Rex hadn't realized how far Dixie's judgment had deteriorated. Her reactions were governed purely by survival instinct – attack or defend.
Less like a human, more like a hound.
Worse, she could pinpoint an opponent's weakness instantly, find the safest hiding spot, and vanish faster than anyone.
Exactly like a hound.
Who taught her this? How did she become this?
Rex was silent for a beat, then spoke again, his voice low and rough. "You know why I brought you here."
This place was a microcosm of society, teeming with information and whispers.
Dixie hesitated, then nodded.
"Then listen. Learn."
Without further discussion, he grabbed the back of her gown's collar and hauled her across the ballroom towards the second-floor railing. High stools, fruit platters, and pastries stood nearby.
And the conversations below were perfectly audible.
He deposited her on a stool. Wasting no more time, Rex shoved his hands back into his pockets, his polished shoes clicking down the stairs as he merged back into the glittering throng.
Dixie watched Rex disappear into the crowd. Abandoned again. Alone, arm bound, sitting silently on the stool.
Below, beautiful gowns swirled, champagne flutes clinked. Men and women conversed. Every word was clear. Dixie understood them.
But the meaning eluded her.
She focused intently for a moment, then quickly lost focus. Her gaze drifted, watching lips move soundlessly. Rex wanted her to learn something. She felt it.
But she couldn't grasp the purpose of these meaningless sounds. Her mind was filled with fists, fights, guns, winning the trial.
"Hi there, little one. All alone?"
A cheerful, unfamiliar male voice shattered her daze.
Dixie jolted. Her spine snapped straight. Dark eyes flew up, locking onto the man before her.
...
"Hello, Sherry. Alone?"
Her escort, Andrew, had been pulled aside by Louis's people. Sherry would have loved to eavesdrop, but political lines couldn't be crossed.
She'd been leaning against a table, amusedly watching Rex lecture Dixie, when the interruption came.
Sherry turned. Harry. Literally, the Third Prince. Her ex-boyfriend.
'Ex-boyfriend' wasn't quite accurate. He'd pursued her. As an opportunistic assassin, Sherry saw no reason to refuse.
Naturally, the hollow 'relationship' ended with Prince Harry cheating with a duke's daughter. It had caused Sherry, then a Burman enforcer, significant trouble.
Sherry arched a perfect eyebrow, her expression devastatingly charming.
"Rare to see you unattended," Prince Harry smiled, clinking his glass against hers with practiced grace. "No escort again?"
"Oh, afraid I must disappoint," Sherry's red lips curved, amusement dancing in her light green eyes. "I have an escort."
Harry's smile faltered for a split second before snapping back. "I can't imagine what kind of man could possibly be worthy of you."
Sherry shrugged elegantly, noncommittal.
Harry swirled his champagne. His pale blue eyes shifted. He hesitated, then broached the subject with careful diplomacy. "Heard you've had... a spot of bother at Burman..."
"Indeed," Sherry understood instantly. She laughed, her cat-like eyes sparkling. "Though 'spot of bother' is understated. I've been removed from Burman's management."
The news was already widespread. Sherry knew the subtle shift in how people looked at her tonight. Where admirers once flocked, only this pseudo-gentleman remained.
It spoke volumes.
"Oh, my apologies." Harry flushed slightly, seeming genuinely embarrassed to have touched on a sore point.
Sherry smiled faintly, waving a dismissive hand.
"Harry!"
A petite girl hurried over, clutching her skirts, and looped her arm through his. Her expression was anxious but radiant. "Where did you go? I've been searching!"
Then she noticed Sherry and offered a polite nod. "Oh, hello."
"You're too kind, Miss," Sherry returned the gesture with a curtsy, her smile deepening, making her beauty even more striking.
Harry gave an awkward chuckle. "Ariel, my fiancée." He introduced the girl to Sherry. She was pretty, but not the previous duke's daughter.
After the introduction, Harry hesitated, then bent to whisper to Ariel. "Wait for me over there, darling. I have business with Ms. Sherry."
"Business you need to hide from me?" Ariel pouted.
"I..."
Sherry raised an eyebrow, sipped her champagne, and smoothly cut in. "Burman business is hardly scandalous, Your Highness. Speak freely."
"Ms. Sherry..." Harry cleared his throat, his ears reddening further. "About... back then. I am deeply sorry. For the trouble it caused you..."
His expression was sincere. "I know you're facing difficulties now. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me... our 'arrangement'..."
Sherry lifted a hand, stopping him.
The nature of their past 'arrangement' was obvious.
"Prince Harry."
The shift in address made Harry's heart sink.
Sherry swirled her glass, her smile still present but the warmth in her eyes significantly cooled. "I am not so destitute as to require your apology."
