7. The Iron Fist Of Novikov

7

The Iron Fist Of Novikov

The Dahlia Room was smaller than Isobel expected. As soon as she stepped inside with Kalen, Cian, Kilian, Elijah, and Gabriel, the lighting shifted to a warm, low, ambient glow. The centrepiece of the room was a circular stage of polished black marble with shimmering gold and pearl threads mottled through the surface. It was illuminated by a halo of hazy golden light and surrounded by thick velvet curtains—currently pulled back to reveal the stage—giving it an intimate feel. The ambience would more than make up for the small space she had to work with for future performances, but there was no way of salvaging the dance she had prepared. Cooper hadn’t thought to mention that her platform would be so small, even after she had sent him her dance recording.

There was no way she could make it work.

“What’s wrong?” Kalen rumbled as she glared at the stage.

“Nothing.” She realised they were all staring at her, and she gave them a tight smile.

Cooper was going to be a bigger problem than she realised. He had sabotaged her performance, either to punish her for not giving him a private show, or because he wanted the officials to think she was incompetent and force her to get his approval for every decision moving forward. Whatever the reason was, it wasn’t good, and it was only going to make the Alphas angry about something they didn’t have the power to change.

The entire group was already dangerously on edge. Theodore, Moses, Niko, Oscar, and Mikel had all received permission to participate in fights on Friday nights while she danced, so perhaps they would be able to work off some of their ragged edges without getting hurt.

That would be the best-case scenario.

They had yet to discuss the fights in front of her, so she wasn’t sure what the worst-case scenario would be.

“Professor West, welcome.” Yulia Novikov appeared out of nowhere. Her sleek ponytail was slicked back from her sharp, beautiful features. Her frame was wrapped in a gleaming silver dress with a slit all the way up to her hip bone. Her lips were painted a pretty rose, so glossy they almost looked like honey.

Isobel wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

If she could have pictured Kalen with anyone, it would have been someone as glamorous as Yulia, dripping with sex, cool confidence, and opulence. Kalen nodded at her, and she briefly passed her eyes over Isobel, Elijah, Gabriel, Kilian, and Cian.

“Carter, Reed, Spade, Gray, Ashford. Welcome.” She fired off their names and then immediately returned her attention to Kalen, giving him a slow, small smile. “I see you dressed for the occasion, Professor West. You didn’t think to allow any of your Alphas access to your wardrobe for tonight?”

“I’m wearing my only good suit,” he returned cooly, utterly unashamed. “It was my grandfather’s. He wore it to my grandmother’s graduation ceremony when she won the game here at Ironside. If you wanted the Alphas to dress a certain way, you should have provided them the means.”

Yulia laughed, the sound a delicate tinkle, the diamonds dangling from her ears shimmering prettily. “So cold, so harsh.” She faked a little shudder. “You’ve truly earned your reputation, Professor.”

“Where would you like us?” Elijah interrupted.

“You four can report to the bar.” She gave him a saccharine smile. “Cooper will be along in a minute to get Carter situated … but I have a little surprise for our handsome professor.”

None of them moved.

“The bar is over there,” Yulia said, a hint of something cold and hard descending over her features as she pointed a metallic nail.

None of them looked in the direction she indicated, but finally, Elijah stepped away from the group without a word. The others followed him silently. Isobel watched them go, her nerves increasing as Yulia waved someone over. It was another woman, probably around Kalen’s age. She was dressed similarly to Yulia, though her dress dipped low in the front and the back, leaving most of her tanned skin on display. There was something oddly familiar about her, but Isobel couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The woman had a cloud of shiny auburn hair floating around her face and was wearing minimal make-up to enhance her naturally beautiful features. She had a navy Omega rank ring, so she was Gifted. But … she was there as a client?

It hit Isobel, then, where she had seen the woman. She had seen her through Kalen’s eyes, bound and suspended. Kalen’s girlfriend . She assumed they had some sort of non-monogamous relationship, especially since Kalen had spent his evenings in the Stone Dahlia playing with other women, but they were still together. The thought of him calling her every night to video chat—if that was what they did—had a sour feeling bubbling up in Isobel’s stomach. She understood that he needed her as a connection in the settlements, but seeing her here, in the flesh, was doing something strange to Isobel.

