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Quinn cleared his throat. “Yes.” There was no trace of a tremor in that syllable.

Grant tilted his head. “I remember telling you that clubs were messy.”

“I remember that too,” Quinn said.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why not?”

Grant smiled faintly. “You always preferred things… curated.” The word hung in the air.

Quinn held his gaze. “I think that was you, not me. Except you didn’t mean curated—you meant controlled.”

Grant’s smile thinned. He gestured to the room. “And this is better?”

“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation. “So I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you didn’t ‘do’ clubs,” Quinn air-quoted.

Good for you. I was so fucking proud of him.

I couldn’t resist the impulse. I leaned in and kissed Quinn’s temple.

Grant blinked, then his gaze flicked briefly to where my hand rested near Quinn’s waist.

Now he was paying me attention.

“And you are?”

“Max Rivers.” I looked him in the eye.

Grant nodded once, the name clearly meaning nothing to him. “Grant Hawthorne.”

“Yes,” I said calmly. “I gathered.”

A faint crease appeared between his brows. He peered at Quinn. “Is he in charge of you now?”

Quinn’s shoulders straightened. “No.”

Grant quirked an eyebrow. “No?”

Quinn’s shoulders relaxed. “I don’t belong to him.” He paused. “I chose him.”

Grant studied him. Whatever trace of amusement he’d exhibited as he approached us drained from his expression. He didn’t look angry, but thoughtful.

Then Quinn added, his voice unexpectedly light, “Turns out the difference between a Dom and a jailer is that one of them lets you leave.”

The words settled into the air between them, and I felt their impact immediately. My hand tightened at Quinn’s waist, Jordan’s voice echoing in the back of my mind.

Grant didn’t react right away. Instead, he looked at Quinn the way someone studies a puzzle that has just solved itself.

Quinn stood at my side, his posture relaxed, his gaze steady, with a total absence of fear.

Grant’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve changed.” His voice was quieter than before.

Quinn met his gaze calmly. “Yes.”

Grant’s attention flicked briefly to me. This time his assessment felt less dismissive and more measured.

He exhaled softly. “Well. I suppose that answers that.”