Chapter 159
Ivan
The sharp snap-snap-snap of cameras follows me as I cross the hotel's glittering entrance into the party. Paparazzi, hungry fans, even curious bystanders—they're all here. I'm not even active in the entertainment industry anymore, yet my name still pulls attention.
It may have something to do with the name Vale now attached to me.
Tonight isn't about me anyway. I'm here for Harry. Sweet, doll-eyed Harry, who's just landed the biggest role of his career—playing the villain in a blockbuster film. A villain. I can't imagine him pulling off "menacing."
*
"Thank you for coming," Harry says warmly when he spots me, taking my hand.
I raise a brow. He's wearing a scarf tonight. Stylish, yes. Coordinated with his outfit, sure. But unnecessary indoors. Suspicious.
"I had to escape from my husband and child," I sigh dramatically, earning a laugh from him. "Seriously, you have no idea."
He squeezes my hand like he does understand, but his grin is too bright, too stretched, too something.
*
The night is a blur of directors and brand reps circling me, schmoozing, trying to tether themselves to my name. It reminds me of exactly why I prefer to stay home: all the empty smiles, all the sharp teeth hiding behind compliments.
But the entire evening, my gaze keeps drifting back to Harry. He's giddy. Overly so. He glows—not just from his new role, but in a way that has nothing to do with career milestones. His fingers brush his scarf every few minutes, almost self-conscious.
And then there's the way his skin gleams, the faint pink in his cheeks, that loose, well-fucked glow.
My suspicion grows. Hickeys? Is that what he's hiding?
I smirk to myself. Interesting. Very interesting.
*
When the party winds down, I insist on giving him a ride. "Come with me. I'll drop you off."
Harry hesitates, then agrees, probably thinking I'm being generous. No. I want answers.
The car glides away from the hotel, and with the tinted partition up between us and the driver—a man vetted by Maksim, silent and discreet—it's just us.
I turn toward him, voice smooth but sharp. "Now tell me."
He blinks, feigning innocence, avoiding my eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
I scoff. "Please."
His cheeks flush. He fidgets. Then finally, with a sheepish grin, he confesses, "Alright, alright. Something happened yesterday."
He says it like he's drunk on the memory, all dreamy-eyed, lips curving like he's reliving it right here in the car.
I narrow my eyes. Lean back in the leather seat. "Yeah…?"
"Well, you know…" Harry starts, his gaze flicking nervously toward the driver.
"Don't worry," I interrupt. "He can't hear us."
Harry hesitates. Then, with a guilty little smile tugging at his lips, he blurts:
"Well… we slept together."
"Okayyy…" I say slowly, arching a brow.
"And knotted," he adds quickly, like tearing off a bandage.
My mouth falls open. "Oh my."
"And—" he leans forward, eyes shining.
"He marked me," he whispers.
I jolt upright. "He what?!" My voice echoes far too loud in the car.
"Marked," he repeats, grinning like an idiot in love.
I can't help the frown that pulls at my face. Here I thought Mason was a good guy. "How could he do that to you? You're just a child."
Harry rolls his eyes. "I'm serious, Ivan."
"So am I." My voice sharpens.
"Firstly, I'm twenty-three. I can make my own decisions. And you're not much older than me—you're twenty-five and you already have a whole child."
…Actually, if you count my first life, I'm pushing late thirties. But that's not the point. I think about how reckless I was at twenty-three and shudder.
"It's different," I argue weakly.
"No. I don't regret it. I want to spend the rest of my life with Mason. He makes me happy. He makes me feel safe."
I shake my head. "Harry, that's a huge decision. Do you understand what a mate mark is? It's permanent. It's binding. You can't ever—"
"I thought you'd be happy for me." His tone softens, but his eyes are firm. "Besides, I'm the one who asked Mason to bite me."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I am happy your relationship is progressing."
"I mean, you of all people should understand what a mating mark means…" Harry studies my face carefully.
"Oh." His eyes widen, apology flickering there. "Sorry. I thought you and your husband already—"
"No," I cut in quickly, forcing a casual shrug. "We've just never thought of it." A lie.
"Hm." He doesn't press further, thankfully.
"Anyway," Harry says instead with a soft smile, "I'm genuinely happy. For the first time in a long time, I feel… at peace. Safe. And I didn't know how much I needed that until now."
I sigh, squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry for my reaction. I am happy for you."
His smile grows, lighting up his face. He's so pretty like this. And for the first time, I'm glad—truly glad—that he isn't wasted on Dorian.
When the car pulls up to his apartment, I watch as he runs straight into Mason's waiting arms. They look so natural together. So stupidly cute.
As the driver turns the car toward home, I lean back against the leather seat, my thoughts tangled.