"Nor do you require my forgiveness."
With that, Sherry politely tapped her glass against his and turned to leave.
"...Harry? What happened?" Ariel asked, bewildered. Harry's face was stormy. For the first time, he ignored her question, utterly ungentlemanly.
Sherry had barely taken two steps when she saw Andrew returning.
"Trouble?" Andrew raised an eyebrow, noting her lingering coolness. He grinned. "Encounter a pest?"
"Vermin," Sherry corrected, the coldness fading from her eyes as she shrugged wryly.
"Dreadful." Andrew shrugged, handing her a fresh champagne flute. His gaze, however, slid past her silver hair, locking onto Harry.
Sherry took the glass, arching a sardonic brow of her own. "Mr. Andrew, leaving your escort unattended for so long is terribly rude."
Andrew chuckled, acknowledging the point. He looked back at her, a spark of amusement in his eyes, and asked bluntly: "Want to know what we discussed?"
Sherry held her champagne, one arm crossed. She smiled and answered equally bluntly: "Obviously."
Andrew's eyes crinkled with a lazy grin.
He reached out, tucking a stray strand of her silver hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her pale skin. The powerful rose base notes of her perfume filled his senses. His lips curved slightly as her hair grazed them.
"Gunfight coming to Burman. Three days."
Andrew's low murmur brushed her ear. Sherry's light green eyes flickered almost imperceptibly.
She hadn't expected Andrew to share such intel, regardless of its veracity.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a feather-light touch on her cheek. Andrew leaned in for an air kiss.
A distinctly lingering one.
"The perfume is exquisite," Andrew murmured, his lips barely grazing her skin before he straightened. "Suits you perfectly."
He raised an eyebrow, hand slipping into his pocket. His voice was pitched just loud enough for any nearby eavesdroppers.
Though the words were cover for prying ears, Andrew couldn't help but run his tongue over a molar.
A flash of deep, primal hunger surfaced briefly in his molten gold eyes.
The scent was dangerously alluring.
"The perfume? Oh, yes. You complimented it when we first met," Sherry replied smoothly, her own eyebrow lifting.
Andrew grinned, leaning in again with that mix of heat and sincerity. "Might I have the pleasure of your company at another function?"
"Where?"
"My home."
Sherry smiled. She reached out, hooking a finger into the lacing at the front of Andrew's shirt, pulling him down slightly.
Andrew's lips curved as he obliged.
"Mr. Andrew," Sherry's voice was low, her light green eyes holding both amusement and steel. "I've had many exes. They all share one common trait."
Andrew raised an eyebrow, listening.
"They're dead. Or on their way." Sherry's smile didn't reach her eyes, which were now distinctly cold.
Andrew bared his teeth in a lazy, predatory grin.
"Then I must be a better fit," Andrew murmured, his golden eyes blazing with fierce, unsettling sincerity as he leaned closer still. "After all, I simply couldn't refuse a bullet from you... right between the eyes..."
"..." Sherry's eyebrow arched higher, a mirroring heat and cruelty igniting in her own gaze. "Splendid."
...
Meanwhile.
Dixie stared up with wary eyes at the man holding a champagne flute before her.
He wore an immaculate black tuxedo. Brown hair, brown eyes, handsome aristocratic features. An air of nobility clung to his bearing.
A young Italian jeweler.
Dixie pressed her lips tight. Muscles tensed. Instant alertness flared in her dark eyes.
"Hello?"
The young man seemed to expect a reply. He waited with hopeful, gentlemanly patience.
"...Hello."
Dixie's reply was stiff.
His gaze fell to the cast on her arm, his expression genuinely sympathetic. "Injured?"
"...Mm."
"Poor little thing." His voice was gentle. He offered a stream of comforting words.
Dixie remained silent, lips pressed together, watching him with palpable tension.
She offered no response.
His interested gaze drifted to her slightly damp, dark hair. He lifted a hand slightly, as if to touch a loose strand near her ear.
Dixie's dark eyes tracked the movement. Her spine went rigid. Only ingrained politeness seemed to suppress her instinct to flinch away.
"Asian?" he asked politely, not actually touching her, oblivious to her discomfort.
"...Chinese." Dixie answered guardedly, her voice small.
"Brilliant!" His eyes lit up.
"..."
"..."
An awkward flush crept up the young man's neck. He clearly hoped for conversation, for any kind of response.
He wouldn't get it.
Rex, who had been seriously observing the interaction between Sherry and Andrew, frowned as he noticed the man approaching Dixie. He looked over.
After barely two exchanges, the man's face was a mask of embarrassment and discomfort. His lips moved silently, struggling for words. Only ingrained gentlemanly manners seemed to prevent him from bolting.
Rex rubbed his temples, a headache drumming behind his eyes.