Not that she was in a relationship with Kalen, but they had grown closer. They had been intimate. They were friends, and she relied on him, had been vulnerable with him. The idea of his girlfriend had been such an abstract, a vague figment of Isobel’s imagination.

Until now.

“Josette?” Kalen was thrown, his jaw tight, confusion radiating off him.

“Do you love it?” she asked in the prettiest, lilting French accent, spinning slightly to show off every angle of her body in the sparkly dress. “Ms Novikov just turned up with it and asked if I’d like to come and have dinner with you! I came on a private plane . Can you believe this? I’m not allowed to take pictures but without them, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to convince anyone I was here!”

“You won’t be able to,” Yulia told her, a hint of condescension in her tone. “There’s a nondisclosure agreement waiting for you at your table. Right this way?” She stalked off, and the other woman quickly sidled up to Kalen, looking excited and slipping her arm through his.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again until you flew back to the settlement for summer break. Isn’t this amazing?” she whispered rapidly. “You’ve been so busy, and with the time difference, I have to watch the show just to make sure you’re still alive!”

So … they hadn’t been talking? If Kalen had been her partner, she wouldn’t have been okay with that. Oh god . If Kalen was her partner, would he want to fuck other people as well? He couldn’t, of course, because of the bond. But would he want to?

Was she even in a position to care?

She was currently fucking three men. Or four? Or five? She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to include Niko and Oscar.

She swallowed tightly and met Kalen’s eyes over Josette’s head. His jaw tightened further. She was surprised she couldn’t hear his teeth grinding.

“He’s in shock,” Yulia laughed out, returning and slipping a manicured hand through Kalen’s free arm. “Come on, Professor. We went to all this trouble for you; you don’t want to look ungrateful now.”

Isobel watched as they pulled him away, too shocked to move as both women just ignored her existence completely. Kalen pulled his phone out as he sat, and Yulia handed a pen to Josette, sliding a stack of papers her way. Isobel’s phone vibrated, and she picked it out of her pocket, glancing at the screen.

Kalen (admin): We have a problem.

Elijah: No shit.

Gabriel: Is that Josette?

Kalen (admin): It’s not the goddamn Easter bunny.

Theodore: What?

Moses: Josette is here? How?

Kalen (admin): They flew her in.

Niko: Another test? Jesus Christ, how many times will they force us to prove it?

Kalen (admin): Either it’s another test, or they’re letting me know that they know I’ve been using Josette’s connections to bolster my reputation in the settlement, or they brought her here for me to break up with, to prove that their Orion program has my full attention.

Elijah: If they wanted you to break up with her, they would have forced a no-fraternisation rule on you the way they did with us.

Gabriel: So they’re either sending you a message or testing you.

Kalen (admin): This could be bad.

Kalen (admin): Without Josette, my settlement reputation is dead. I won’t be able to twist the rules. If anyone’s families are in danger, I can’t use my connections to help them, because my connections are her connections. Josette is the only thing stopping me from being profiled as an anti-loyalist.

Isobel: How does she do that?

Kalen (admin): She’s on every settlement committee there is. She’s turned in other anti-loyalists to the officials, spied for them, and spearheaded several of the campaigns they wanted to introduce to the Mojave settlement.

Kalen (admin): It makes her feel important to be with an Ironside professor, especially considering who my family was, but if Yulia interferes and tells her I’m a person of interest, she won’t choose me. She’ll choose the officials. She won’t even hesitate.

“You’re up in ten minutes, Carter.” The voice came out of nowhere. She jumped, glancing up from her phone as Cooper strode over to her, stopping too close, his hand shaping to her shoulder. She shrugged out of his hold, pretending that her bag had slipped from her arm and she needed to readjust it.

“I need to change,” she said. “I sent you my song and my lighting preferences for you to pass to the stage manager. I’ll be able to customise it better next week now that I’ve seen the space and capabilities?—”

“Actually,” he sighed out, a little dramatically, “the stage manager called in sick tonight, so you’ll have to improvise as far as music and lighting.”

