Page 131 of Shattered By Grace

He led her straight to the center of the floor, where the light was brightest, where the attention was sharpest. The silk of her red dress clung to her skin, the high slit teasing with every step. He turned to face her, his hold never faltering, his palm sliding along the small of her back until she was flush against him.

A shiver ran through her as his fingers traced slow, languid paths up and down her spine.

A sharp inhale. A brush of heat at her ear.

"You’re triggering me in all the right ways, love," Tristan murmured, his voice deep, deliberate, and dripping with seduction. His fingers tightened at her waist, a barely-there touch that burned through her skin. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear as a slow smirk tugged at his lips. "When can I give you my last name?"

Victoria’s breath stilled. Her eyes snapped to his, searching, waiting for the punchline. But there wasn’t one. Just dark intensity staring back at her.

She exhaled, tilting her head ever so slightly. "Bold of you to assume I’d take it," she shot back, her voice steady despite the wildfire in her chest.

His smirk deepened, a glint of wickedness sparking in his gaze. "Bold of you to pretend you don’t want to."

She scoffed, but it was all for show. He saw right through it.

Before she could form a response, he moved. One hand still firm on her waist, the other capturing her fingers, guiding her into a dance. The music swelled around them, and suddenly, nothing else existed.

They moved in perfect sync, his lead undeniable, her steps instinctive. The space between them was nonexistent, heat and tension crackling in the air. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, his lips dangerously close to her temple.

The song bled into its final notes, and the world crept back in. She hated how easy it was to fall into this with him, how effortlessly he disarmed her with a single touch, a single word. "Mr. Locke!" A voice cut through the moment, shattering the delicate thread between them. A journalist stood nearby, cameras flashing, poised to capture whatever Tristan gave them. "One picture?"

Tristan didn’t hesitate, didn’t even glance at Victoria for permission. He simply turned toward the journalist, his grip on her unfaltering.

"Of course," he said smoothly. "I’d love to get one with my date."

Another flash. "And your date’s name, sir?"

His response was instant, effortless. "Victoria Grace, head midwife at Empire Health Center."

Her lungs forgot how to function.

The words rang in her head, louder than the music and the cameras. She barely heard the next question, barely registered the camera lens pointed at her.

What the actual fuck did he just say?

Tristan had just handed her name to the world. To the press. To Connors. To Cassian himself.

I need to find Taylor. Now!

The words barely sank in before a sharp pulse of panic gripped her chest. Her lungs fought for air. She turned, heels scraping against marble, ready to disappear into the crowd.

But she didn’t make it far.

Tristan’s hand clamped around her wrist, his grip unyielding as he pulled her back. The force sent her stumbling, breath hitching as she collided with his chest. Before she could even protest, he dragged her into the shadows, the bar’s dim light casting a golden glow over his sharp features.

“What the fuck, Tristan?” she shot at him, but her voice was drowned out by the noise of the bar.

She turned to face him, her pulse racing. “I need to find Taylor. Now.”

He smirked, acting like nothing was wrong. “What’s the rush?” His tone was too casual for what had just happened.

Her heart pounded. “Maybe give a bitch a heads-up before detonating her entire life?” Her voice was edged with fury, but the panic still bled through. “You have no idea who’s watching. What about your father?”

She ran a shaky hand through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts. The panic was almost too much to breathe through. She froze when the bartender walked up.

“Bourbon and coke,” he said, when the bartender approached. “And a glass of moscato.”

A shadow passed over Tristan’s eyes, something primal flickering to the surface. He stepped closer, pressing his body against hers, letting her feel his presence.

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