Derek’s perfect face twisted. “You ungrateful little—”
“Careful,” Victor said.
Derek ignored him. The room disappeared for him. All he saw was me, the woman he had shaped, the woman he believed too frightened to betray him.
“You think anyone will believe you?” Derek hissed. “You think bruises matter? My father owns half this city. I could drag you out of here right now and everyone would pretend you fainted.”
A woman gasped.
A man muttered, “Derek—”
But Derek was too angry to stop.
That was the thing about monsters. They could hide for years, but the moment their control slipped, they confused exposure with insult.
Victor glanced toward the balcony above the ballroom.
A red light blinked.
Then another.
Then another.
Cameras.
Not hotel cameras.
News cameras.
Federal cameras.
Derek followed Victor’s gaze, and the color drained from him again.
Victor’s voice stayed soft. “You always liked rooms without witnesses. So we brought witnesses.”
Derek lunged toward me.
Victor moved faster.