Page 91 of Unleashed By Eden

“Are you drunk, Vi?” Liam asks.

“Maybe a little.” I pinch my fingers together to indicate a smidge.

Cindy’s gaze flicks over me. “Aren’t you supposed to be working? How unprofessional. I mean, I know your brother got you the job, but still . . .”

It shouldn’t sting, but it does.

She has no idea who I am in this industry. No idea that the name Vega Wolfe carries weight, that my work speaks for itself. Anyone else saying it wouldn’t even register.

But it’s her.

Cindy has always known exactly where to press—how to find the soft spot and lean in until it bruises. She’s been doing it since we were kids, and part of me hates that it still works.

I always thought if I ever saw her again, I’d show her exactly who Violet Henderson became. Thought it might end ugly, but I’d finally get that violent release I’d imagined for years. The picture flashes—me on top of her, slapping the filler from her lips—but then something in me . . . skews sideways.

I start laughing.

Real, hysterical laughter bubbles up and keeps coming.

Carter’s grinning, completely delighted. Liam, on the other hand, looks concerned. I don’t think he’s ever seen me like this. Fair. I don’t laugh. Not like this.

I always thought alcohol was meant to make you meaner, push you further into the red—especially if you’re already halfway there. Instead, it’s taken the sharpness off my beast, settled her. Maybe I should’ve started drinking sooner.

Cindy’s genuinely unsettled, totally lost. “What is wrong with you?” she snaps.

I can’t stop laughing. It’s . . . honestly, fucking hilarious. This is some full-circle shit, right here.

I swipe under one eye. “You’re just—” I snort. “You’re still doing it. Same lines, same little routine. It’s almost impressive.”

Cindy turns to Carter like she expects him to translate. She slides closer and plants her hand on his arm, staking a claim.

“Abso-fucking-lutely nothing is wrong with her. She’s perfect,” Carter says. His eyes are soft and mellow, and a warmth spreads through my chest like honey, thick and sweet.

Liam’s eyes narrow, swinging back and forth between us.

Carter’s smile disappears. “In fact,” he says, “you can get your hands off me.”

He takes Cindy’s wrist and flicks it from his arm.

“I’m spoken for,” he adds, voice firm. “One-woman man.”

Liam’s head jerks. “What? Since when? Who?”

Cindy’s face drains, then flushes. She tries to laugh it off. “Carter, you can’t be serious.”

“I didn’t invite you here for me,” Carter says. “I invited you here for Vi.”

He nods toward me.

My laughter trails off, leaving behind a weird clean space in my chest.

I look at Cindy and realize with sharp clarity: she doesn’t scare me anymore.

I’ve spent years internalizing her voice, allowing her judgments to shape the way I measured myself, how her whispers and direct hits took on a weight far larger than anything a teenage rivalry ever deserved. I’d always assumed the wound was deep because she’d made it, but standing here, catching my breath after that rush of release, the truth stings: the injury lasted because I kept touching it, kept checking if it still hurt.

But whatever version of me she once fed off doesn’t exist anymore. The shift happens instantly.

I breathe out slowly. It feels like putting down a bag I’ve been carrying for years just because I forgot I could stop. Her power only ever came from my willingness to carry it for her, and now that I’ve put it down, it simply doesn’t belong to me any longer.