Chapter 24: Private Invitation

Chapter 24: Chapter 24: Private Invitation

An hour passed before Melrose’s phone vibrated against the glass table.

He had spent most of it pretending not to watch Nero.

The private party had grown louder as the formal guests downstairs began leaving Vesper House. Music carried through the lounge in a steady pulse, softened around the secluded seating areas by heavy curtains and dark acoustic panels. Someone had opened another section of the terrace, and cold air occasionally slipped inside whenever guests moved between the heated exterior and the main room.

Nero had remained infuriatingly normal.

Melrose had expected some visible reaction sooner.

Instead, the Crown Prince had finished his whiskey, spoken to half a dozen people, disappeared briefly with Hale, and then returned without any obvious change beyond removing the platinum fastening from his collar and opening the first button of his shirt.

That small difference had been enough to keep Melrose interested.

His phone vibrated again.

He looked down.

The message came from a private number, but the identification attached to it made his stomach tighten pleasantly.

CROWN PRINCE NERO EZEKIEL.

Private booth seven.

Melrose stared at the screen for several seconds before the smile reached his face.

Aster noticed immediately.

"What?"

Melrose turned the phone so he could see.

Aster’s eyes widened.

The conversation around their table stopped.

"No fucking way," one of the other omegas said.

Melrose leaned back against the sofa, making no effort to hide his satisfaction. "Apparently he liked the whiskey."

"Did he actually message you?"

"The palace contact verification is there."

Aster took the phone from his hand and inspected it as though expecting the royal authentication to disappear if he looked closely enough.

It did not.

Melrose took it back.

His confidence settled into something warmer.

Of course Nero had noticed him.

The entire evening had only confirmed what Melrose already understood. Nero existed at a level where ordinary flirting became meaningless. Everyone wanted him. Everyone watched him. Walking across a room and smiling prettily would never be enough.

Melrose had simply found a way to make himself memorable.

"You’re going?" Aster asked.

Melrose laughed quietly. "What do you think?"

Aster looked less impressed than the others now. "I think this is very fast."

"That is generally what happens when someone is interested."

"He barely spoke to you."

"He doesn’t need an interview."

Melrose stood and adjusted the fall of his pale silk shirt beneath his fitted jacket. He checked his hair in the dark reflection of the window, ran one thumb over the corner of his mouth, then picked up his phone.

Behind him, one of the omegas whispered something about photographs.

Melrose smiled wider.

By tomorrow, perhaps nobody would be talking about Sebastian Fitzgeralt anymore.

Booth seven was located beyond the main private lounge, where a narrower corridor curved around the northern side of the building. The booths there were intended for guests who wanted conversations without leaving the party entirely. Each had a heavy sliding door, tinted glass, low lighting, and enough soundproofing that the music outside became little more than a distant vibration.

A member of security stood beside the entrance.

Not Duncan.

Melrose gave his name.

The guard checked something on a tablet before opening the door.

Nero was waiting inside.

Melrose entered.

The door closed behind him.

---

Nero disliked him already.

That was somewhat unfair, considering Nero had known Melrose Mynatt existed for fewer than two hours.

Hale had supplied the rest.

Twenty-six. Omega. Son of an eastern shipping magnate. Old maternal nobility. Several expensive schools. An impressive social calendar and no discernible understanding of consequences.

Nero had remembered meeting him once after Hale showed him the photographs.

Spring exhibition. Four minutes.

Melrose had apparently considered those four minutes significant enough to drug him several months later.

Nero found that deeply irritating.

He sat on the long black couch lining the rear wall of the booth, one arm resting across the back cushion. His black shirt was still tucked perfectly into his trousers, although the collar was slightly open now, and his hair had fallen forward over one shoulder.

One long leg was bent comfortably at the knee.

The other stretched toward the low table in front of him.

His posture had been selected deliberately.

Hale knew that.

Hale had known something unpleasant was coming the moment Nero told him not to have Melrose removed from the building.

"You want me to deal with this," Hale had said after examining the remains of the drink.

"No."

"He tried to drug the Crown Prince."

"I noticed."

"With rut enhancers."

"Yes, Hale. I was present for the discovery."

Hale had stared at him for several seconds.

Then his expression had changed.

Nero had almost admired the exact moment concern replaced irritation.

"What are you planning?"

"Conversation."

"With that face?"

Nero had smiled.

Hale had stopped asking.

The attempt itself had been embarrassingly poor.

Rut enhancers were not subtle substances, and whatever Melrose had obtained had left traces Nero noticed almost immediately. More importantly, Nero was an Enigma. A quantity capable of seriously compromising him would have been difficult to conceal in a normal glass of whiskey without turning the drink into something visibly wrong.

Melrose apparently had not considered physiology before committing a felony.

Nero had consumed enough to confirm what it was.

Then he had handed the glass to Hale.

The effects amounted to warmth beneath his skin, a mild elevation in pulse, and annoyance.

Mostly annoyance.

He could have allowed Duncan to arrest Melrose.

That would have been reasonable. Extremely boring.

Nero rarely objected to strangers wanting him. That was common enough to become background noise years ago.

He objected to entitlement.

Melrose had looked across a crowded room at someone he did not know, decided he wanted him, and concluded that Nero’s ability to choose was an inconvenience that could be chemically corrected.

The irony was almost exquisite.

Nero had spent years wanting Sebastian with an intensity that occasionally made even his own thoughts unreasonable.

Yet Sebastian’s refusal remained a refusal.

Nero manipulated circumstances. He provoked. He waited. He engineered opportunities with increasingly questionable ethics.

He had never needed Sebastian unconscious enough to mistake helplessness for consent.

Apparently Melrose Mynatt possessed fewer standards.

The door opened.

Melrose entered with the expression of a man arriving to collect something he believed already belonged to him.

Nero almost laughed.

Instead, he watched.

Melrose had changed nothing about his appearance except his mouth, which now carried a slightly darker gloss. Pale blond hair fell neatly across his forehead, and the cream silk beneath his charcoal jacket made him look softer than he was.

"Your Highness."

"Nero is fine."

Melrose’s smile became pleased.

That had been intentional too.

He crossed the room slowly.

Nero remained where he was.

"I wasn’t expecting your message."

"You sent me a drink."

"I hoped you would like it."

"I found it interesting."

Melrose interpreted that exactly as Nero expected.

He came closer.

There was enough space on the couch beside Nero for several people, but Melrose did not sit there. He stopped in front of him instead, positioned between Nero and the low table.

Nero looked up at him.

Melrose’s confidence increased under the attention.

"You were watching me earlier," he said.

"I was."

That answer brought him another step closer.

Nero could smell his perfume now, something sweet layered over natural omega pheromones. Melrose placed one hand lightly against the back of the couch near Nero’s shoulder as he leaned forward.

Nero did not move away.

From outside the tinted glass, nobody could see clearly into the booth.

Hale was somewhere beyond the door waiting for his sign.

Probably regretting every professional decision that had placed him in Nero’s service.

Melrose’s knee touched the inside of Nero’s extended leg.

Nero shifted just enough to give him room.

The omega smiled as though he had been granted exactly what he wanted and stepped fully between Nero’s legs.

Nero rested his head against the back of the couch and looked at him.

He still appeared relaxed.

That was the part Hale would have found most concerning.