Chapter 5 - Maisie

A week passes, but it feels like a moment in time, a blur of motion and color that vanishes all too soon. Sleep eludes me almost every night, my mind a mess of anxiety and anticipation.

Every time I close my eyes, I imagine the mission going wrong. I imagine Zane getting hurt because I made a mistake. I imagine myself getting hurt. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m a healer. I help people after the fact. I don’t… infiltrate criminal packs or go undercover at fancy events.

I was stupid to agree to this, I know. I should never have let Aris talk me into this, should never have let him lie to me and tell me I have it in me to do something so immense.

Keira keeps telling me I’ll be fine, that I have good instincts, and that I won’t be alone. That Zane will be there with me.

I don’t have the heart to tell her that his being there is the worst part.

Ado catches me up to speed on my self-defense maneuvers and we resume our ill-fated firearms training, which I’m still no good at. Olivia and Keira spend hours with me each day, running drills, going over every detail of our cover story until I can recite it in my sleep. I try to focus, but the gnawing pit of doubt in my stomach won’t go away. Keira’s voice turns to static in my head as I think about the real danger—not just the mission but being close to Zane again and pretending to be… what? His fiancée? It feels absurd. Like a window into another life, a life I don’t have and I’ll never have.

Byron and I cross paths in the hallway mere hours before the first infiltration. His blue hair is vibrant as ever. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking far too casual for someone whose brother is about to go undercover with me.

“Maisie,” he greets me with a break in his almost ever-present frown, “how’s the bride-to-be?”

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the blush creeping up my neck. “You’re not helping.”

He pushes off the wall and steps closer. “I know. But really… are you okay? It’s a big jump from stitching us up to this kind of work.”

I appreciate his concern, even if he’s teasing me. “I’m… trying. Keira and Olivia are great. And I’m not going to let you guys down. But, honestly… I’m nervous.”

Byron’s face softens, and he gives me a reassuring nudge. “You’ll be fine. And if Zane’s an ass, just let me know. I’ll rough him up for you.”

I laugh despite myself. “Thanks, Byron. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.” He steps back. “Remember, you’re not alone. We’re all backing you up.”

His words offer a small comfort, but the bundle of anxiety in my chest doesn’t loosen. I thank him again and head back to my room, where Keira and Olivia are waiting with the dress I’ll be wearing tonight. The first gala is hours away, but I can’t shake the feeling that time is moving too quickly around me, that I’m not ready.

When I step into the room, Keira’s already there, flipping through her phone, while Olivia stands by the mirror, examining the dress against her own body. It’s stunning—floor-length, a deep emerald green that shimmers when the light hits it. But all I can think about is how much I’m going to hate wearing it. With a wave of anxiety and self-consciousness, I think it would probably be a tent on Olivia.

“Maisie!” Olivia beams when she sees me. “Come on, let’s get you ready. You’re going to look amazing.”

I force a smile and step closer, but my heart isn’t in it. She holds the dress out to me, and I take it reluctantly, retreating to the bathroom to change.

The fabric is soft, a pale peppermint-green silk that drapes in ripples across my chest and stomach like a classical statue. It’s undeniably beautiful. But when I slip it on, it feels all wrong—too tight, too formal, too revealing. I tug at the fabric around my waist, trying to make it sit better, but it’s no use. This isn’t me. I feel like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s clothes. Feeling forced, I put in my earrings and slide a glittering pearl necklace around my throat.

When I step back out, Olivia’s face lights up. “Oh, Maisie, you look gorgeous!”

I fidget under her gaze, not sure what to do with my hands. “I feel… weird. Like I’m not supposed to be wearing this.”

Keira looks up from her phone, her eyes scanning me critically. “Oh, Olivia, you’re overthinking it. You look fine—you look beautiful. The dress does what it’s supposed to do. It’ll make you blend in and stand out all at once.”

I try to take comfort in that, but it’s hard. Olivia leads me to the chair in front of the mirror and starts working on my hair and makeup, chatting the whole time and trying to keep me distracted. I nod along, offering small responses, but my mind keeps drifting back to Zane.

