keep my hand moving. “I don’t want you to work for him anymore. I’ll find you something else.”

“I can’t just quit my job–” Her words tremble on the edge of reason; the practical, scared little voice I know so well.

“Yes, you can,” I say, my fingers moving up to cup her cheek. There’s a tear tracing a path down her skin. I wipe it away with my thumb. The gesture is gentle, but there’s steel behind it. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch, seeking comfort.

For a moment, the darkness in me surges – sharp and clear. I see the office again: the harsh lights, his hand on her waist, his entitled leer. I feel the weight of the letter opener in my hand, the cool certainty of metal. I imagine driving it into his throat. The thought isn’t anger – it’s calculation. Fast. Surgical. Then gone. Men like Landers breathe the air we should be allowed to take in; some of them deserve to be reminded they’re not untouchable.

If Avery hadn’t stopped me, I would have crossed a line there’s no coming back from. The realization both terrifies and steadies me.

Avery shifts beside me and I catch myself before I spiral deeper. She tucks her head lightly against my arm, seeking the steady anchor I hadn’t realized she wanted. The tension in her shoulders softens, just a hair. I let out a long breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

Slowly, I lean back and loop my arm around her. It’s a simple thing – an ordinary motion – but it feels like the only honest thing to do. She fits there, smaller than the space, trusting in the quiet. I hold her like a promise: I will keep you safe. For now, that is my work.

We stay like this for a while. The room hums with the sound of rain against the window, and somewhere beneath it, Juno’s soft breathing. Avery’s head rests lightly against my side, her tea cooling on the coffee table beside us. I can feel the tremor in her body easing little by little, replaced by exhaustion.

Silence stretches, not heavy – just present. The kind of silence that comes after chaos, when your body is still catching up to what your mind already knows.

Then her voice breaks it, quiet but steady. “It’s almost eight.”

I blink, half dazed. “What?”

She shifts, lifting her head a little to meet my eyes. “Don’t you have the Vanguard event tonight?”

Shit. She’s right. I almost forgot – the quarterly showcase at the club. New performers, new equipment for the private rooms. It’s a night for evaluating investments and entertaining top-tier clients. The kind of evening I usually navigate on autopilot, but tonight it feels trivial.

“It’s okay,” I say automatically. “You shouldn’t have to face a crowd tonight, and I’m not leaving you alone.”

Her lips curve into a faint, almost-smile. “No,” she says, “I think I could use a distraction, to be honest.”

I study her, searching for the lie in her face. There’s none. Just tired eyes and that quiet, stubborn strength I’ve come to know and admire so well.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

She nods once. “Yeah.”

I hesitate a beat longer, still watching her. Then I let out a breath. “Okay,” I say, simple and soft.

I stand, smoothing a hand down my coat, and glance back at her. “Let’s get you ready then.”

She rises slowly, setting Juno gently aside, and for the first time tonight, there’s something different in her expression – fragile, yes, but alive. And maybe a distraction is exactly what she needs.

Exactly what we both need.

***

AVERY –

The drive to the Vanguard feels shorter than it should. Maybe because neither of us says a word the entire time. The rain hasn’t stopped, just softened to a fine mist that gathers on the windshield, blurring the city into streaks of gold and violet. By the time we pull into the private garage, I’ve replayed what happened in the office a dozen times. It still doesn’t feel real.

Inside, the club is alive. Music hums low through the marble floor. Light from the chandelier pours down like something liquid, catching the edges of sequined dresses and glasses of champagne. People gravitate toward Victoria the moment she steps in – investors, performers, all orbiting her like she’s the center of everything. She wears her power like perfume; subtle, but impossible to ignore.

And then there’s me. The dress she picked is black and smooth, fitting like silk poured over skin. The slit runs high on my thigh and the back is cut low. Daring, like last time. It’s comfortable enough that I can almost forget what happened earlier. Almost. The fabric whispers as I walk, a reminder to hold my head high. I focus on the music, the clink of glasses, the solid rhythm of my heels on the floor – anything but the memory of his breath against my ear. I force the thoughts of the office out of my mind. I can fall apart later, if I have to. But not tonight.

Tonight is about Victoria.

“Breathe,” she murmurs near my ear before turning to greet another guest. Her voice is barely a whisper, but it grounds me. I nod and force my shoulders down. I hold a glass of champagne I don’t intend to drink. My reflection in its bubbles looks like a stranger – lips painted, hair less rebellious then usual, no trace of the girl who almost collapsed hours ago.

Every so often I feel her eyes on me. Victoria doesn’t hover, but she’s always aware of where I am. It’s not possessive, it’s protective. I can see it in the subtle flicks of her gaze, the way her jaw tightens whenever someone lingers too long in conversation with me.

After a while, I slip toward the balcony. The air outside is cool and wet, a sharp contrast to the warmth inside.

I grip the railing and let the mist sting my skin until the noise from inside becomes nothing but a hum. Below, the streetlights shimmer against the soaked pavement, reflections bending in every puddle.

“She doesn’t deserve to look this haunted,” I hear behind me.

I turn. Victoria stands a few steps away, holding a glass she hasn’t touched. Even in the dim light, she looks composed, powerful, and utterly beautiful. Her eyes soften when they meet mine.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

She studies me for a moment, that unreadable quiet she wears so well filling the space between us. “Distraction’s working?” she asks finally.

“Almost,” I say, forcing a small smile.

She steps closer, and the noise of the event fades even further. It’s just her now, and the sound of rain on glass. “You don’t have to pretend tonight,” she says softly. “Not with me.”

