Just as Dorian was spiraling into his own thoughts, a pair of soft hands reached out and tugged at his sleeve.

  He snapped back to the moment and looked down—Lyra. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her voice trembling with guilt.

  “I’m sorry, Dorian… I ruined everything. If it had been my sister—”

  “It’s just a game,” he cut her off, his tone clipped but calm. “Don’t overthink it.”

  Even though he was clearly annoyed, he still reached out and rubbed her back in comfort. He and Phoenix had been rivals since they were kids—oil and fire, always one spark away from chaos. And when it came to Clarissa, things had only ever gotten more volatile.

  The room buzzed as the crowd caught wind of the showdown: Phoenix versus Dorian. One-on-one. No distractions. Pure skill.

  Clarissa wasn’t much of a player herself, but this wasn’t her game to win or lose—it was Phoenix’s. And in her heart, she knew who she wanted to see walk away victorious. Phoenix.

  But that didn’t stop the deep-rooted anxiety that coiled in her gut. After all, Dorian was the male lead.

  Still, as Phoenix stepped forward and picked up the cue stick, something flickered in Clarissa’s mind. An old memory.

  She rose from her seat, stepped forward, and gently placed her hand on Phoenix’s shoulder.“Wait,” she said, voice soft but sure.

  Phoenix glanced back, surprised. Clarissa leaned in, her lips brushing just shy of Phoenix’s ear. Her breath warm. “Hit the red ball, left lane. First shot.”

  Phoenix blinked, cocking her head. “You sure?”

  Clarissa hesitated. Phoenix had always been the best growing up—top of the class in everything. Dorian hated that. He hated being second. Hated losing. He’d even snapped at her, Clarissa, when she came around just to play.

  So she’d gone to Phoenix. And somehow, from that day forward, Phoenix never won first place again. Dorian had taken the top spot—and kept it.

  She bit her lip, then met Phoenix’s eyes.“If you trust me.”

  Phoenix stared at her for a moment. Then smiled. A slow smile.“I do.”

  She turned, moved into position, and lined up her shot exactly as Clarissa had said.

  With one fluid, impossibly elegant movement, Phoenix struck the cue ball. The red ball zipped into the corner pocket. One after the other, until the table was cleared.

  The room erupted.

  “Holy shit! Phoenix just cleared the table in one go!”

  “Tell me someone recorded that—send it to me!”

  Phoenix herself looked faintly stunned, eyes darting to Clarissa.

  Clarissa stood still, wide-eyed. She’d hoped for a solid start—three, maybe four balls—but a full table clear? That was something she’d only ever seen in highlight reels.

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  Phoenix walked over and took her hand, pulling her in close.

  “Looks like my goddess of luck is working overtime tonight,” she murmured, her voice playful.

  The crowd broke into another round of cheers and teasing. Dorian, meanwhile, looked like he’d swallowed glass.

  Phoenix had nailed a perfect shot. Unless she completely choked later—which was unlikely—this game was hers.

  He exhaled hard, forcing himself to focus, grip tightening around the cue stick.

  But then, his eyes flicked toward Clarissa. The red dress hugged her curves perfectly, her smile easy, radiant. She wasn’t paying him any attention. None. Not since he walked in.

  Her gaze had belonged to Phoenix from the very beginning. And… Dorian noticed just how beautiful she was.

  Now, she looked untouchable. Magnetic. Alive. His hand twitched. The cue slipped slightly. The shot veered off. He missed.

  The white ball rolled forward with lazy aimlessness, then came to a full stop—without hitting a single target.

  A wave of sighs and low murmurs rippled through the crowd.

  “Dorian’s off his game tonight.”

  “Shhh—careful. You want to be the one he lashes out at next?”

  Phoenix stepped up to the table, casual and cool, club in hand. She looked down at Dorian with a smirk that curled at the corner of her lips.

  “Well, well. First shot, and already a fumble? Rough night, Dorian.”

  Then, without missing a beat, she angled her shot and—just as Clarissa had suggested—sank three balls with ease. Clean. Dead-on. Again.

  The crowd wasn’t even excited anymore. There was no suspense left in the game. It was over before it began.

  Dorian sat in stewing silence, jaw clenched, his whole posture radiating anger. The pressure around him seemed to thicken with every second.

  Lyra approached carefully, holding out a drink. “Here, Dorian… have something to drink.”

  He didn’t even glance at the glass. “No,” he said sharply. “I don’t want it.”

  He turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving Lyra standing there, shrinking in place. She bit her lower lip, unable to speak.

  Over by the table, Phoenix was casually wiping down her cue stick when Lyra hesitated, then approached her.

  “Mr. Phoenix… I’ve heard Dorian talk about you often. You must be tired after all that. Would you like something to drink?”

  Phoenix gave her a brief look, then eyed the glass of orange juice in her hand. Her voice was cool and clipped.

  “Sorry. I don’t like orange juice.”

  With that, she walked off. She loosened the collar of her shirt as she went, glancing over at Clarissa with a lazy grin. “I’ve been playing for a while now. I’m hot. I’m thirsty.”

  Clarissa offered her a glass, her tone light. “Orange juice okay? You’ve already had a lot of wine.”

  Phoenix took it with a flash of a smile. “Orange juice? My favorite.”

  She lifted the glass and downed a long sip, eyes still half-lidded with amusement.

  From across the room, Lyra watched it all unfold—and her chest tightened. All night long, she’d felt it—like something hard and cold pressing against her heart.

  Later, as the evening wound down, Lyra made her way to the bathroom. She was just stepping out of the stall when Phoenix exited the one next to hers.

  Phoenix was already on her way out when Lyra suddenly called after her.“Ms. Phoenix…”

  Phoenix paused. Then slowly turned back, eyes locking with hers. “I don’t like being called Miss,” Phoenix said flatly.

  Lyra paled and lowered her eyes, voice barely audible. “I’m sorry, Mr. Phoenix….”

  “What?” Phoenix asked, brow lifted in confusion.

  “I just…” Lyra took a breath, looking down again. “I know you don’t like me. I understand. It’s because of… misunderstandings between me and my sister. You and Clarissa seem very close, and I know she respects you. So I just—wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  Phoenix blinked, then frowned. “What exactly are you apologizing for?”

  Lyra’s voice trembled. “I didn’t mean to make things worse between you and Dorian. I know you two… have your issues. I shouldn’t have come between—”

  “Hold it.” Phoenix’s voice cut sharp through the air. “You’re seriously overthinking this.”

  She stepped in closer, tone flat. “Clarissa didn’t tell me anything. And Dorian? Please. That man is not my concern. Clarissa left him because he wasn’t worth her time, not because of you.”

  She looked Lyra over once, unimpressed.“If you’re going to be with him, then just be with him. Live your life. But stop acting like this is some tragic love triangle.”

  Lyra’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard.

  Phoenix tilted her head. “And another thing—don’t cry in front of me.” Her voice turned icier. “I’m not one of those soft-hearted men who’ll fall for the damsel-in-distress act. Doesn’t work on me. Never has.”