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“I will, I promise.”
“Good. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Once I’m alone in the hotel room, I sink into the cushions on the living room couch and flip the TV on, settling in and letting the plush softness hug my body. As the news broadcast highlights tomorrow’s New Year’s celebration and the upcoming ball here tomorrow, a pang stabs at my chest.
I’ve been more than half naked on a stage countless times for BDSM scenes. People from all over come to see the dominant Omega who makes Alphas fall to their knees, begging to please or be pleasured. And yet, somehow, the idea of being fully clothed in a room full of elites has anxiety clawing at my throat.
Taking a deep breath in, I push further into the soft cushions behind me, letting the air out of my lungs slowly, closing my eyes to try and find some form of center. Something to anchor me to reality and not drift off into the realm of panic-inducing possibilities.
But the second a smooth voice fills the room, my eyes fly open again, zeroing in on the TV screen.
Chapter Six
Cade
“And how many guests are you expecting, Mr. Hill?”
“Around three hundred, maybe a little more.” I grin conspiratorially at the camera. “It’s a small, intimate affair.”
The journalist laughs at my dumb joke, eating it up.
Billionaire playboy. Charming. Smile kindly and show the dimple.
I’m just an aloof trust fund child who inherited an enormous corporation with my best friends. Nothing more, nothing less.
When the brief interview outside Sovereign Hall comes to an end, the smile and humor leaves my face in an instant. I walk off toward the entrance of the hotel, leaving the reporter and cameraman behind. Beyond the entryway, movement catches my eye. A very specific movement, just outside the elevator at the back of the lobby.
It takes a moment for me to realize who has caught my attention.
Mikhail Petrov.
I knew he’d accepted the invitation for our party, but he’s someone we haven’t seen, or even spoken to, in a long time. My suspicions were high when he RSVPed, though I couldn’t say why. So, I didn’t mention it to my brothers.
But now that I see him, I’m back to being on edge.
I take the elevator on the opposite side of the lobby to get to our penthouse suite, and inside, pull out my phone and tap the plain, black square app icon at the center of my second page. Log-in name, password, secure connection. The screen is black, text green, reminiscent of one of my favorite movie franchises.
When the prompt loads on screen, I begin typing, and seconds later, I’m in the hotel’s system, digging through the reservations. Once I find Petrov’s, I see the name of his plus-one.
Sindella Vittorio.
My brow pinches just at the elevator doors open and I step into our private hallway.
Vittorio.
“What bug crawled up your arse?”
I peer over my phone at Garen, shooting him a droll look. “‘Hello’ to you, too.”
He huffs a laugh, those mismatched gray and brown eyes twinkling. “I can’t help if you walk in here like a storm cloud. What’s wrong?”
“Where’s Ilya?”
“Here.” His voice booms through the living room as he appears through one of the doors at the back, adjusting a cuff link and nodding his head at me. “What is it?”
What, indeed. “Mikhail Petrov is here. With a guest.”
Ilya drops down into one of the plush armchairs, lifts an ankle onto his opposite knee. “We did allow people to bring guests, did we not?”
