Devika opens her mouth—probably to hurl more venom, more threats, more of the poison she’s been feeding me my entire life—but Queenie steps forward, her expression pleasant and her voice icy.
“Security is already on its way,” Queenie says. “I’d leave before they arrive, if I were you. Knox Volkov isn’t known for his mercy toward people who upset his partner.”
For a moment, Devika looks like she might argue. Then her eyes flick to the two uniformed guards approaching from the spa entrance, and something like survival instinct kicks in.
She snatches up her shopping bags—the ones I apparently just paid for—and stalks toward the exit, her heels clicking furiously against the marble.
“You’ll regret this,” she throws over her shoulder. “Mark my words, Ember. You’ll regret this.”
And then sh
