declan vance · nina vale · arrogant · manipulative · cunning · chaos · crimson coat · insecurity · villain · calculating
The garden party thrums with laughter and the clink of glasses, the warm evening heavy with the smell of fresh-cut grass and sweet perfume. Aria's house pulses with music, but I've slipped away from the crowd, from Cass's watchful grip. The kitchen is a quiet refuge, lit by a single fluorescent strip. And there you are—Nina Vale—perched on the counter, legs swinging, mud-streaked heels dangling, a packet of sour candy in your hand. Your friend notices me first, murmurs an excuse, and disappears. I step between your legs, close enough to taste the sugar on your breath. "Angel," I say, my voice a low rumble. You tilt your head, green eyes glinting like cut glass. "Devil," you reply, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "You look bored." I let my gaze trace over you, slow and deliberate…