Chapter 3 3

India slipped on her coat over the sleek black dress she'd just changed into as her computer shut down. Rain tapped against the windows-gray skies, same as always. She tossed her laptop into her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and headed out.

The office was quiet. Her assistant had left an hour ago, and the top floors were nearly empty. Just her, and somewhere above, her brother Reid and their father.

Mendez Whiskey was a legacy brand-one of Ireland's finest. But thanks to India dragging them online, they were finally going global. She handled all the digital strategy and ran their socials like a pro.

But that wasn't all she did.

India had her own Instagram-curated, polished, and fake as hell. Dreamy shots. Perfect captions. A lifestyle her followers drooled over. None of it real.

But it made her money. Real money. Money no one in her family could control.

And in a family like hers, that meant freedom.

The elevator ride was dead silent-most people were already home. India figured a few execs were probably still hunched over their desks, desperate for her dad's approval. Pathetic. Then again, she wasn't much better. It was nearly 8 p.m., and she'd just wrapped a project he'd probably greenlight without a word of thanks.

Her Bentley was waiting in her usual spot. As she eased into traffic, the city buzzed-Friday night, people everywhere, honking, swerving, living.

"Call Wren,"she said to her phone.

Ringing. Then: "Hey, I'm at the restaurant. Adrian ditched again."

India laughed. "Secret boyfriend?"

"Who else?"

"You think we'll ever meet him?"

"Not if she can help it. She's hiding him so we don't corrupt him."

"We would never," India said with mock innocence.

"Let's take bets. I say he's older. Like, way older."

"She's either in love or low-key ashamed. What if it's someone we know? Like... Brandon or-God-Socks?"

"Socks?" Wren howled. "The trauma!"

India cracked up too. Adrian had given him that nickname-after finding his infamous crusty sock at a party in middle school. The name stuck harder than the sock.

"I'm almost there," India said as traffic inched along. "Don't order without me."

Five minutes later, she handed her keys to the valet and slipped under the canopy, dodging the rain. Inside, the restaurant buzzed with energy-dim lights, moody vibes, and packed tables. The perfect scene to unwind... or stir up some drama.

Noble was the spot-top of the food chain, Michelin star, owned by the powerful Tanaka family. India also knew its secret: a hidden door in the basement that led straight to the old underground tunnels, leftovers from the city's retired subway system. Spechtron Tech had built a sleeker high-speed line years ago, leaving the old tracks to rot-until the Tanakas claimed them for their own use.

Inside, the place pulsed with quiet luxury. Wren sat dead centre, all platinum blonde and candlelight glow. Her gaze was locked on a woman by the bar, eyeing her like a second drink.

She didn't notice India until the hostess pulled out the empty chair. It screeched against the floor, loud enough to snap her out of it.

"A friend?" India teased, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair.

A sly smile played across Wren's heart-shaped lips. "A very good friend."

"She's cute."

"She shaves her pussy into a heart."

India nearly choked on her water. "How does someone even do that?"

"No clue, but it's adorable." Wren shrugged.

"How was work?" She decidedly changed the topic.

Just like India, Wren worked for Mendez Whisky. Her uncle-India's father's brother-was CFO, and she had taken to her father's talents, graduating with a master's in accounting. Wren had a way with numbers and would almost certainly be the future CFO of the family business.

"Boring." She drawled, "Got all my work done within a few hours and spent the last half of the day on my phone. Did you hear that Harley Twist was arrested in Rome?"

"Was he?" India unfurled her napkin, placing the silverware neatly on the table and spreading the cloth over her lap. "What did he do this time?"

"Something involving a sex worker. The usual."

Humming, India kept her next comment to herself, seeing the server step up to the table. "Hello, Miss Mendez. May I get you something to drink."

"Red wine, please. Whatever you recommend."

"Of course and would you like a refill?" He turned to Wren.

She held up her empty glass for him to take, "Yes, I'll take two cherries this time."

He nodded and left them alone. India's eyes wandered around them, seeing if she recognized anyone dining tonight. She clocked a few familiar faces, but no one important. A young woman a few tables away kept glancing over at them and then whispering excitedly to her dinner mate.

India glanced over at the table near the window. Two girls, maybe in their early twenties, were staring her down. Nothing about them screamed circle-no familiar last names, no subtle family markers. Probably just Instagram followers trying not to fangirl too hard. Once she was sure they weren't a threat, she turned back to Wren.

Drinks landed, and dinner followed. Wren launched into gossip-old classmates turned wannabe influencers, trust fund disasters, and new players in town. Kingstown was changing. On the surface, it looked polished, trendy, and safe. Tourists raved. What they didn't know-or were paid not to say-was that the city still had sharp teeth.

Between bites, they kept playing the "Who's Adrian Dating?" game. The guesses got more unhinged by the minute. Brandon? Socks? The bartender? The chef? Laughter spilt between them, along with perfectly plated food from the chef, who always saved the best for the Mendez girls.

When the plates were cleared, Wren excused herself-probably not for the bathroom but to flirt with the girl at the bar.

India stayed back, sipping her wine. It was deep and rich, with black cherry and plum lingering on her tongue. She barely noticed the figure sliding into Wren's empty seat... until he spoke.

Her posture snapped straight.

The man across from her wasn't just anyone. In Kingstown, everyone knew who he was-even if no one dared say his name out loud. He was the shadow to her spotlight. While she curated a life online, he moved silently through real power.

Same city. Same college. Their families did business behind closed doors. But India and this man? They had never once spoken. Not out of fear-at least not hers-but because people like them in the same room were dangerous. Too much heat. Too much history. Too many eyes watching.

And now here he was.

Uninvited.

Yet here he was. Jason Glover. Son to Cedric Glover, the second most dangerous person in Kingstown. Chocolatey brown hair with deceptively innocent curls distracting from the harsh lines of his face. A jawline that could cut glass and high cheekbones that India envied. It was his eyes that shocked her the most, though. Pictures did him no justice, in all honesty. Yes, they may have been paparazzi shots-him with his latest plaything going in and out of various clubs and restaurants-but never would India have guessed the intensity in his eyes.

The green of his irises was hard to pinpoint. Under certain light they might have looked pale, but the way he held his brows, slightly furrowed at all times, made them seem darker, more serious. His gaze commanded attention, others surrounding them staring at the bizarre spectacle.

India Mendez and Jason Glover didn't speak. They didn't hang out. They didn't even have friends in common. At least, that's what the public had always thought. She was sure that within minutes it would be all over the city that the two most notorious children of the most powerful men had been seen together.

In silence, they studied one another. India wasn't going to be the first to speak. He had come to her, so she would wait for him to make the first move. He didn't, though. Instead, he sat back in Wren's seat, the chair turned slightly off to the side so his legs could cross comfortably. The way he lounged back, elbow resting on the table, hand finding its home halfway towards her, was one of haughty arrogance. He knew he held her attention, and she hated that he did.