Chapter 2 — The Skylight’s Glare

Poppy

The Skylight Club is a glittering cage. Its floor-to-ceiling windows boast a sprawling view of the city at night, a constellation of lights spread across a bleak landscape. The beauty is suffocating, its brilliance reflecting the cold truth of my captivity—freedom always in sight but impossibly out of reach. The bass of the music vibrates through my chest, each beat a pulse of tension I cannot escape.

I stand near the edge of the room, my back straight and hands clasped together, a picture of composure I hope will render me invisible. Lennox’s orders cut through my thoughts, sharp and unyielding: “Stay close to the politician. Listen. Watch. Do not fail me again.” Failure—it’s not just a word, it’s a memory. The sharp sting of his hand across my cheek, the feeling of being dragged to my knees as he loomed above me. The faint ache in my neck, a lingering reminder of the wound from earlier today, throbs in sync with the tracker’s pulse—a cruel rhythm I can’t escape.

Pinned just above my heart, the Black Pearl Brooch feels heavier than it should, as though it carries more than just a hidden recorder. It carries Lennox’s presence, his unseen gaze pressing against every move I make. No doubt he is watching now, through surveillance woven into the club’s dark corners, blending seamlessly into the opulence. He sees everything. He always does.

The politician in question, Mr. Calloway, stands a few feet away, laughing too loudly at something one of Lennox’s associates has said. He reeks of power and desperation, two sides of the same coin in this gleaming room. My job tonight is deceptively simple: smile, charm, and gather enough useful information to keep Lennox satisfied. But simplicity is a lie. I know that well.

I exhale slowly, steeling myself as I step forward. Each movement feels deliberate, like walking a tightrope above a pit of unseen consequences. The air is thick with the smell of expensive cigars and spilled champagne, clinging to my throat with a bitter edge. I can feel Lennox’s presence across the room, even without looking. The weight of his control coils around me like an iron chain, tightening with every cautious breath I take.

“Mr. Calloway,” I say softly as I approach, my voice carefully measured to rise just above the music. Lennox taught me to speak this way—pleasant, detached, a perfect echo of nothing. The words feel foreign in my mouth, as if they don’t belong to me. Perhaps they don’t.

Calloway turns to me with a sharp smile, his eyes dissecting me in an instant. “Ah, the lovely Ms. Ellison,” he replies, his tone crawling with false warmth. “Lennox always has the best company.”

The words slide under my skin, a compliment laced with condescension. I force a smile that tightens the muscles in my cheeks. “Mr. Lennox values his partnerships,” I say evenly, willing my voice to remain steady.

“Indeed he does.” Calloway’s attention flits between me and the whiskey in his hand. After a moment, he leans in slightly, his smirk deepening. “And what about you, my dear? Do you value his partnerships as much as he does?”

The question is meant to disarm. I recognize it for what it is: a test. My fingers twitch at my sides, brushing against the fabric of my dress as I steady myself. “Mr. Lennox is an extraordinary man,” I reply, letting a faint curve of admiration touch my tone. “His judgment is always impeccable.”

Calloway chuckles, his amusement dark. “A trained mouthpiece, I see.” His words are a barb, sharp and gleaming like the cufflinks on his sleeves. My stomach churns, but I keep my expression neutral, nodding politely as if the insult is praise.

His words wash over me in meaningless waves, but I catch fragments—contracts, whispered names, alliances forged with paper-thin trust. Everything is a potential breadcrumb for Lennox, so I commit it all to memory, even as Calloway's gaze lingers too long on me, stripping me down with every glance.

And then I hear it. Laughter. Bright, warm, and familiar, cutting through the heavy air like sunlight through a storm cloud. My gaze snaps across the room, and I see her.

Alexia.

My breath catches. She stands near a cluster of guests, gesturing animatedly as she speaks. Her chestnut hair gleams under the chandeliers, and her hazel eyes are alive with the same vibrant energy I’ve always known. She belongs in places like this—not because she shares the cold opulence of the room, but because her warmth softens it. She shines here, brighter than the chandeliers.

For a moment, I can’t breathe. She doesn’t know—can’t know—the shadows that surround me. If she did, if she saw the truth of the cage I live in, it would shatter whatever warmth she holds for me. And Lennox would ensure she paid the price.

The thought twists in my chest like a knife, but my feet move before I can stop them. I excuse myself from Calloway with a polite smile, weaving through the crowd with practiced grace. Each step feels like a thread pulled taut, threatening to snap.

“Poppy!” Alexia’s face lights up when she sees me, her joy as unguarded as ever. She pulls me into a hug before I can react, wrapping me in a warmth I don’t deserve. For a fleeting moment, I let myself sink into it, into her.

But the moment passes too quickly. I pull back, slipping the mask of composure back into place. “Alexia,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

She grins. “Gabriel dragged me along. Said I needed to see how the other half lives.” She gestures toward the bar, where a familiar figure leans casually against the counter.

Gabriel.

His dark eyes meet mine, steady and unreadable. He’s composed, but there’s an alertness to the way he stands, a quiet readiness that unnerves me. In the brief moments we’ve crossed paths at his workshop, he’s always seen too much. And now is no different. His gaze flickers over me, lingering, and I feel it like a weight I can’t shake.

“You okay?” Alexia’s voice draws me back to the present. Her concern is light, almost teasing, but it cuts deeper than she knows.

I nod quickly, forcing a smile. My fingers brush against the Ironwood Pendant hidden beneath my blouse, grounding me. “Just a little tired.”

“Well, you should hang out with us!” she chirps, her enthusiasm relentless. “Gabriel’s not as much fun as he looks, but he’s tolerable.”

Before I can respond, Lennox’s gaze cuts across the room like a knife. He’s speaking with one of his associates, but his eyes find mine, pinning me in place. My pulse spikes, a rabbit caught in a hunter’s trap.

“I can’t,” I say, stepping back. “I have to—”

“Ellison.”

My name, spoken in Gabriel’s voice, stops me cold. It’s calm, not demanding, but it carries a weight that roots me in place. He’s closer now, his presence solid and unyielding.

“Gabriel,” I say, my voice tight as I glance up at him. His gaze flickers over me, taking in the tension I can’t hide.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, his voice low enough that Alexia doesn’t catch the concern lacing it.

I hesitate, the weight of his question settling over me. “I’m fine,” I snap, sharper than I mean to. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes narrow slightly, as if tucking my answer away for later.

Alexia, blissfully unaware of the undercurrent, claps her hands. “Great! I’ll grab us some drinks.”

She’s gone before I can stop her, leaving me alone with Gabriel. The silence between us is heavy, charged. I avoid his gaze, but he doesn’t move, his steadiness refusing to give me an escape.

“You don’t belong here,” he says finally, his tone quiet but certain.

The words hit harder than they should. I swallow hard, my throat tightening. “Neither do you,” I counter, though the conviction in my voice wavers.

He doesn’t smile, but something flickers in his eyes—amusement? Understanding? “Maybe not,” he admits. “But at least I’m not running.”

I don’t have a response to that.

Alexia returns, balancing three glasses. “Here we go!” she announces, her grin as bright as ever. She hands me a glass, and I accept it automatically, though my hand trembles slightly against the cool surface.

Gabriel doesn’t look away. His gaze is steady, unwavering, and for a moment, I feel exposed in a way I haven’t felt in years. It’s terrifying. It’s something else, too—something warm and disarming, and I don’t know what to do with it.

For the first time in a long time, I feel seen.

And it terrifies me.