CHAPTER 221: SOME FUN

Mara pushed open the front door, the soft creak of its hinges breaking the quiet of the evening. The twins were the first to greet her, their chubby faces lighting up as they toddled toward her with squeals of delight. She dropped to her knees, wrapping them in a warm hug, her heart momentarily anchored in the sweetness of home.

"Hello, my darlings," she whispered, kissing each forehead. "Where are your uncles, hmm?"

But the house was too quiet. No clinking glasses, no familiar banter echoing through the hallways. That absence—sharp and sudden—pricked at her nerves. It wasn’t like her brothers to all be gone at once, not without a word. Her smile faltered as she rose to her feet, scanning the empty room.

Just then, one of the maids appeared at the foot of the stairs, her expression calm.

"They left a note for you, Miss Mara," she said, handing her a small, folded piece of paper.

Mara took it with a flutter of unease in her chest. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it, her eyes skimming over the hurried scrawl:

"We went out for fresh air. Don’t worry, and don’t stay up—we’ll be having the time of our lives. Love you."

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and sank into the couch, the note still in hand. A small, amused smile tugged at her lips. Typical of them—no explanation, just mischief and affection bundled into a few cryptic words.

Dinner was quiet. The twins babbled and giggled through theirs, and Mara kept them company, laughing along even when her thoughts drifted. After the plates were cleared, she played with them in the sitting room, their energy finally winding down. By the time she tucked them into bed, the moon had risen high above the trees outside.

That’s when she heard the unfamiliar sound—soft footsteps, deliberate and hesitant, just beyond the hallway.

Curious, Mara stepped out. Her gaze landed on a young woman standing by the front window, her silhouette touched by the silver of moonlight. She was striking in a strange, uncanny way—tall, with the same lean curves as Mara, the posture of someone who belonged in heels even when barefoot. But her face was different. Sharper around the eyes, a certain fierceness in her expression that softened when she noticed Mara.

For a moment, they just looked at each other—two strangers linked by something unspoken.

"I’m sorry," the woman said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was looking for Stefan."

Mara stepped forward, her voice warm despite her curiosity. "He’s not home at the moment. But why don’t you tell me your name and come in for a cup of tea?"

Before the woman could answer, her phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced down, and a faint tension crossed her face as she read the message. Mara caught the name glowing on the screen: Ben.

Come to the Diamond Club. Caleb wants to meet with you.

The woman- Aveline, as Mara would soon learn, closed her eyes, her jaw tightening. For a split second, it looked as though she might curse, but she remembered where she was and bit it back.

"Sorry. Maybe another time," Aveline said, her voice suddenly distant. She reached into her bag and pulled out a sleek, masculine watch. "Stefan left this at my place."

She handed it to Mara almost as an afterthought, then turned on her heel before Mara could ask another question. Her heels clicked softly on the marble floor, and then she was gone, swallowed by the night.

Mara stood there, the weight of the watch cold in her palm, her eyes lingering on the door.

Who was she? she wondered. And more importantly, what did she mean to Stefan?

—-

In the velvet-wrapped silence of the Diamond Club’s VIP lounge, everything shimmered. The lights were low, but the bodies glowed—skin oiled and golden under the slow spin of the overhead chandelier. Music pulsed through the floor like a second heartbeat, steady and sensual.

Steve leaned back into the curve of the leather couch, his expression unreadable. All around him, women danced, their laughter like perfume—light, lingering, intoxicating. They wove between him and his brothers—Stefan, Stanley, and Stanford—carrying glasses of something bright and wicked, their bodies bold and unashamed.

Stanley was already being pulled into the rhythm, laughing with his usual recklessness, a girl on each knee, pouring champagne over themselves just to watch him catch the drops with his mouth.

Stefan, as always, was quieter but no less involved—his arm around a redhead whispering in his ear, his fingers tracing circles on the bare skin of her thigh like it was an old habit.

And Stanford—Stanford was in his element. His smirk never left his lips, his charm folding around the women like silk. He let them touch his chest, his hair, fed off the attention like it was fuel. Whatever shadow had crossed his face earlier that day was gone, buried in neon and pleasure.

But Steve... Steve watched it all with a steady gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching now and then in response to a joke or a look passed his way, but he didn’t drink.

He couldn’t.

And though he knew it—knew the why and the what and the weight of it—he never wanted to be the one that dimmed the mood. So, he held a glass anyway, untouched and cool, and when the girls danced too close, he smiled. When they offered him a taste, he laughed it off like he’d already had too much.

It was a skill, really—being present without being consumed. Enjoying the warmth of the moment without letting it burn him. His brothers didn’t notice. Or maybe they did, and they let him have that dignity, that choice.

One girl—lithe, with dark eyes and a knowing smile—slid down beside him, draping herself across his lap like a cat.

"You’re not like the others," she murmured.

Steve looked at her. Really looked. And for a moment, the noise faded.

"I try not to be," he said quietly.

She tilted her head, intrigued. "But you’re here."

"Doesn’t mean I’m lost," he said, taking the untouched glass and setting it down with care. "Sometimes, you stay close to the fire. Just to make sure no one gets burned."

She watched him, her smile shifting. Softer now. Less performance, more person.

Outside, the night was deepening. The city glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows like a promise—dangerous and dazzling.

Inside, Steve sat in a room of excess, grounded by his own quiet code. He didn’t need to drink to feel the pulse of life around him. He didn’t need to lose himself to feel alive.

And while his brothers reveled, each in their own way, Steve stayed still—watching, listening, waiting.

Because sometimes the wildest part of the night... was knowing exactly when not to give in to it.