Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“What's this?” I eye it as he hands it to me.
He traces my face as if afraid he’s going to forget one day. “It's called a gift, Venom. People tend to get them on birthdays.”
“You already got the cake.” I protest weakly, but my fingers are already tightening around the box. “That was more than enough.”
He shakes his head, plucking the bottle of wine from my other hand. “Open it.”
I hesitate, sensing the weight of it. It's heavier than I expected for such a small package. With careful fingers, I peel back the wrapping paper, revealing a black velvet box underneath. My pulse quickens as I lift the lid.
Nestled inside on a bed of silk is a delicate choker chain of flowers, each blossom linked to the next in white gold. Each petal twisted together by detailed barbwire.
It's beautiful.
I can't tear my eyes away. “This is… it's too much.”
He takes the box from my hands. “Chill, you always overthink shit. Turn around.”
I obey without thinking as he steps in closer.
His heat presses against my back and my eyes drift closed for a moment. Pull your shit together.
“The Hellébore has quite the rep in French folklore,” Asher murmurs as he drapes the necklace around my throat. His fingers brush against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. “It was believed to ward off evil spirits and protect against dark magic.”
Metal settles against my collarbone as he works the clasp.
“Sounds suspicious.” I manage to breathe out with a chuckle.
“It was also known as the 'Winter Rose' because it flourishes in cold temperatures, where other flowers wither and die.”
I don't miss the double meaning. My breath catches as his knuckles graze the back of my neck, lingering far longer than necessary.
“Also?”
I turn to face him, acutely aware of how close we're standing. His eyes linger on my throat, as shadows form beneath his features, making me hesitate.
His mouth slowly curves up in a wicked smirk. “It doesn't come off.”
I pause.
“What?” My fingers skim the cold edges, digging for a clasp that isn't there. “What do you mean it doesn’t come off?”
He shrugs, lazy. Like he didn't just shackle me to him. “Soz, Venom, you're stuck with me forever—” His eyes flash with that goddamn mischief. “And that choker.”
“That's quite a commitment.” I force lightness into my voice, but it cracks. Shows too much. Shit.
My pulse hammers against his palm when he leans heavier on me. “Do I come off as the type of man who would dip out?”
His thumb keeps circling that hollow where my throat meets my chest. Slow. Deliberate. I don't breathe. Don't fucking move.
“Hey, are you two planning on rejoining the party anytime soon?” Lucinda's voice cuts through the tension.
We spring apart, guilt and want warring in my chest. Asher clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.
“Yeah, we're coming,” he calls back. “I was helping Ivy with her gift.”
Lucinda appears in the doorway, her gaze narrowing as she takes in the scene. “I bet you were,” she says dryly.
Her eyes land on the necklace, and her brows shoot up. “Wow. That's… some gift.”
I touch the flowers self-consciously. “It's too much,” I say again.
Asher rolls his eyes.
Lucinda nudges her head toward the dining room, forcing a smile. “Punk's threatening to open your presents without you if you don't hurry up.”
We follow her back to the dining room, where Jord and Punk are engaged in an intense debate over the merits of various coding languages.
“About time,” Punk says, pushing a stack of gifts toward me. “I was starting to think you'd ditched your own party.”
I force a laugh, settling back into my seat. “And miss out on all this? Never.”
The others dive into birthday traditions from around the world. I catch Asher's attention across the table.
He blows me a kiss, takes a pull of his beer, then fishes his phone from his pocket.
He hits ignore, his jaw tightening before swinging to Jord to answer his question about the Golden Globes that are coming up.
And in this moment, everything is perfect…
Chapter 6
Ivy
The hotel hallway smells like expensive lies. The kind of scent rich men wear when they're pretending they didn't earn their fortune off the backs of trafficked girls.
I adjust the wig. Blonde tonight. My dress is too tight, heels too high, but that's the point. Let him think I'm dessert.
My phone buzzes in my clutch.
Asher: You awake?
I silence it without reading the rest.
Three months since my birthday. Three months of this dance where we get close enough to burn but never quite catch fire. Three months of him texting me at two in the morning with stupid memes and voice notes of him singing to whatever punk rock bullshit he's obsessed with this week.
Three months of me lying awake, staring at my ceiling, wondering what his mouth tastes like.
Focus.
Suite 1247. End of the hall. Security camera at the elevator—already looped, courtesy of Punk. The one by the stairwell has a convenient blind spot, thanks to the lazy contractors who cut corners on a seventy-million-dollar renovation.