I haven’t spoken to him all week. We’ve been in the same room during meetings, but he’s kept his distance. I don’t blame him. Clearly, he wants nothing more than for someone else to pretend to be his arm candy all night. He evidently can’t stand the idea of being seen with me. But tonight, there will be no avoiding each other. We’ll have to play the part and act like a couple in love. The thought makes my stomach twist.

By the time Olivia finishes, the sun has set, and the room is bathed in the warm, soft glow of the lamps. I stare at my reflection, barely recognizing the woman in the mirror. My hair is sleeker than its usual wild curls, styled in loose waves that frame my face, and the makeup enhances my features without making me look overdone. Olivia did an incredible job, but it doesn’t feel like me. I still feel like I’m wearing a mask.

“You’re ready,” Keira says, handing me a small clutch. “Zane’s waiting for you outside. Don’t keep him waiting.”

I take a deep breath, nodding. “Right. Okay. Let’s do this.”

I head downstairs, my heels clicking against the polished floor. The pack center feels emptier than usual, the hum of activity quieter as the evening sets in. When I step outside, the cool night air hits my skin, and I spot the rental car parked near the entrance.

Zane’s leaning against it, looking every bit the part in a dark blue suit that fits him perfectly, tall frame sleek and strong. He looks nothing like his usual self—mussed and uncaring, windswept from his motorbike, moving with a liquidity that belies a quick exit. Now, he seems settled, focused, sharp. His black hair is slicked back, and there’s something about the way he holds himself that makes him seem… different. More controlled. More distant.

When he sees me, his eyes flicker with something—surprise, maybe, or hesitation—but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by the usual guarded expression he wears like armor.

“Maisie,” he says, his voice low, as he opens the passenger door for me. “You look… good.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, sliding into the seat. “You too.”

He closes the door and walks around to the driver’s side, getting in without another word. The silence between us is heavy, awkward. I don’t know what to say, and clearly, neither does he. We’re supposed to be partners in this, but right now, we feel like strangers.

As he pulls out of the parking lot, I stare out the window, watching the lights of Rosecreek fade into the distance. My heart races, not just from the mission ahead but from the tension between us. We can’t go into this like this. We need to talk, to find some way to break through this wall between us.

But as the city disappears behind us and the dark road stretches ahead, I can’t bring myself to speak.

***

Markus and Vivian Kane. That’s who you are tonight. Markus and Vivian. Happy couple.

I repeat the words like a mantra in my head.

Zane’s hand is on my waist, steady and firm, guiding me forward as we mount the long marble steps up toward the glowing light of the entryway. I’d sooner die than admit it, but I cling to that touch like a lifeline.

An opulent mansion looms ahead of us, grand and sprawling, bathed in golden light that spills from the towering windows. The front lawn is crowded with luxury cars, each one more expensive than the last. High society mingles on the perfectly manicured grass with sharp smiles and sharper eyes, their laughter bright and brittle, floating through the air like glass shards. The men are in tailored suits that probably cost more than most people make in a year, and tall, willowy women glide through the space like they’ve never known a moment of insecurity in their lives.

I feel like an imposter. Even in this dress, with my hair perfectly styled and my makeup flawless, I know I don’t belong. These people move with a kind of ease that I can’t mimic, their confidence ingrained in them from birth. They belong here. I’m just pretending.

As we rise, I feel the pressing of a thousand eyes on us. I’m not imagining it; I can see it in the way heads turn ever so slightly, the way conversations falter for a fraction of a second as we pass. They’re watching us, assessing us. They know we’re new to the scene.

Zane tightens his grip on my waist as if sensing my unease, and for a moment, the heat of his touch distracts me from the worry tying my guts into knots.

He leans in slightly, his breath warm against my ear. “Stay close. Keep your head up.”

I nod, swallowing hard, and force myself to straighten my spine. We can do this. I can do this.

Inside, it feels as if there is almost no oxygen left in the space. The air is thick with perfume and expensive cologne, layered with the underlying scent of money and power. Crystal chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the room.

Servers move through the crowd like shadows, silent and efficient, offering trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres to the guests. The music is low, a soft jazz tune playing in the background, but it’s barely noticeable over the hum of conversation.

Zane’s hand never leaves my waist as we make our way through the crowd. He walks with purpose, his gaze sharp as he scans the room, taking everything in.

