Page 64 of Royal Deception
I do.
Even if I don’t know all the details, I know enough to recognize this for what it is.
A threat.
A warning.
And Rory knows it, too.
Because there’s something dark in his expression now, something ruthless.
And I have the sinking feeling that whatever comes next, it won’t be polite either.
Onstage, Callie commands the room with effortless grace. The soft glow of the chandeliers casts a halo around her as she speaks, her voice clear and confident. The crowd watches her with rapt attention.
Rory turns his head, mouth slightly parted as he watches her onstage, commanding the room effortlessly. My stomach twists when he doesn’t even spare me a glance as he shoves the briefcase into Lucky’s hands and turns to me, his jaw tight.
“You’ve been a distraction all night,” he mutters, his voice low and clipped. “I need to focus on Callie right now.”
The words land like a slap.
A distraction.
Nothisdistraction. Justadistraction.
I open my mouth, but whatever protest I might’ve had dies on my tongue. The set of his shoulders, the sharpness in his gaze—it’s all cold, distant.
This isn’t a conversation. It’s a dismissal.
He turns away before I can say a word.
I swallow down the ache in my throat and force myself to move, slipping through the crowd until I reach the far side of the room.
Finn stands near the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes locked on Callie as she continues her speech.
For a moment, I just stand there beside him, trying to push down the frustration twisting inside me.
“This isn’t exactly the magical night I was hoping for,” I murmur.
Finn’s gaze flickers toward me, something knowing in his expression.
“Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with something almost bitter. “Sometimes, expectations don’t meet reality.”
His attention shifts back to the stage.
And I don’t miss the way his jaw tightens, the sadness flickering across his face as he watches her.
The cab ride home is silent, the city lights blurring past the window as I stare at nothing.
Rory didn’t even look at me when he told me to leave. Didn’t offer to take me home. It’s like he didn’t care at all.
By the time I step into the apartment, the air feels thick, suffocating. My dress is too tight, the fabric clinging to me like a second skin I can’t escape. My breath comes in short, shallowgasps as I stumble toward the bedroom, my fingers digging into the bodice.
I can’t get it off fast enough.
The zipper sticks, the layers tangling around my legs. Panic claws at my throat, and with a sharp rip, I tear the gown apart, sending delicate fabric pooling onto the floor.
But it’s not enough.
