Page 32 of The Devil's Thorn

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I keep my spine straight and my expression smooth as I walk away from his table. But inside, I’m already spiraling.

Not panicked.

Not afraid.

Just…shaken.

There’s something about the way he looked at me. Like he was already inside my head, rearranging things. Like I didn’t just enter his space—he let me. Like I hadn’t been the one watching all these years.Hewas watchingme.

No recognition.

Just interest.

And that’s what rattles me more than anything. That I expected fire. And instead, I found stillness.

Stillness that feels more dangerous than any weapon.

I reach the bar, hands steady as I slide behind the counter and pretend my pulse isn’t trying to claw out of my throat.

“You’re new.”

A voice to my left—cool, feminine, with the kind of sharpness that comes from surviving the same floor I just walked into.

I glance sideways.

A blonde in the same uniform, lips painted blood red, leans against the bar. One leg crossed over the other like she owns the room, like she’s seen everythingandwalked away from it.

“First shift,” I say simply, reaching for a tray.

She eyes me once, head tilting. “And they put you on Romanov’s table?”

My hands freeze for half a second. Just enough.

She notices.

I recover smoothly. “Is that a problem?”

She smirks. “Only if you like breathing easy. Girls don’t last long at his table. Not because he touches. He doesn’t. Not like that.”

I raise a brow. “Then why?”

“Because he notices. And when Rafael Romanov notices something…” She leans in a little. “It either disappears. Or it burns.”

My gaze doesn’t waver. “Then maybe I’ll be the first to walk away.”

She huffs a laugh, low and humorless. “Good luck with that.”

I turn back to the shelves of liquor, letting the sound of crystal and chilled glass fill the silence.

Her words slide into my spine and settle there, cold and curling.

He notices. And when he does…

I exhale slowly.

I scan the rows until I find what I’m looking for. Dalmore 25. A rare scotch—rich, dangerous, smooth, and aged in flame-charred casks. Expensive. Subtle. Calculated.

Like him.

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