A deeper smile crept into Vincent’s eyes, crinkling the corners as he gave her a lingering look.
Katelyn popped the last cherry into her mouth, tossing the stem aside without a second thought. She didn’t spare Vincent another glance, brushing past him and slipping into the bathroom with a quiet click of the door.
Vincent watched her retreating figure. The smile slipped from his face, his expression tightening as a shadow of concern flickered in his eyes. He stared at the closed bathroom door, his earlier ease replaced by a quiet unease.
Every move Katelyn made lately felt like walking a tightrope; one misstep could send her tumbling into chaos. The thought of the T Organization’s ruthless, calculating members sent a chill down Vincent’s spine. He wondered what they might do to her.
And then there was Sophia—her motives as murky as a fogged-up mirror. They couldn’t tell whose side she was on.
Katelyn wasn’t just skirting the edge of danger anymore—she was standing dead center in the storm, the winds swirling tighter around her with every step she took.
Vincent pulled out his phone, his fingers flying over the screen as he typed out a quick message to Samuel.
“Send more men to protect her,” Vincent typed.
It was a straightforward sentence, but Samuel grasped Vincent’s meaning immediately and responded quickly, “Got it.”
In Yata, Vincent had stretched his resources thin—nearly every available hand was either digging for intel or keeping a watchful eye on Katelyn.
Lately, Brendan had gone quiet—too quiet. Vincent wasn’t fooled. This silence wasn’t peace. It was the eerie stillness before the storm broke, and he could almost hear the thunder rumbling in the distance. When the storm finally hit, it wouldn’t be a drizzle—it’d be a full-blown hurricane.
? с ?[﹒]
The sound of running water from the bathroom told Vincent that Katelyn had started her shower. He clenched his phone tighter, his jaw setting as he turned and headed for the other bathroom down the hall. Once they’d both showered, they slipped into bed, the quiet hum of the night settling around them.
Meanwhile, back at the palace, the banquet hall had emptied, the last of the guests slipping away into the night. Only the King and Ryanna remained, seated in the lounge, the weight of the evening settling between them.
Two hours had passed since Katelyn and Vincent’s departure, and only now, with the palace quiet and the guests gone, did the King and Ryanna finally turn to the matter of what had happened to Annie.
Ryanna’s brow furrowed as she turned to the King. “Father,” she said, her voice low but urgent, “something about this doesn’t add up. There’s more to it—I can feel it.”
Annie was hot-headed, sure, but she wasn’t stupid. She would never risk her reputation like that. And she knew better than anyone that something like this wouldn’t just blow back on her—it would drag the whole family into the mess. No matter how reckless she got, she’d never let something this damaging slip through.
.
.
.