Page 58 of Imperial: The Corvidae Family
My heart jumped. I immediately thought of Emir. Had he seen my story? Did he know we were here? I reached for my phone and snapped a picture of the glasses against the candlelit table.
The caption came effortlessly:
He always knows what I like.
I didn’t name him and didn’t tag anyone. Just let the words speak for themselves. I uploaded the post to my page and drank, savoring the bubbles knowing Emir was going to see the post.
Eventually a like floated onto my screen but not from the account I knew was Emir’s. It was the one I had assumed was him but didn’t have confirmation on. My stomach tightened.
I frowned, clicking the profile, but the page was still the same, no new pictures, no name, just a dark, nondescript aesthetic. Before I could think too hard about it, Rachelle snapped her fingers in my face.
“Hello?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Girl, you just checked out hard as hell. What happened?”
I hesitated, debating if I should mention the weird page and likes.
“…Nothing.”
She gave me a suspicious look but let it go.
"Alright, well, I’m letting you know now, I’m engaging tonight." She motioned toward a group of guys eyeing our table.
“What happened to Mr. Sweet Accountant?”
“Sweet fucks too soft. I’m back up on my bullshit.”
I laughed. “I figured.”
“You sure you don’t wanna talk to anyone?” she teased, nudging me. “We could double up.”
I shook my head, smirking. “I’m good.”
Her brow lifted and she grinned. “Oooooh. Emir got you acting right already.”
I ignored her. About twenty minutes later, were off again. I got that weird feeling like someone was watching. I casually glanced around the lounge, scanning the crowd and my eyes landed on a man who appeared out of place. He leaned against the bar, watching me a little too hard. My stomach twisted because he smiled like he knew me, or wanted to, which hadme wondering if he had sent the drinks? I kept my expression neutral and looked away, pretending I didn’t notice him.
The last thing I wanted was drama tonight. Rachelle was blissfully unaware of my thoughts, dragging me to the dance floor, and I was grateful for the forced escape.
"Come on, let’s have fun!" she yelled over the music.
She pull me into the crowd and the heavy bass of the song that was playing vibrated the floor as we moved. It was easy to get lost in the music, let go of my thoughts, and just be present. Rachelle danced with a tall guy in a navy-blue button-down who looked too preppy for her but she was half tipsy and didn’t care. I kept to myself, swaying solo. I wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone, well at least not any of these men. On impulse, I pulled out my phone and recorded a quick video of Rachelle and me dancing, laughing, living our best lives, and uploaded it to my story. Within seconds, the new page liked it.
I froze. It wasn’t Emir. Couldn’t be. So who the hell was it? A strange unease settled in my stomach. I tried not to let it show. The night had been exactly what I needed. Chilling with my girl having fun and completely drama-free.
Rachelle and I danced until our feet ached, drank just enough to keep a buzz but not be sloppy, and laughed so hard my stomach hurt. By the time we walked out of the lounge, the night air wrapped around us, cooling my skin after hours of being inside with the heat of bodies on the dance floor.
“Damn, my feet hurt,” Rachelle whined, reaching into her bag for her emergency flats. I grinned, unlocking my car from a few feet away. “That’s what you get for wearing stilettos knowing we were gonna dance all night.”
She shot me a glare. “Whatever. I looked good as hell, friend.”
I laughed and continued toward my car, feeling light and happy until I saw what was on it. I stopped walking. Rachellewas mid-rant about her shoes and almost bumped into me. “Damn, girl, give me a warning next time?—”
She followed my eyes and her sentence was cut off because resting dead center on my windshield was a bouquet of wilted black roses. The petals were shriveled and curling at the edges. The stems looked dry, almost rotted. My stomach tightened. Emir had sent me these exact roses before. Only those had been beautiful.
Rachelle was the first to break the silence.
