Chapter 13 The Bait

• The gallery hums with polite clinks of champagne flutes and the low drone of old money bragging about paintings they don’t understand.
• Ellerei Vale drifts through the center of it like a dream someone spent too much to rent for the night — all dark silk clinging sharp to her hips, black heels that make her legs look longer than any truth she’s about to sell.
• Her hair’s up — sleek, perfect, except for the white streak that spills like a dare over her collarbone. It draws the mark’s eyes every time he looks at her throat.