Page 27 of Siren

I didn’t say a word.

Just nodded once, cool, and turned into my suite.

Inside, the space was ridiculous—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hudson, a rainfall shower the size of a small bedroom, silk robes folded with precision on the edge of the bed. A bottle of champagne sat on ice near the window. A handwritten card from the label read:

“Let them see it. Even if you don’t sayit.”

God.

I kicked off my heels and walked to the window, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen.

For a second, I almost texted him. Not for anything specific. Just to break the quiet. Instead, I exhaled and slid my phone into my clutch.

I had a dress to put on. A night to survive. And a man across the hall I was trying too hard not to want.

TEN

As my SUV slipped into lower Manhattan traffic, I stared out the tinted window and let the skyline press into me like a slow inhale.

New York always carried a certain hum—restless, expensive, already watching. And tonight, we were the show.

My phone buzzed before I could even settle. Brielle.

They wantsubtle PDA, lots of eye contact. Keep the story tight.

You’re the music and the muse. Let them see it, even if you don’t say it.

Let them see it.

Even if I was still trying to understand whatiteven was.

I thumbed open my messages to send some of my own.

Me: Almost there. Traffic is hell.

Jas: If he shows up in black again, just take me out.

Me: I’m tryna stay focused.

Jas: Girl. You already feel him. It’s not about focus anymore. It’s about what now.

I stared at her words. They echoed louder than she knew. Becausewhat nowwas the question I kept dodging.

The car pulled to a soft stop. Dre’s voice, warm and steady, came from the front. “We’re here, Ms. Ray. I’ll open the door for you.”

I slipped my phone into my clutch and exhaled.

Black satin hugged every line of me. Off-the-shoulder. Fitted. A slit that whispered filth if you knew where to look. My hair hung full and soft over one shoulder, curls thick and defined. Skin dewy. Eyes lined in smoke.

I stepped out like I belonged to the night.

Flashes cracked from across the street—paparazzi, even though this wasn’t supposed to bethatkind of event. I didn’t flinch. Let Dre shield me through the entryway.

And there he was. Standing by the glass elevator.

Slate gray suit. Collar open, no tie. Gold gleaming at his wrist. Hair pulled back, clean.

That quiet, lethal kind of fine.

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