The night wrapped itself around the Miles estate like a slow, deliberate hush. Gone was the innocence of morning sunlight and quiet corridors. Tonight carried something heavier anticipatory, watchful.
Seventeen again.
Young. Unmarked.
Yet burdened with memories sharp enough to cut.
I stood before the mirror longer than necessary, studying my reflection. The girl staring back at me had smooth skin, untroubled eyes, and a softness that deceived the world.
But I remembered everything.
Every betrayal.
Every lie dressed as affection.
Every smile that hid a knife.
Tonight was not about comfort. It was about observation to know my pawns and allies in this game.
Downstairs, the energy was unmistakably different. Deep voices. Short laughter. The quiet confidence of men who knew power was already theirs. Nic and Nio were preparing to go out not to a café, but one of their private haunts.
A club.
An elite one.
The kind you didn't stumble upon by chance.
Thick smoke, dim lights, velvet booths, and conversations soaked in influence and danger.
And Samuel White would be there.
I descended the stairs slowly.
Nic noticed me first, his brows lifting slightly in surprise. "You're dressed."
"I'm curious," I replied calmly.
Nio smirked. "That's dangerous."
I tilted my head. "So is ignorance brother."
They exchanged a look a familiar one. Amused. Indulgent.
"Tonight isn't exactly… clean," Nic said carefully. "You okay with smoke?"
I met his gaze steadily. "I've lived worse."
That earned me a longer and puzzled look than expected.
The drive through the city was silent but charged. Neon lights streaked past the windows. Music pulsed faintly from distant streets. My brothers spoke in low tones about business matters, coded words flowing naturally between them.
Power sounded casual on their tongues.
The club entrance was discreet no garish sign, no loud crowd. Two men in black suits nodded the moment Nic stepped out.
Inside, the world shifted.
Thick smoke curled through the air like living shadows. The lights were low, tinted deep blue and gold. Music throbbed not loud enough to overpower conversation, but heavy enough to vibrate in the chest.
Men in tailored suits. Women draped in confidence and temptation. Eyes everywhere.
And at the center, lounging against the leather booth like the world owed him nothing
Samuel White.
He didn't stand when my brothers approached.
He didn't rush.
He simply lifted his gaze.
Sharp. Controlled. Assessing.
His posture was relaxed, but his presence dominated the space effortlessly. One arm rested on the back of the couch, fingers loose, eyes unreadable.
When he noticed me, something shifted.
Not surprise.
Interest.
Quiet. Focused. Immediate.
"Didn't know the night came with extra company," he said mildly, his voice smooth and low, barely rising above the music.
Nio laughed. "Kira insisted."
I met Samuel's gaze directly. No bow. No shyness.
"Observation is educational," I said.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Amusement… and something sharper.
"How old?" he asked casually, not taking his eyes off me.
"Seventeen," Nic answered before I could.
Samuel hummed softly, lips curving faintly. "Dangerous age."
"For who?" I asked.
That earned me his full attention.
He turned slightly now, angling his body toward me. Smoke drifted between us, but his gaze cut through it cleanly.
"For people who underestimate," he said.
The booth settled into conversation business, underground whispers, economic movements spoken in coded references. I remained silent, listening.
Samuel noticed everything.
The way I listened without interrupting.
The way my gaze never wandered.
The way I leaned back as if the room didn't intimidate me.
At some point, he passed a glass toward me.
I didn't take it.
"I don't drink," I said.
"Wise," he murmured. "Very few your age are."
His eyes lingered longer than necessary this time.
Nic smirked openly now. "Careful, Samuel. She bites."
Samuel chuckled under his breath. "I suspected."
Minutes blurred. Smoke thickened. Power flowed freely.
I felt it the way people deferred when Samuel spoke, how even my brothers listened slightly more intently. Yet despite all that control, his attention kept circling back to me.
Not blatant.
Not greedy.
Measured.
Like a man recognizing something valuable… and dangerous.
"You're quiet," he said suddenly.
"I listen," I replied.
"To what?"
"To intent."
That finally drew a real reaction.
He smiled not wide, not warm but intrigued.
"Interesting," he said softly. "Most people your age talk to be seen. You don't."
"I don't need to."
The silence that followed was thicker than the smoke.
The moment his presence brushed the edge of my awareness, my body reacted before my mind did.
My fingers curled slowly against the leather seat.
My chest tightened.
For a split second, the club disappeared.
I smelled blood.
He didn't need to speak. Didn't need to face me.
I recognized him the way prey recognizes a predator it once trusted.
Steven.
In my past life, this man had lain beside me, eaten at my table, laughed in my home while sharpening the knife that would end everything. Seeing him now, alive, breathing, unburdened by the crimes he had yet to commit, made something dark coil violently in my stomach.
My pulse hammered once. Hard.
Not fear.
Revulsion.
And rage compressed so tightly it felt icy.
He looked the same. Polished. Handsome. Ordinary.
That infuriated me more than if he had changed.
In the future, these hands would take my wealth.
This mouth would speak vows he never meant.
These eyes would watch me die.
I forced my spine straight, schooling my expression into calm neutrality. If he noticed the way my gaze sharpened for half a heartbeat, he didn't comment.
Steven smiled slightly, stepping closer, clearly emboldened by the night, the power in the room, and his own misplaced confidence.
"Hi," he said easily. "I don't think we've—"
"I know who you are," I cut in, my voice cold enough to slice cleanly through smoke.
I didn't look at him.
I didn't need to.
The dismissal landed harder than a slap.
For the first time, something cracked through Steven's easy charm confusion, then irritation, then a flicker of something darker. His pride had been nicked, small but noticeable.
Samuel noticed.
So did Steven.
The resentment didn't bloom loudly. It settled.
Quiet.
Patient.
Dangerous.
Sara would have loved this place.
The thought made my lips curl, unreadable.
As the night wound down, Samuel stood first. He slid his jacket on with unhurried grace, then paused.
His gaze found mine again.
"She's interesting," he said to my brothers, deliberately loud enough for me to hear. "Keep her close."
Then, quieter only for me:
"The world doesn't stay kind to people like you."
"I've noticed," I replied.
His lips twitched.
We held each other's gaze for one slow second.
Then he turned and disappeared into the smoke.
In the car ride home, my brothers were relaxed, laughing.
"Samuel's curious about you," Nio said lightly.
I looked out the window, city lights reflecting in my eyes.
"Curiosity," I murmured, "is the beginning of consequences."
That night, alone in my room, I replayed the club in my mind.
The smoke.
The glances.
The interest that had not existed before.
Seventeen again.
And Samuel White had noticed me first.
This time, I would decide how that story ended.