Page 49 of The Devil of Downtown

Somewhere in that mess of bodies and lights is the answer I’ve been chasing all week.

And when I find her—I’ll finally know which version of Sloane I’ve been losing my mind over.

On the surface, I’m calm. Inside every muscle is coiled tight, ready to pounce. I’m not sure whether I’m imagining it when another burst of strobe arrows through the dark. The light flares, white-hot for a split second—and that’s when I see her.

It’s the smile I catch first. Unmistakable. The one that tore through every wall I’d built. My heart slams once, hard enough to feel in my throat.

Then the flash fades, plunging the room back into shadow. For a heartbeat, I think I’ve lost her.

I shoot up, gripping the rail until the strobe hits again—

and there she is.

The woman I can’t stop seeing every time I close my eyes.

Dancing. Laughing. Real.

The air leaves my lungs. Every instinct I have screams to move, but all I can do is stand here, transfixed.

She’s even more beautiful than I remember, her dark hair falling loose down her back, a red silk strapless top hugging her curves. A dark, pleated mini skirt skims her thighs, teasing with every movement. If I close my eyes, I can still feel her—soft, breathless, pliant in my lap. All mine.

And right beside her is Sloane. The Sloane I know. The one who never puts a foot wrong. Until now.

Two identical faces moving in rhythm, side by side, and yet I could tell them apart blindfolded. One burns bright, electric, every movement unguarded. The other is all control and calculation, every step measured to perfection.

Every gut instinct that told me something didn’t add up—I was right.

A slow, sharp anger unfurls in my chest, piercing through the haze of disbelief. She lied. They both did. And I don’t know which part burns more—the deception, or how just looking at her now still does this to me.

I drag my gaze back to her, unable to stop watching. The sway of her hips, the way she tosses her hair when she laughs, how she closes her eyes for a second, lost in the music. That spark she only showed me glimpses of in London is in full force now, alive and unfiltered.

My pulse pounds with a dangerous mix of fury and something I refuse to name. I turn towards the stairs. I don’t know what the hell they thought they were doing, but I know I don’t take kindly to being treated like an idiot.

I stalk down the stairs slowly and hang at the perimeter of the dance floor, waiting for an opportunity to get her alone. It’s close to midnight now, and the place is heaving.

I lean against the wall, arms folded, eyes fixed on her, making sure she doesn’t move out of my sight. I don’t blink. Don’t breathe. Just watch.

Eventually, it happens—the shift. A flicker in her rhythm, her laugh catching mid-sound as if her body knows before her mind does. For a split second, she freezes. The strobe flashes again, and this time she sees me. Her eyes widen, disbelief colliding with recognition. Then guilt.

I don’t move. I just hold her gaze.

Then I tilt my head, a silent command.

She hesitates, says something to her friend, then starts toward me. The crowd swallows her whole, flashes of purple and blue cutting through the darkness until she’s in front of me—near enough that I can smell her perfume.

I don’t say a word.

I simply reach for her hand and lead her away.

Despite the anger bubbling, I hate the way the feel of her fingers curled against mine eases something tight and unfamiliar in my chest.

For the first time in my life, I don’t know if I can let her go.

Chapter thirteen

Ivy

“Maybe I shouldn’t have had that last shot of tequila.” I grimace at my reflection, rounding my lips as I reapply my lipstick. My aim’s only slightly off— good enough.