I try to do the same, but it’s hard to focus on anything beyond the thrum of anxiety in my chest.

And yet, despite my worry, I can’t ignore the heat of Zane’s body next to mine, the way his hand on my waist sends shivers up my spine. It’s wrong, so wrong, to feel this way right now, when we’re surrounded by danger. But every time he moves, every time his thumb brushes against my hip, I feel it like a jolt of electricity.

We move through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with people we’re supposed to know, maintaining the illusion of a couple in love. Zane plays his part perfectly, his voice smooth and charming, his smile practiced and effortless. It’s as if he’s been doing this all his life. I try to keep up, nodding and laughing at the right moments, but all I can think about is how close he is, how his hand fits so naturally on my body.

At some point during the night, I catch sight of one of our targets—a tall, silver-haired man standing near the fireplace, surrounded by a small group of guests.

He’s everything I expected—sleek and dangerous, with eyes that miss nothing. He’s holding court, laughing at something one of the other guests says, but there’s a coldness to his smile that sends a chill down my spine.

I glance at Zane, and he nods once, almost imperceptibly. We edge closer to the group, and I hear the click of Zane turning on the recording device hidden in one of his cufflinks, long-range enough that we don’t have to get in too close.

It doesn’t take long for me to notice subtle movement around us. A man I don’t recognize hovers ten feet away, halfway in shadow, watching Zane intently. I can feel eyes on the back of my head. Clearly, our presence has been noted by more than one party.

Zane steps closer, his body brushing against mine, and before I can react, his hand slides around my waist, pulling me in.

"Play along," he murmurs, his lips just inches from my ear, the deep timbre of his voice sending a shiver down my spine.

I nod, but it’s barely a movement. My breath catches as his other hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His eyes, sharp and intense, lock onto mine, and for a moment, I forget where we are, forget everything except the warmth of his touch.

"Lean into me," Zane whispers, his voice low and commanding. “Like you can't get enough."

My pulse quickens as I follow his lead, resting my hands on his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my fingers feels almost too intimate, and I can’t help the rush of heat that blooms in my cheeks.

"Good," he breathes, his lips brushing against my temple as he bends down, his stubble grazing my skin. "Now, smile. Like I just said the funniest thing. Make it look real."

I manage a soft, breathless smile, eyes fluttering closed, but it’s not just for the eyes around us. The closeness of him—the strength in his arms, the way he holds me like I belong there—it’s overwhelming. Something deep inside me stirs, helpless and unfamiliar.

His fingers trail up my back, slow and deliberate, sending sparks of sensation rocketing up through me.

"You're doing fine," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "Stay with me. Just a little longer."

I swallow hard, trying to focus, but his hands and his voice aren’t just on my body and in my ears—they’re in my head, making it impossible to tell where the act ends.

His lips brush the top of my ear. The heat hovers, and for a moment, I feel like I will rise up out of my body into the hot overhead lights glowing above us.

For a moment, we’re no longer pretending.

Zane breaks away first.

Breathless, I force another smile, accepting a flute of champagne from a passing server, but I don’t drink it. Instead, I hold it in front of me like a shield, something to do with my hands as I try to appear relaxed.

Near the fireplace, our mark laughs at his own joke particularly loudly. Something in the tension surrounding him, the nervousness of his companions, seems to break, and then they all begin laughing, too, as if cued.

There is a soft click somewhere in Zane’s sleeve. He leans in again, his lips close to my face as he whispers, “Time to go.”

Relief floods through me, and I nod, following his lead as we make our way toward the exit. The eyes on us never waver, but we keep our composure, slipping back into the night with the same practiced ease we entered with.

The cool air hits me on the way out, but it can’t penetrate the haze. I don’t feel any more sober than I was, and I’m not even drunk. It’s just the effect he has on me.

I almost hate him for it.

Zane opens the car door for me, and I slide inside. He joins me a second later, and we sit in silence as he starts the engine and pulls away from the mansion. I consider, for a moment, asking him why. Why did you think you had the right to do that? Why did you make me love you?

When you started, why did you stop?

We drive for more than an hour, staring at the road, the smell of perfume and cologne so thick in the car that I know it will linger, a faint impression of our night spent in another universe.

The entire time, neither of us says a single word, and I burn.