She frowned, staring at the hand that landed on her shoulder again, much heavier this time.

“This is exactly why you can’t spend a week ignoring me,” he said in a commiserating tone. “We need to be on the same page, me and you, or you’ll end up disorganised and thrown for a loop every Friday night, and Ms Novikov simply won’t stand for that. She rules this place with an iron fist, I’m afraid.”

“So I’m sure she has a backup stage manager,” Isobel said, trying to remain calm. “For times like these.”

“Well, yes,” Cooper laughed, “of course … but I offered to handle things tonight since I was supposed to help organise this performance.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to argue, to insist that she had been given the freedom to organise her own performances, but Cooper had proved to be sneakier and far more passive-aggressive in his control methods. If she argued now, she would be punished later.

“So, do you need me to send you my song again, sir?”

He slapped at his suit pockets in feigned exasperation. “I lost the damn key to the control room. You’ll have to dance without music tonight. Anyway, bathrooms are just over there.” He pointed over his shoulder, not even paying attention to where he indicated. “And like I said, you start in ten minutes, so better hurry up! I’ll be sitting right by the stage. Do your best to impress me, hm?”

He stalked off, and she immediately walked in the direction he had pointed because the last thing she needed was for anyone in that room to catch her having a meltdown.

The stage was surrounded by dimly lit seating areas arranged in semi-circles, each round table outfitted with deep, emerald-green sofas and gold, velvety pillows. Each table had a chandelier set above it, dropping low to sparkle across the crystalware. Kalen was sitting on the opposite side of the stage, his amber eyes tracking her as he half listened to Josette, his long, thick fingers clutching a short crystal glass of liquor. He was squeezing it so hard, she winced, hoping it wouldn’t shatter.

She ducked her head, finally spotting a hallway tucked behind the bar, which she assumed led to the bathrooms. As soon as she was hidden away safely in a stall, which was more of a private, marble-lined water closet, she dropped her bag and viciously kicked the heavy wooden door, swearing as loud as she could.

Guys? She tried to call for them through the bond, hoping one of them was close enough to hear her. She hadn’t seen Elijah, Gabriel, Kilian, or Cian on her way to the bathroom, but her fingers were shaking too hard to text.

Are you okay? Kalen’s voice sounded a little faded, but it came immediately.

There’s been an issue with the sound. I don’t have music.

He didn’t immediately reply, and she quickly pulled off her dress and heels, switching them out for her dance costume, which felt suddenly odd now that she was ensconced within the luxury of the Stone Dahlia.

Are you confident singing? Kalen asked.

She scoffed quietly. I’ve only danced and sung simultaneously for one performance, and it was with a crapload of practice.

Could you sing if you weren’t trying to dance at the same time? Elijah asked.

She quickly repacked her bag, stuffing it into one of the cupboards beneath the set of porcelain sinks against the marble wall in the bathroom corridor. There weren’t even cleaning supplies stored in there, so she figured they were entirely for decoration.

She teased out the waves of her long hair in the mirror as she answered Elijah.

Without practising? I don’t think so.

Right , Gabriel sounded sympathetic. You’re not that confident with your singing yet. What about one of the songs you and Mikel have workshopped? You’ve been singing some of those for a long time.

She chewed on her lip, realising he was right. Those songs, she could probably sing in her sleep.

Yes , she responded.

Good . Elijah jumped in. Because I asked the bar staff if they had any recording equipment lying around, and I found a microphone and a looper, so we can still make this work. After a pause, he continued, I just asked them to set it up for you. The microphone will be connected to a pedal on the stage—just tap on that, sing the song, and then tap it again and your recording will start playing back. So you can sing and then dance to it.

Her hands immediately began to sweat.

Dancing was just … an extension of her. It was her happy place, her safe space, her little bubble of the world that was all her own and felt completely like home. Singing , on the other hand, felt more like a cliff she had to dive off, with no idea how she would fall or land, or what she would encounter on the way down.

You can do this, Illy , Kilian whispered into her mind as she stood at the counter, paralysed.

There are curtains , Gabriel said. The staff drew them to set up the equipment.

