King of Sloth (Kings of Sin #4) by Ana Huang

The day before my thirtieth birthday, we were still putting finishing tiles in the bathrooms, but…

We got it done. All of it.

The following evening, after dozens of sleepless nights and crushing self-doubts, the Vault officially opened before the clock struck midnight and I turned the big three-oh.

Two hundred and fifty of the city’s wealthiest and most influential filled the renovated space, sipping cocktails next to the original six-inch steel walls and admiring the hundred-year-old brass chandelier.

Every single person had RSVP’d yes. There was Ayana and the fashion crowd, Isabella and the publishing heavyweights, Dominic and the barons of Wall Street, and more. Every major entertainment and society outlet was present for coverage because tonight, more titans of business, politics, celebrity, and art had converged in one place since the last Legacy Ball.

I’d never been so proud.

The night was young, and there were still a hundred things that could go wrong, but the fact that I got this far meant everything.

No matter how the inheritance committee ruled tomorrow, I’d created my own business and legacy, and no one could take accomplishment away.

“Have you seen the owner? I have a message for him.”

I turned, my mouth curving into a smile when Sloane came into view, breaking me out of my pensive mood. I was taking a moment for myself in the back before I started mingling, but the guests could wait a bit longer. They had plenty to entertain them. Sloane sauntered toward me in a shimmery silver-white dress and heels that made her legs look miles long. Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she came up beside me.

It didn’t matter how many mornings I woke up to her or how many nights I fell asleep beside her; she never failed to take my breath away.

“I’m not sure where he is, but I’m happy to pass the message along,” I drawled. My blood burned a little hotter when she pressed her hand against my chest, but I maintained a deceptively casual stance while I waited.

“Good.” Sloane threaded the fingers of her other hand through my hair, brought my mouth down to hers, and pressed her lips softly against mine.

One second. Two seconds. Three.

The kiss lingered on the third beat before she pulled away, leaving behind the taste of mint and strawberries.

“Pass that along to him,” she murmured. “Tell him happy birthday, and congratulations on a job well done.”

Warmth flickered in my chest, but I couldn’t resist a little tease. “I’m happy to, but do you mind repeating that from the top? I want to make sure I get it exactly right.”

Sloane rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Only because it’s such a big night.” She kissed me again, deeper this time. “You did it,” she said, abandoning her earlier pretense. “How does it feel?”

“Pretty incredible, and we did it,” I said. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Publicity work aside, her faith in me had kept me going through the many setbacks and frustrations of the past four months.

She shook her head. “I helped, but this was all possible because of you. Don’t undersell your accomplishments. The Vault is your baby. Own it.”

The flicker of warmth ignited into a roaring flame. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Once or twice, but I’m not opposed to hearing it again.”

“I love you,” I murmured. “Más que cualquier otra cosa en el mundo.”

This time, I kissed her, and I let it last.

Time with Sloane always melted away, and we might’ve stayed in our little corner in the back forever had one of the guests not spotted us and interrupted to give me his well wishes.

“We should probably join the party,” she said after he left. Her cheeks were flushed from our embrace, but I could see her kicking back into work mode. “Everyone is here for you. We’ll celebrate privately later.”

“Looking forward to it,” I said with a wicked grin that turned her cheeks from pink to red.

But Sloane was right, so after one last tiny kiss—hey, it was my birthday; I could take my time—we took to the main floor, where a crowd had already formed around the bespoke bar featuring Markovic Holdings’ first alcohol-free vodka. Mixologists worked their magic, conjuring stunning mocktails of pink and blue and green and serving them in frosted glasses adorned with various garnishes. Across the room, the alcoholic bar catered to an equally large crowd.

Vuk commanded his own table in the space between the two bars. He sat by himself, and it was difficult to tell if he was happy, annoyed, or indifferent. He wasn’t even paying attention to his latest product launch—he was too busy glaring at something.

I followed his gaze to where Ayana stood with her fiancé, a fashion CEO who, according to the rumors, also happened to be one of Vuk’s old college friends.

That can’t be good.

Before I could ask Sloane what she knew about the relationship between Vuk and Ayana, Isabella popped up, purple mocktail in hand.

“Hey, guys!” she bubbled. “Great party, and happy birthday, Xavier. This place is a hit.”

I smiled at her enthusiasm. “Thank you.”

“So, I was looking for you because I have an idea for your Tastemaker series.” Isabella’s eyes gleamed. That, combined with Sloane’s sudden grin, set off every alarm in my head.