Chapter 38 You're More Shameless
Briar's POV
I was halfway across the parking lot when I heard the footsteps behind me, quick and uneven, someone running but limping badly. I turned just as a flash of red hair streaked past, and then I saw him clearly, a young man maybe twenty years old with his face twisted in pain, one ankle clearly injured as he tried to keep running.
Behind him came Reginald, moving faster than I'd have thought possible for someone his age, with two men in black suits flanking him. Reginald's voice cracked through the afternoon air like a whip.
"Briar! Stop him!"
My body moved on instinct—I stepped aside and stuck out my leg. The red-haired guy tripped over my shin and crashed face-first onto the pavement. For a split second, his eyes flashed pure gold, bright and feral, and something vicious crossed his face before turning to cold indifference.
I reached down automatically, my hands already moving to help him up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Get your fucking hands off me." His voice was low and flat, and he shoved my hands away. He pushed himself up on his own, keeping all his weight on his good leg, and the look he gave me could have stripped paint.
Reginald arrived breathing hard, his face flushed with anger, and he raised the silver-topped cane he'd been carrying like he was about to bring it down on his grandson's head. I moved without thinking, stepping between them and catching the cane with both hands.
"Mr. Smith, please. He's already hurt."
Reginald's eyes were blazing, his grip on the cane so tight his knuckles had gone white. "Hurt? He's lucky he's not dead! Racing motorcycles with street thugs at three in the morning, nearly wrapped himself around a telephone pole!" He jerked the cane free from my grasp and pointed it at his grandson. "Lock him in the isolation room. Three days."
The two men in suits moved forward immediately, grabbing the red-haired guy by both arms. He didn't resist, just stood there with his jaw clenched and that cold, empty look on his face while they started dragging him toward a black SUV parked at the far end of the lot.
Reginald was still breathing hard, his face gradually returning to its normal color as he watched his grandson being loaded into the vehicle. When he turned back to me his expression had shifted into something almost apologetic, though the anger still simmered underneath.
"I'm hosting a small gathering tonight," he said, adjusting his grip on the cane. "Wine tasting in the estate's cellar. I'd like you to attend, let me apologize properly for my grandson's behavior and for involving you in this mess."
I said, "Of course, Mr. Smith. What time?"
"Seven o'clock. The staff will show you the way." He replied.
I watched him walk away, his cane tapping against the pavement with each step, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just made an enemy I really didn't need right now.
The walk back to the guest quarters felt longer than usual, my mind replaying the red-haired guy's face over and over, the way those gold eyes had burned with barely contained violence. When I passed Lucian's room I noticed all the curtains were drawn tight, not even a sliver of light showing around the edges.
I checked my phone. It was already past three in the afternoon, and he still hadn't emerged from his room. Part of me wanted to knock, to check if he was okay, but the memory of last night stopped me cold, the feel of his fingers digging into my shoulder, the raw desperation in his voice when he'd apologized.
I kept walking until I reached my own room, closing the door firmly behind me and dropping the shopping bag on the bed.
The afternoon passed in a blur of trying on clothes and second-guessing my choices. I finally settled on a water-blue dress with an open back, thin straps that crisscrossed and tied at my lower spine, the fabric flowing down to just above my knees. It was elegant without being too formal, and the color made my skin look less pale than it had been lately.
By the time seven o'clock rolled around I finally managed something acceptable and made my way downstairs, following a staff member's directions through a series of corridors I hadn't explored before.
The wine cellar entrance was tucked away behind an ornate wooden door, and when I stepped through I found myself in a space that was somehow both intimate and impressive. The walls were lined with square wine racks filled with bottles, their labels facing outward in neat rows, and the lighting was warm and subtle.
Near the entrance someone had constructed an elaborate sculpture out of empty wine bottles, the glass arranged to form the silhouette of a wolf mid-leap. On the western wall a small door stood slightly ajar, revealing stone steps leading down into what I assumed was the actual storage cellar.
People were already arriving, small clusters of guests holding wine glasses and making polite conversation. I recognized several faces from university, classmates I'd known in passing but never been particularly close to, and their eyes slid over me.
I was reaching for a glass of wine from a passing server when someone grabbed my arm, fingers closing around my elbow with enough force to make me turn sharply.
"Long time no see, Briar."
The woman standing in front of me was about my age, her dark hair pulled back in an elegant twist, wearing a dress that probably cost more than my monthly rent used to be. Her smile was bright and sharp, and I couldn't for the life of me remember who she was.
She must have seen the confusion on my face because her smile widened, taking on an edge of satisfaction. "We were in the entrepreneurship competition together, remember? Junior year. You and your team presented that supply chain optimization platform."
The memory clicked into place slowly, dragging details with it. "Daisy Jones."
"There we go." She released my arm and took a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving my face. "You know, I barely recognized you at first. It's only been what, two years? But you look so different now. Dimmer somehow, like someone turned your brightness down."
I felt my jaw tighten, recognizing the setup for exactly what it was. She hadn't approached me to reminisce about college competitions, she'd come over to twist the knife and watch me bleed.
"The judges that year," Daisy continued, her tone conversational but her eyes calculating, "do you remember who presented the awards? Alpha Julian Sterling himself, fresh out of business school and already making waves in the corporate world. I always wondered if you'd started working on him even back then, laying the groundwork. Though I suppose it didn't work out quite the way you'd hoped, did it? All that effort and you still ended up as nothing more than a transaction."
Something cold and sharp crystallized in my chest, pushing back against the humiliation she was trying to force on me. I set my wine glass down on a nearby table and turned to face her fully, taking a step closer and watching with grim satisfaction as her smile faltered just slightly.
"You want to know about my techniques?" I asked, keeping my voice low and steady. "All those terrible, manipulative things I supposedly did to catch an Alpha's attention?"
Daisy's eyes flickered with uncertainty, her confidence wavering as I moved closer still, close enough that I could see the fine lines of tension around her mouth.
I leaned in, my lips nearly brushing her ear, and dropped my voice to a whisper. "Here's the secret, Daisy. You have something I don't, something that would work so much better for catching his interest. You just have to be willing to use it."
She turned her head slightly, her breath catching. "What is it?"
I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, letting every ounce of contempt I felt show on my face. "You're more shameless than I could ever be."
For a split second she just stared at me, her brain clearly trying to process what I'd said, and then understanding hit and her face flushed dark red. Her hand came up fast, the wine glass tilting, red liquid arcing through the air toward my face—