He didn’t need to elaborate. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and she hurried back into the Dahlia Room, ducking between the velvet curtains. There were two human men a few years older than her inside, arranging the equipment.

They looked up when she joined them, gave her a nod, and continued with their task.

“How do you control the curtains?” she asked quietly.

One of them pulled a small remote from his pocket. “With this. We’re almost set up here. Do you need anything else? Big fan, by the way. My girlfriend is absolutely obsessed with you.”

She laughed awkwardly, too full of anxiety and panic to channel Theodore’s grace and acting skills the way she had been doing lately. “Thanks … ah … c-could I borrow the remote as well?”

“Sure thing.” He tossed it to her, and she dropped it. Of course.

“You know how to use this thing?” the other man asked.

She nodded. “I just press the pedal once to record and then press it again to loop the sound back?”

“That’s it!” He grinned at her. “Everything is hooked up and ready to go. We thought you were going to dance tonight. Otherwise, we would have set this up for you before you got here.”

They began to leave, but she stopped them at the last moment. “Uh, sorry, if you have a moment … is there a way for me to contact the stage manager? It would be great to clear everything with them directly before my next performance. I’d love to see what I can do regarding lighting and sound, and there’s no need for me to waste Cooper’s time when I can go straight to the manager.”

“We don’t have a stage manager,” the one who had given her the remote said. “I’m the bar manager. My name is Ethan—usually, I deal with this sort of thing. Here’s my number.” He dug out his wallet, extracted a card, and held it out before realising she was wearing basically nothing and didn’t have any pockets. He blushed slightly, flipping the card back into his palm. “I’ll just give it to your friend. Reed, that is.”

They left, and her chest loosened for a single breath before she walked up to the microphone and closed her eyes, listening to the low, muted chatter and laughter on the other side of the curtains.

Kalen, Elijah, Gabriel, Kilian, and Cian must have sensed through the bond that she was trying to concentrate and gather herself because they stayed out of her head. Or maybe they were busy.

Kalen certainly seemed busy.

She couldn’t think about that right now.

She screwed her eyes closed even tighter and turned on the microphone.

“Good evening, Dahlia Room.” Her voice was husky, but it wasn’t deliberate. She was just terrified. She prayed it wouldn’t crackle or break on her.

The chatter quietened, and she waited until she heard the thread of a whisper pass through the room before she began to sing without any explanation or introduction. She chose “Ilomilo” by Billie Eilish since it was the first song she had worked on with Mikel.

She kept her voice deliberately soft, trying to create an ethereal atmosphere. She projected each note with the breathy intensity she had worked on for so many months while keeping the sound full-bodied.

You need to create a subtle, vulnerable, emotional landscape . Mikel’s words were hammered into her head as she drew on a practised, haunting tone. Despite the tiny stage, the room had incredible acoustics.

Mikel had emphasised not simply mimicking, but appropriating sounds for her own voice, so she did that now, inserting her own inflections, rich and subtle, blending them seamlessly into the melody. The song became hers, and her version was slow and yearning, delicate and confessional, transitioning between airiness and a deeper resonance. It was complex, but it sounded simple and effortless. The song was short—another reason she had chosen it—and she took advantage of the brief refrain to swell her voice into an elongated, two-word crescendo before dropping back to a lower, slower, exposed sound. With the curtains enclosing her in a warm, private space, she felt like the atmosphere itself was thick with her presence, entirely under her control.

She had never felt like that while singing before.

She finished on a whisper, turned off the microphone, and slid the equipment up to the curtain, out of the way, before hitting the button to open the curtains and dropping the remote. She turned her eyes up to the roof as the thick velvet parted, focusing on the little lights embedded into the natural stone ceiling. As the curtains revealed her, she felt exposed and naked, her little bubble of atmosphere popped. She wanted to pretend for just a moment more that her audience didn’t exist before she tapped the pedal with her toe.

Her own voice began to play back, reverberating through the room, and she took a deep breath, letting her body fill with the sound and adjust to the slower tempo she had set before she began to dance. With the small stage and the slow, soft lyrics, she adjusted her usual style into a fusion of ballet and rhythmic gymnastics, doing her best to make the small stage seem to last forever and choosing to lean on artistry instead of strength—though, of course, it still demanded a similar cost from her body.

