King of Pride (Kings of Sin #2) by Ana Huang

Next to her, a familiar-looking man with brown hair and icy green eyes surveyed us like it was our fault for interrupting them even though we were here first.

Typical Volkov.

“Alex, Ava, good to see you.” I masked my irritation over Oscar and Isabella with a smile. Why is his arm still around her shoulders? “I didn’t know you were in the city.”

“Ava wanted to see the exhibit, so here we are.” Other than a touch of softness on his wife’s name, Alex Volkov’s voice was cold enough to send the temperature of the room plummeting.

The notoriously aloof real estate billionaire possessed the warmth of an Arctic ice cave, but he’d mellowed considerably since he started dating Ava a few years ago.

We were friendly, if not friends. He owned the skyscraper housing Young Corporation’s New York headquarters as well as half the street where I lived. I regarded him the same way I did Christian Harper, but at least with Alex, I knew what I was getting. Christian was a wolf dressed in custom-tailored sheep’s clothing. Dante had offered several more times to have him dig up dirt on Rohan Mishra and the other CEO candidates, and I’d declined every time.

Dante was comfortable pushing ethical boundaries, but I refused to win by cheating. There was no glory in false victories.

Speak of the devil.

“There’s a secret party back here and no one invited us? I’m offended.” Dante’s deep drawl preceded his appearance around the corner with Vivian by his side. “I was wondering where everyone went.”

“I believe the vast majority of guests are still in the main exhibition area,” I said dryly, wondering how my intimate meeting with Isabella had devolved into this circus.

Then, as if the room wasn’t crowded enough, Clarissa swept in like a storm, her expression severe.

“Uh-oh.” Oscar finally dropped his arm from around Isabella’s shoulders. “I think I’m in trouble.” He didn’t sound particularly concerned.

“There you are,” she said in a clipped voice. “Your speech is in three minutes. You have to come with me. Now.”

I’d never heard Clarissa sound so irritated, though to be fair, I hadn’t talked to her in years before she moved to New York.

“I’ll be there.” Oscar didn’t move. She didn’t budge.

After a moment of silence, he sighed and followed her out. The rest of the room trickled out after them.

I fell back so I could walk next to Isabella.

“You two seemed friendly,” I said. “How do you know each other again?”

Her eyes danced with renewed laughter. “Kai, Oscar is my brother. His real name is Felix, but he used our father’s name as his artist pseudonym. It’s his way of paying homage.”

Her brother?

A wave of shock rippled through me. I glanced at the back of Oscar’s—Felix’s—head. “How…”

Despite his dark coloring, Oscar/Felix was obviously white. Isabella was Filipino.

“His parents died when he was a baby,” she said. “My parents were his godparents before they legally adopted him. He’s been part of the family since before I was born.” Her dimples popped up again. “See? No reason to be jealous.”

Heat touched my skin. “I wasn’t jealous.”

“Of course not. You look at every man like you want to rip them to shreds and barbecue them.”

“If we weren’t in public,” I said, my voice low and calm, “I’d put you over my knee and punish you for your insolence alone.”

Isabella’s breath audibly hitched. “You wish.”

A smile edged my lips, but it was a Pyrrhic victory because not being able to follow through on my threat was as torturous for me as it was for her.

We poured into the main exhibition room, where Oscar/Felix had already commenced his speech.

I slid a hand into my pocket and tried to focus on his words instead of the woman standing next to me. A cool rush of surprise flooded me when my fingers brushed against what felt like a scrap of paper.

I discreetly retrieved and unfolded it. The other guests were too busy listening to the artists’ speeches to notice the way I stiffened when I read the note.

No name, no signature, only two simple sentences.

Be careful. Not everyone is who they seem.





CHAPTER 22


Isabella



Both Kai’s company and Valhalla emptied out in the second half of December, giving us plenty of leeway to sneak around to our hearts’ content. Everyone had fled to St. Moritz or St. Barth’s, but we avoided the city hotspots out of an abundance of caution.

Instead, we made good use of my bed—the one furniture item I’d splurged on—and the club’s various nooks and crannies. Occasionally, we indulged in out-of-the-way date destinations: the New York Botanical Garden in the Bronx, tiny dumpling and tea shops in Flushing, an underground comedy show in Harlem.

They were areas I would’ve never visited on my own due to time and distance, and I loved exploring them with Kai. However, my favorite spot was still, hands down, the place where it all began.

I stepped into our secret room. The bookcase clicked shut behind me, and my heart fluttered when I saw Kai was already there. He sat in the armchair, reading one of those boring classics he loved so much. In his shirt and suspenders, with the sleeves rolled up and his glasses perched on the end of his nose, he looked like the world’s sexiest professor.