Chapter 8

The air on the rooftop was thick, not just with the humidity of the late summer evening, but with the weight of the day’s performance. We had been the center of attention, the talk of the elite crowd that drifted through the velvet-roped entrance of The Zenith like ghosts in tailored suits and silk dresses. But now, the music had shifted from a lively, brassy jazz to a slower, more melancholic melody that seemed to vibrate in my chest. I stood near the railing, looking out over the sprawling grid of the city below, the skyscrapers piercing the twilight like jagged teeth against the bruised purple sky. I could feel his eyes on me before I even turned around. It was a physical sensation, a warm pressure between my shoulder blades that preceded the sound of his footsteps on the concrete. He didn’t need to speak to command the space, and tonight, he had used that command on me in a way that left my knees trembling long after the applause had died down. "Princess," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that cut through the ambient noise of the bar. "Are you ready to go back to the real