Each of her gestures was fluid and deliberate, pushed past their natural points. She needed that extra push, that extra little moment of astonishment with each position she held to match one of her raspy breaths over the speaker. She needed it to make up for the fact that she couldn’t do anything that required running or leaping, but she already knew that she was going to pay the price for her effort.

She should have stretched in the bathroom—especially with this dance style, which required hyperextension and flexibility. That was a significant oversight, and very unprofessional. She was doing ballet moves she absolutely should not have been attempting without the proper shoes to protect her from injury. Mikel was going to flay her.

It was while she was balancing on the toes of her right foot with her legs split, her hands reaching behind her head to hold her other leg up into the straight, severe needle position, that she felt the little crack in her toe.

A dislocation, most likely.

Balancing on your toes wasn’t something that should ever be done without shoes—and for most dancers, it wasn’t even something they could do.

But that was what she needed to show them.

The impossible. The extreme. Proof that she didn’t need to be micromanaged or handled, and that they could trust her to take complete control of both herself and the audience.

It looked impressive, but it was stupid. Professor Lye would have lectured her and banned her from class until she demonstrated that she could dance safely, but she wasn’t there to impress Professor Lye. She was there to impress a crowd of people who saw her as nothing more than a product on a shelf. They were all there watching and waiting for her to prove that she worked the way they intended. That she would bend and twist and spin and sing the way they wanted. They wanted to push her to her absolute limits, and if she snapped, they would just toss her out and find a replacement.

Don’t wince, don’t wince, don’t wince.

She shoved the pain to the back of her mind, staying on her searing toe for a series of spinning pirouettes en pointe. She kept her toes on the floor as light as a whisper, turning with one arm curved above her head and the other outstretched to the side, maintaining clean and graceful lines. Her core burned as she spun, her body strictly aligned, her balance perfect, each rotation precise. She spun again and again, seamless and fluid, hair rippling out in a golden cloud, pain ripping up her calf from her toe.

Holy fuck . She could feel every twitch of her muscles, every brush of the silky coverall that slipped and slid over her skin like water, the sound of her own voice beginning that elongated swell into the crescendo she had ad-libbed. With each spin, her speed increased, her focus unwavering, feet transitioning from one exacting pirouette to another and another, articulating through each position with a sharp elegance that gave away nothing of the pain tearing through her foot and calf. It felt like she was being branded or like her muscles were being torn from her skin, but it looked light as a gentle breeze, as though she weighed nothing at all and might float right off the stage.

With the final pirouette, she finished, holding her balance en pointe, still balancing on her damaged toe—because it wasn’t over until it was over, and she wasn’t a fucking quitter.

She could hear people gasping, but she didn’t pay them any mind. This was still her time. This was still her dance, her moment of control, and nothing short of perfection was permitted when she was in control.

As the song finished and she lowered to stand on two feet, she finally cast her eyes around the room, taking in her audience and acknowledging them for the first time. Human men and women of all nationalities, wrapped in silk and sparkle, stitched into the finest suits money could buy. Old and young, but all of them draped in so much luxury. They were all clapping for her. Impressed by her. Under her control … until they weren’t. It was only a borrowed moment of power, heady but fleeting, a flame quickly snuffed out.

They shifted and stretched and turned to their companions, going about their business and returning to their crystal glasses and flutes, and dainty plates of expensive food. The bar staff stopped clapping and turned back to their tasks. The servers stopped watching and dispersed to the tables. It all felt like another choreographed dance, the servers gliding, twisting, murmuring, and demurring.

She noticed Cian and Kilian at separate tables, each with a woman, each of those women at least ten years older than them and sitting too close for comfort. The blonde with Kilian was pouring him champagne, but his pale eyes were fixed to Isobel. His guest looked up at him, trying to hand him the glass, but he didn’t notice. There was heat simmering in his eyes. And discomfort. The woman touched his arm, his bicep making her hand appear tiny. She sometimes forgot that gentle, soft Kilian was still larger than other non-Alphas. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing, slipping down Isobel’s legs before turning to the woman at his table.

