I really can't reject him, not now

I stare at the blinking cursor on Carter’s message, my fingers hovering over the keyboard like they’re expecting divine intervention. Nothing comes. No miracle, no excuse, no lightning bolt crashing through the ceiling. Just a stupid event and a boss who won’t take no for an answer.

My reply is short.

"Sure. I’ll be there."

Send.

Goddammit.

I lean back in my chair, exhale through my nose, and immediately regret every life choice that led me to this point. But then… haven’t I already ignored Lucius’ warning once? I told Ryan everything. And guess what—no demon shadows dragged me off into the night. No fangs at the window. Just awkward messages, overthinking, and insomnia.

Maybe this will be the same. I’m not heading into some sketchy alley or a packed, sweaty nightclub. It’s a dull corporate event. Controlled, well-lit, people with name tags pretending to be important. Carter’s even driving me home. How much danger can there really be?

Do vampires have some kind of freakish radar? Like… “Thalia just left her safe zone, time to pounce”? Sounds ridiculous. Probably is. Hopefully is.

Late afternoon and my apartment looks like a crime scene of glitter, mascara smudges, and crumpled outfit options. But in the mirror, I have to admit—I look good.

The dress I picked is long, black, and just hot enough to make me feel like I belong at a fancy event, but not like I’m trying too hard. A little skin, a little mystery, but not too much. Hair curled and pinned, lips painted deep wine-red. The finishing touch? Confidence. Well, at least a decent imitation of it.

The dread hasn’t fully left, it’s just… mixed now with something else. Something... darker? Or is it spite? I don't know, but I am getting excited and curious what the night will bring, in a way.

Carter sends me the message he's waiting. When I walk to his car, he even steps out, opens the door for me like we’re in some old movie.

“Well... you do look incredible,” he says, giving me a once-over that lingers a little too long. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

I smirk and slide into the passenger seat. “Thanks, that means I did it right.”

"You sure did. I already see transfer requests from clients to your portfolio next week, ha ha."

The drive is smooth, filled with soft jazz from the speakers and Carter going on about the guest list—some big clients, a few VPs from another branch, blah blah blah. I nod, respond when I have to, but mostly I’m looking out the window. Watching the sunset stain the sky orange and gold as the shadows stretch longer across the streets.

I feel it again, that low thrum of tension under my skin. Like something’s waiting.

But screw it. I’m already out. I might as well make the most of tonight. Just one evening. Just a little taste of normal.

What’s the worst that could happen?