Chapter 17

Levi.

Seated in the Ruthford family box, I watched Kenya Anderson—the woman who had become both my obsession and my quiet torment. Since that night we shared, sleep had become a luxury I could no longer afford. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her—not just as the dancer on the stage, but as the woman who had looked at me with such raw, untapped vulnerability.

The memory of her skin beneath my fingers, the scent of her hair, and the way her breath hitched at my touch—it all clung to me like a fever. She was a delicate rose, a creature of light and passion, yet she remained fundamentally untouched by the world’s cynicism. That realization, her confession of innocence that night, had been the only thing strong enough to stay my hand.

I had resisted the urge to claim her then, not because I lacked the desire, but because I knew a woman like Kenya deserved more than a rushed moment of passion. She needed time, and she needed to come to me with utter acceptance. I could be patient. Precision and resilience were my greatest tools, and I was willing to wait to truly possess her heart.

Blake thought I had lost my mind when I canceled mega-million-dollar deals to sit in this theater tonight. But as I watched her move across the stage, I realized the cost didn't matter.

There was a profound change in her tonight. Instead of the joy of a debut, she radiated a haunting, exquisite pain. Every fluid movement was laced with a grief that seemed to enrapture the entire audience. She was the 'Suffering Princess' personified, her performance so authentic it sent a chill through the theater.

A sharp spike of jealousy flared within me as the lead male dancer touched her waist during a lift. I had to grip the railing of the box to keep from imagining the many ways I could remove him from her presence. Kenya was mine, even if she didn't know the full extent of it yet.

Kenya.

The dressing room door shut, cutting off the thunderous applause that still echoed in my ears. I reached for a glass of water, my hands shaking so violently that I nearly spilled it. I was a mess of conflicting emotions.

You’re hoping Levi was pleased, my heart whispered, but I fiercely silenced the thought.

The weight of Odette’s words felt like a physical burden. Was I really just Levi’s pity project? Had he truly bought my way onto this stage? The thought made me feel physically ill.

A knock came, and a group of fellow dancers burst in, their faces flushed with excitement. Mike popped a bottle of champagne, the bubbles overflowing as they toasted my success. I managed to fake a smile, offering a polite nod to the celebration while my mind raced. Quietly, I slipped behind the dressing screen to change, carefully unfastening the diamond jewelry Levi had sent. Each piece felt like a heavy shackle. I tucked them into my bag, determined to return them as soon as I could find the courage.

"Kenya? Are you in here?" Billy’s voice broke through the chatter.

"She's changing!" Andrea called out playfully.

I stepped out from behind the screen, fully dressed in my street clothes. "I'm here, Billy."

"Dave said to tell you that Mr. Ruthford sent his car for you. His assistant is waiting in Dave’s office," Billy informed me. A loud cheer went up from the group.

"Go to your man, Ken!" Rory teased, a wink in his eye. "He didn't take his eyes off you once."

Heat flooded my face, but I kept my head down, grabbing my bag and following Billy out. He led me to Dave’s office—a large, masculine space that smelled of expensive leather and old tobacco. He gestured for me to go in while he headed back to the stage.

I walked further into the suite, heading toward the inner lounge. I stopped when I saw Blake Dickson, Levi’s right-hand man, standing by the window with a phone pressed to his ear. His back was to me, and he didn't hear my approach.

"Were you able to clean up every trace concerning the death of those young men?" Blake’s voice was low but clear.

I froze, the air leaving my lungs.

"So no one can trace the incident with Hank and his associates back to Mr. Ruthford?" Blake continued, his tone business-like and cold. "Good. It needs to look like a gang war gone wrong. Keep me updated on the police report."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. My blood turned to ice as the realization sank in. Hank was dead... and Levi was responsible. My body began to shake uncontrollably, my feet rooted to the spot as Blake turned around and saw me.

The silence that followed was deafening. I saw the flash of hesitation in his eyes—the realization that he had been overheard.

“How much did you hear?” Blake asked, his voice losing its professional edge.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I clutched my bag to my chest and bolted out of the room, ignoring his calls for me to stop. I ran through the corridors and out into the cool night air, waving down the first cab I saw.

As the car sped away, I collapsed against the seat, hot tears finally spilling over. The heater was on, but I felt a coldness in my bones that no fire could warm. Levi wasn't the man I thought he was. He wasn't my savior or my protector.

He was the villain in my story, and I was trapped in his web.