He gave the woman a fake smile, shifting a few inches away, and seemed to ask her a polite question. She answered enthusiastically, her hands flapping around excitedly as she gestured to Isobel and the stage.

The brunette with Cian was accepting a platter of oysters from a server, but Cian wasn’t even pretending to pay her attention. His eyes were fixed unflinchingly on Isobel, sapphire fire licking over her face and chest, surveying the dusting of sweat on her skin. He flinched when he glanced at her foot, probably feeling her pain through the bond, but he seemed … proud of her. It was tucked into his eyes, swimming between the heat and the worry.

It made her feel warm inside, and even though she had injured herself, it was the tiniest flash of awe in the eyes of her mates that had tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. She quickly bowed and shifted, finding Elijah at a table with four men who looked absurdly like secret service agents with their deep black suits, stony expressions, and domineering posture. Their entire table was still watching her, so she didn’t linger on Elijah, who seemed relaxed and bored, fitting in perfectly with his tablemates. His Alpha size made him just a little taller than them, and his naturally muscled form screamed of a subtle, deadly strength. He didn’t look intimidated by them even though the servers were giving their table a wide berth, and she could easily see why.

She continued her scan to where Gabriel sat, a couple on either side of him. The human men were talking to each other while their wives—who were young enough to be their daughters—fawned over Gabriel, fussing with his cheap suit. They seemed to be making nonsensical, tittering sounds like it was so sad that their precious doll for the night couldn’t even afford a three-piece, designer suit. Isobel watched as one of the women slipped what looked like money into Gabriel’s jacket pocket, her diamond ring obnoxiously large, her nails a metallic grey.

Gabriel didn’t move—not so much as a sigh. He may not have even been breathing. He didn’t even seem to be able to see Isobel, even though he was staring right at her.

She turned again, bowing to the audience. Pain radiated from her foot, ripping and tearing up her calf as she tried to subtly shift her weight. She found herself facing Kalen. His eyes were on her feet, but they dragged up to her face, darkening to a smoky gold. He knew she was hurt, but he looked so fiercely proud of her that she was able to ignore the little niggle of darkness and disapproval in his eyes.

His chest expanded, and the crystal champagne flute in his hand snapped, spilling champagne all over the tablecloth. Josette gasped, jumping up before any of it could get on her dress, but Kalen only tossed the crystal pieces to the table and snatched up one of the napkins, wrapping it around his bleeding palm without ever taking his eyes off Isobel.

Isobel swallowed and turned again, delivering her final bow before catching sight of Cooper and Yulia—Yulia was standing in the shadows along the very edges of the room, and as her eyes met Isobel’s, she gave her a slow, veiled smile.

Isobel knew right then that she hadn’t just done well ; she had exceeded the woman’s expectations. Yulia gave her a sharp nod before pushing off the wall and walking away.

That’s right, Cooper. You never fuck with a professional dancer.

The devil himself was sitting at a table close to the stage with a few men in suits. He motioned Isobel to join them, and she swallowed a groan of frustration before she limped to the stairs and made her slow way to their table.

“Carter, darling!” Cooper stood up, taking her by the shoulders and dragging her into one of the plush seats. “Some of our board members came to watch your first performance, and they wanted to congratulate you in person.”

She swallowed a scream as his manhandling caused her to kick her toe before she was plopped into the seat. Despite her best efforts, her voice still broke with a fissure of pain as she said, “Nice to meet you.”

She glanced at each of them, pausing when she got to Ed Jones and Jack Ransom. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised.

“We’ve met,” Ed told her, chuckling. “You did very well, Carter. We’re looking forward to more performances.”

“Though maybe you could wear something a little …” One of the men tilted his head side to side, audibly thinking as he waved his hand in time with his swivelling head. “Something a little more exciting?” he ventured, in an accented, questioning tone. He was in his fifties and chuckled heartily, encouraged, as the man to his right snickered.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “Please let me know if you have any other thoughts on how I can improve.”

She had only forced the polite words out because she was too afraid that she might accidentally tell them to strangle themselves with whatever exciting costume they were envisaging her in, but to her surprise, they did exactly as she said.

