Page 103 of Velvet Corruption

“It’s not over,” he said, and the tension in his voice pulled at something deep inside me. “Not if he’s out. Not if he wants revenge.”

I stared at him, at the worry etched into his features, and tried to let it sink in. Tried to let myself care. But I was still on the edge of victory, and I didn’t want to give it up. Not for this.

“He’s just one guy,” I said, dismissive. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”

“He’s dangerous.”

I crossed my arms, frustration building in my chest. “I’ve put plenty of dangerous people away, Alek. This isn’t any different.”

“It is different. You’re not ADA anymore.”

“So what?”

“So now you’re DA,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine, serious and unwavering. “That makes you a target.”

His eyes flicked toward the windows, toward the crowd still celebrating outside. “I don’t like this.”

I sighed and rubbed my temple. “Alek, you put the police on me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Then it’s fine.” I smiled tightly. “I won. Let me enjoy this.”

He wasn’t happy. I could see it, but he didn’t push. Not yet. Instead, he glanced toward the clock and then back at me. “It's almost time to wrap this up. Do you want to party?”

“Isn’t this enough of a party?”

“No. I meant get actually drunk. Not in front of reporters drunk.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I just want to go home and sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day.” Julian was taking Rosie home with him, which meant for the first time in weeks, I’d have the house to myself. That sounded nice.

“We can just get drunk and watch The Traitors.”

“On Sunday. I promise,” I said. “Not tonight. I’m people’d out. And we have that big celebratory gala next weekend...”

He smiled. “Fair. But please look after yourself, okay? You promise?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I promise.”

***

By the time I got home, the buzz of the celebration had faded, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion in its place. My heels clicked against the hardwood as I stepped inside, but even that felt too loud in the hush that met me. I kicked my shoes off at the door, hung my coat on the rack, and stood still for a moment, letting the silence settle.

It was the first time I’d been alone in what felt like weeks.

The kitchen lights were off, but the under-cabinet glow still glimmered—Alek must’ve left it on for me. On the counter sat an unopened bottle of wine and a glass beside it. My name wasn’t on it, but it might as well have been.

I uncorked the bottle, poured myself a generous glass, and took a slow sip. The weight of the day started to peel off my shoulders. I had done it. I was the District Attorney of Boston. The campaign was over. The fight was just beginning—but tonight, for a few short hours, I could pretend it wasn’t.

I nuked the last of the Pad Thai, padded barefoot into the living room, and sank into the couch with my wine. The TV remote was somewhere under the cushions, and I didn’t care enough to look for it. My head tilted back against the sofa. My eyes closed.

And then—

Crack.

The unmistakable sound of glass shattering somewhere deep in the house.

I sat up fast, heart slamming into my ribs, the wine sloshing over the side of the glass and onto my hand. I held perfectly still, straining to hear.

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