Bringing you back had been a damn challenge. Damon would be furious, and rightfully so. You’ve always been his troublesome doll, the one who runs off, the one who gets into places you shouldn’t.

The party overflowed with people, heavy music, fake laughter, and every vice imaginable in every corner. The air was thick with smoke and dangerous promises. You moved as if nothing was wrong as if you didn’t know, or didn’t care, that you were the perfect target for anyone who wanted to hurt him.

And then you saw him. Jamie. Not on a mural, not in a sketch standing there, a glass in hand, studying you as if you were a drawing that never should have stepped off the page.

“So you’re the problem he won’t stop talking about,” he said, his deep voice carrying an amused edge that lit something in your chest. “I thought he was exaggerating.”