They waffled on about how she could dance better, even though they clearly knew nothing about dance. They gave their opinion on her song choice and her vocal style, though they didn’t seem to know anything about those things either. Ed Jones and Jack Ransom didn’t contribute. Jack even sent her a commiserating look as she nodded and numbly repeated that she would consider their advice for the dozenth time. Half an hour later, Ed saved her entirely, asking her to fetch a server for them. She did so and made her escape, gritting her teeth and refusing to cry from the pain as she limped back to the bathroom. She got changed and then just sat on the toilet with the lid down, holding her shoes in her hands, wondering how she was going to walk out of the Stone Dahlia at all, let alone in heels .

Her phone vibrated and she pulled it out, checking the new message.

Theodore: We finished our fights. How’s she doing?

Kilian: I think you spelled “everyone” wrong.

Theodore: Yeah, sure. How’s everyone, but more specifically Isobel, doing?

Cian: She killed it.

Elijah: They’re going to offer her more money. She might even make more than the fights.

Oscar: Once a little rich girl, always a little rich girl.

Oscar: Did anyone record it?

Elijah: I did. I’ll send it later. Saying goodbyes.

That meant they were leaving their tables. She quickly slipped on the heels, steadying herself against the wall as her leg and stomach clenched in tandem. Painkillers. She needed painkillers … and possibly the hospital.

She didn’t want to force the guys to prolong their encounters while they waited for her, so she grabbed her bag and wobbled her way out of the bathroom, heading to Kalen’s table, where the others had gathered. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pull the same focus and hard-headedness as she could while she had been dancing to ignore the pain. It wasn’t the first time she had fractured a toe, but the longer she continued to abuse it, the worse it pained her. It was beginning to feel like her entire right leg was on fire.

Yulia approached them, and Isobel fought off a small shudder. She didn’t like how the woman appeared and disappeared like she was always just a whisper away, ready to strike at the most opportune times. There were no cameras in the public rooms and halls of the Stone Dahlia, of course. Their clientele paid for luxury and secrecy above all. Still, Isobel was unable to shake the feeling that Yulia had eyes everywhere.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Yulia crooned, planting manicured hands on the table and leaning over it, fixing her attention to Josette.

Elijah and Gabriel moved either side of Isobel, tugging her hands through their arms. She immediately gripped them, trying to transfer her weight to them as they all hung back and waited for whatever game Yulia was playing to end.

“It was amazing ,” Josette breathily answered. “I knew the Sigma could dance, but she’s like a proper professional now; it’s just … so impressive what you guys can do here.”

“It really is,” Yulia agreed, smirking, before turning her cool, icy blue eyes to Kalen. “Time to dump the Omega, Professor.”

Kalen might have stiffened, but he was already like a statue. “What?” he asked calmly.

“Dump her,” Yulia ordered, cold blue gaze unwavering, pink lips turning down the edges of her smile until it was a cruel, yet still unnervingly sensuous, line. “Now.”

“For what purpose?” Kalen asked calmly.

“Because it would please me,” Yulia purred, bending further, hovering close to him, her eyes crawling down Kalen’s chest and back up to his face.

For all the reaction he gave, she might have just told him the weather was nice outside. He shifted in his seat, his big shoulders turning so that he faced Josette, who was looking between Kalen and Yulia with shock in her eyes, plus a little shimmer of fear.

“N-no, it’s … oh my god.” Josette’s laugh was too high-pitched. “It’s so fine.” She was waving her hands about, shifting away on the seat. Away from Kalen. “It wasn’t that serious! I didn’t mean to intrude. I would never …” She wasn’t pleading with Kalen. She was appealing to Yulia. “I’ll never speak to him again if that’s what you want!”

“Good girl.” Yulia smirked, straightening and giving Kalen one last, loaded look. “Then let’s get you back on the plane and back to your little home, shall we? Would you still like that picture with the Ironside hosts? Ed and Jack are right over here …” She ushered Josette away without another word, though the brunette looked over her shoulder at Kalen, giving him a loaded look full of wide eyes, shock, and apology. It didn’t so much say “Goodbye,” as it did “What the hell?”

Yulia was … going to be a problem.