Page 56 of Villainous Rise

“It’s been an incredible honor,” he began, his voice taking on the cadence I’d heard him use in a dozen other interviews. “Havoc represents everything heroic about the Trueborn Super legacy. His wisdom, his experience, his unwavering commitment to justice—these are qualities I strive to embody every day.”

Oh, good. The rehearsed speech about legacy and responsibility.

The words washed over me, pleasant background noise that required no actual attention. I’d heard variations of this speech so many times I could probably recite it myself. Something about standing on the shoulders of giants, followed by a humble acknowledgment of the responsibility he felt to live up to Havoc’s example, then a smooth transition into his vision for the future of heroism.

I reached for my wine glass. Just a sip. Maybe two. Enough to take the edge off this surreal evening but not enough to impair my judgment.

The wine was delicious. Smooth and rich with hints of dark fruit that probably had pretentious names. I let it warm my throat while maintaining the smile I’d perfected during years of Alliance functions.

Nod. Smile. Look adoringly at Valor while he pontificated about his destiny.

“—and that’s why I believe the next generation of Heroes must embrace both tradition and innovation,” Valor continued, his hand gesturing expansively. “We can’t simply rest on the laurels of those who came before us.”

Cassandra hung on every word like he wasn’t just spouting off recycled talking points from Alliance PR.

I took another sip of wine and settled in for the long haul. If I was going to survive this evening, I’d need all the help I could get.

“Don’t you agree, Annie?”

I snapped my attention back to the table, finding both Valor and Cassandra looking at me expectantly. I had no idea what they’d been discussing.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” I smiled apologetically.

Valor’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly. “I was just telling Cassandra how our connection was immediate. How we recognized something special in each other from the first moment.”

His hand slid across the table to cover mine. The gesture was smooth, natural-looking, designed to sell the illusion of romance to Cassandra.

And to anyone else who might be watching.

I glanced toward Cipher’s table and felt my stomach drop. He’d gone completely still, his wine glass frozen halfway to his lips.

“Oh. Right.” I reached for my own wine glass with my free hand. “Absolutely.”

I took a deep drink, letting the cool liquid soothe my nerves while trying to ignore the way Cipher’s mask seemed to be boring holes through our joined hands.

“And what was it about Valor that caught your attention, Annie?” Cassandra asked, though her eyes remained fixed on Valor like he was the only person in the room.

Valor’s thumb traced circles across my knuckles, the kind of absent caress lovers might share during intimate conversation. I was acutely aware of how the gesture would appear to our distant observer and resisted the urge to flinch.

“His presence is undeniable,” I said carefully, which was technically true. Valor was impossible to ignore, whether you wanted to or not.

Valor beamed, clearly interpreting my words as the compliment he believed he deserved. His hand squeezed mine gently.

I glanced back at Cipher’s table, where he sat radiating murderous intent. What the hell did he think was going to happen tonight? That Valor and I would sit at opposite ends of the table discussing mundane topics? This whole charade was specifically designed to sell our “romance” to the public.

And he’d volunteered to watch it. Insisted on it.

I wanted to march over there and smack him upside his brilliant, idiotic head. I wanted to grab him and ask what exactly he’d expected when he made reservations to watch my fake date with the most handsy narcissist in the Hero program.

Genius-level intellect, my ass.

Cipher had the emotional intelligence of a toaster sometimes. A brilliant, devastatingly handsome toaster with abandonment issues and a possessive streak.

I took another sip of wine, wondering if there was enough alcohol in the world to get me through this evening.

The interview continued, Cassandra lobbing softball questions that Valor knocked out of the park with PR crafted anecdotes about his “journey.” I nodded at appropriate intervals, smiling when expected, and steadily drained my wine glass while hyperaware of every casual touch Valor bestowed.

A hand on my shoulder when he laughed at his own joke. Fingers brushing my arm when he reached for his drink. Each contact felt calculated, performed for maximum visual impact.