Something loosens in my chest. “If I stop pretending,” I whisper, “I’ll fall apart.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Then fall apart,” she says. “I’ll catch you.”

The words hang between us – warm, steady, dangerous. For a moment, I forget the crowd, the lights, the music. It’s just her. The air smells like rain and champagne. My heart beats once, hard, reminding me that I’m still here. Still safe.

And maybe she’s right. Maybe tonight, I don’t have to be the strong one.

We step back inside, leaving the cool air of the balcony behind. The music wraps around us again, low and pulsing. I’m holding her hand, or maybe she’s holding mine, I can’t tell which. Her fingers are firm, a grip that feels both protective and possessive. It’s a silent promise that I’m safe, and that I’m hers.

She doesn’t let go as we move through the crowd. Her hand settles on the small of my back, a steady pressure that guides me. The contact is a constant, grounding warmth.

She keeps me close, steering us through the crowd with quiet authority, nodding at familiar faces while I follow her lead. The heat of her skin seeps into my back, grounding me in a way that words never could.

A man approaches us from across the room – silver hair, peppered beard, an easy smile that carries too much charm to be accidental. His suit looks tailored, his presence loud but not overbearing.

“Victoria Vale,” he greets warmly, shaking her free hand. “I was wondering when you’d make your entrance.”

“Mr. Vanguard,” she replies with that measured confidence only she has. “You know I like to arrive fashionably late.”

His gaze shifts to me, and his smile widens. “And who is this stunning lady?”

I straighten instinctively, offering my hand. “Avery, sir.”

He takes it, his touch polite, his voice smooth. “A pleasure to meet you, Avery.” His eyes flick briefly back to Victoria. “A friend of yours, I assume?”

Victoria glances down at me, her mouth curving into the faintest, knowing smile. “Oh,” she says, her tone soft but deliberate, “she’s more than a friend, Mr. Vanguard.”

“Ah, I see.” His brows lift slightly, amusement and understanding flickering in his eyes. “I guess that makes you a lucky lady, Avery. Victoria is… rather selective when it comes to such things.”

I can’t help the smile that touches my lips. “I feel very lucky, sir,” I say.

He chuckles, clearly charmed. “I’m sure you are.”

Then he turns his attention back to Victoria, diving into a discussion about the night’s performances and the new equipment he’s investing in for the club. I only half-listen.

My focus drifts to the way Victoria stands beside me – composed, elegant, her hand still a firm presence on my back. She doesn’t hide the gesture, doesn’t loosen her grip even as she talks business. The pressure of her hand is steady, a quiet claim.

For the first time all night, I feel the weight on my chest begin to lift. The noise, the light, the people – it all fades into a blur at the edges. What stays clear is her voice, her warmth beside me, the strength in her touch.

I feel lucky. Truly lucky.

With Victoria standing by my side, her hand still on my back, I finally let myself breathe.

***

VICTORIA –

The event runs smoothly. Deals have been made, contracts prolonged, new members accepted. The usual rhythm of business disguised as pleasure. Everything unfolds exactly as it should – efficient, elegant, controlled.

From where I stand, I can see Avery across the room, talking to one of the dommes. I think her name is Selene – tall, statuesque, a presence that demands attention without needing to ask for it. Avery listens intently, her brows slightly raised, lips parted in curiosity. She’s fascinated.

The sight makes me smile.

Even though Avery isn’t small, Selene towers over her, and I catch the way Avery tilts her chin up to meet her eyes. It’s a quiet contrast – strength meeting grace, interest meeting experience.

And it stirs something in me.

A slow, warm flood unfurls beneath my ribs, heat creeping up the back of my neck. Want. Need.

It’s not jealousy. It’s the image in my head – Avery looking up like that, not at Selene, but at me. That same curious, breathless attention. I’ve had her before, yes, but not the same way my thoughts lead me to. Not completely. I haven’t given her the full experience, the kind where she’s on her knees before me, the one that strips you down to trust and surrender fully. And God help me, I’m dying to take that from her.

“Great job, boss.”

The voice pulls me back. Jennifer stands beside me, her dark hair loose, a drink in hand. She isn’t working the floor tonight; she’s here as a guest, which makes her tone softer, less formal.

“Please, Jen,” I murmur, eyes still on the crowd. “I’m not your boss tonight.”

That earns a small smile from her. She takes a sip of her drink, gaze sweeping over the room before it lands exactly where mine was a moment ago.

“You claiming prizes in front of the crowd now?” she asks. Her voice isn’t teasing — not quite — more like curiosity edged with amusement.

I turn my head, studying her profile as she keeps her eyes on Avery. “She’s not a prize,” I say. “Not in that sense, anyway.”

Jennifer chuckles. “Don’t tell me you’re dating her?”

I glance back at Avery, who laughs softly at something Selene says, the light catching the smooth curve of her bare back. The sight makes my chest tighten in a way I didn’t expect.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” I admit quietly. “But it feels good.”

It’s the truth. A piece of my carefully guarded wall slips with the confession — something Jennifer rarely sees, but always notices when it happens.

“Shit,” she says after a pause, half-laughing. “You’re in deep, Vic.”

I arch a brow, forcing a hint of composure back into my voice. “Don’t you have a guest list to maintain?”

Jennifer grins, amused by my attempt to steer the conversation away. “Alright,” she says, setting her empty glass down on a passing tray. “Avoid my questions, then. You don’t have to tell me more.”

With that, she melts back into the crowd, leaving me with the noise, the champagne, and the lingering image of Avery’s hand gesturing mid-conversation – confident, alive.

And despite everything that happened tonight, for the first time in a long while, I feel… something close to peace.