Chapter 3 Landon
Chapter Three: Landon
My breath catches when he grabs my hand. Briar. He doesn't introduce himself, not at first, but a warning is there all the same—a bell sounding off in my head.
Danger.
His fingers are cold and thick, every bone glued to mine as if he’s learned the pressure points for maximum effect.
A murmur starts the second our hands meet.
It rides a fault line through the guests, weaving between their words and draining their conversations mid-sentence.
I hear one lady gasp behind her peacock-feather mask.
Another, a man in what’s probably a two-hundred-year-old tuxedo, gives a cough that’s more judgment than sickness.
Briar ignores all of it. He leads, and I follow, because what the hell else am I going to do?
My feet don’t hit the floor so much as slide, and I am distinctly aware that every movement is being studied by the crowd.
My mask is a joke in this company, a splash of blue among a sea of custom-commissioned anonymity, but Briar wears his like a prince: subtle gold trim, the kind of mask that makes you want to stare, then look away before he notices.
He steers me to the edge of the room, close enough to the windows that the city is a black mirror, and I see our silhouettes reflected in it: him, tall and straight-backed, every inch the person your parents warned you about; me, one head shorter, trying not to look like I’m bracing for impact.
“So,” I say, hating the quaver in my voice. “Do you always take such liberties?”
He doesn’t answer, not with words. Instead he studies me, the way you’d study a specimen that might bite if you weren’t careful.
There’s nothing overtly hostile in his stare, but it’s not friendly, either.
The crowd hums behind us, keeping its distance.
I realize, with a little jolt, that we are now the evening’s featured entertainment.
I fidget, thumb working at the edge of my mask, and try again. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a single man.” It sounds lame, but I don’t know how else to remind him that grabbing the hand of another male might put a target on his back.
You never know how these types are.
He allows a smile. His teeth are perfectly white, straight except for an incisor turned at a slight angle. Beautiful. Of course they are. “Assumptions are a trap,” he says. His voice is softer than I would have guessed, the kind of softness that doesn’t need to raise itself to be heard.
I wait for him to say something else, but he lets the silence bloom between us. My pulse beats in my neck, a thump I’m sure he can see, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s still holding my hand, his thumb absently running down the back, caressing my knuckles.
Almost as if it’s comforting him.
There’s a not-quite-awkward beat, and I realize I’m supposed to fill it. “I’m Landon,” I say, because it feels weird not to. “Landon Thompson.”
He watches me. “I know who you are.”
The words hit hard. I knew, abstractly, that I was being watched, but hearing it out loud is something else. I swallow, and it sounds loud in my own head.
Briar’s eyes—blue, with a color I can’t name—are unblinking. “You’re the accountant,” he continues. “The one who likes to count things that don’t belong to him.”
He lets go of my hand, and the loss of contact is jarring. I flex my fingers, like an idiot, trying to get the feeling back.
“You make it sound like I stole something,” I say, a little defensive.
He tilts his head, considering. “You noticed a pattern. Most people in your position don’t.”
That’s not a compliment. It’s a fact, laid out bare between us.
He gestures to the glass, the city, the room behind us. “Do you want to know how this place works?”
I look past him, at the crowd, at the way they’re all pretending not to watch us. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, but I manage, “Sure. Enlighten me.”
Briar’s smile comes back, wider this time. “It’s very simple. There are people who move the world, and people who think they do. The first kind are here.” He points a single, elegant finger at the dance floor. “The second kind are everywhere else.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just nod, my head bobbing a little too fast.
He leans in, close enough that his breath is cool against my cheek. “You are the third kind, Landon.”
I blink. “What’s that?”
“The ones who think they’re invisible,” he says. “But really, they’re just waiting for someone to notice.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out a cough. “So, what happens to people like me?”
Briar’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Usually, they’re erased.” He says it with the casual tone of someone discussing dessert options. “That’s my job in the wheel of power.”
He takes my hand again. “Come.”
I could fight, but I follow, allowing him to lead me up a staircase until we hit the third floor. He heads down a hall, through a door that reveals a penthouse type of suite and through the glass doors. It’s chilly outside, but the view is breathtaking.
The air is thinner up here, or maybe it’s just the way he fills it. I make a fist with my free hand to keep from shaking.
“So why am I still standing here?” I say. I want it to sound brave, but I think I miss.
He glances down at my hand, still clenched. “Because I haven’t decided what to do with you yet.”
There’s a hum in my chest, equal parts terror and exhilaration.
I take a breath, and the words come out before I can stop them. “Does this conversation end with you throwing me off the balcony, or…?”
He looks down, over the railing, then back at me. “That would be too public.”
The silence that follows is the longest of my life. My heart hammers, loud and wet, and my skin is clammy under the suit.
He steps in, closer than before, and lowers his voice. “You’re not as easy to read as I expected.”
I shrug, because if I move, I’ll run. “I’m just a numbers guy.”
Briar’s hand finds my jaw, fingers warm and steady. He tilts my face up, studies my eyes like he’s checking for a pulse. For one heartbeat, I think he might actually kiss me, but instead he traces a thumb across my cheek and let’s go.
He says, “You have beautiful eyes.” The words don’t sound like flattery, more like inventory.
I say, “Yours are better.” And instantly regret it, because it sounds dumb and childish.
He laughs, low and soft. “You’re quite something, aren’t you?”
“Uhhh, maybe. I don’t really know what you want from me, to be honest. One minute I think you’re gonna kill me and the next you look at me like you want to devour me.”
For a second, I think I’ve said the wrong thing, but Briar’s expression shifts. He seems almost pleased.
He leans in again, lips near my ear. “That’s the part holding me back from snapping your neck.”
“You still haven’t told me your name,” I stutter.
He considers, then says, “Briar Harrington.”
It sucks the air from my lungs. I recognize the surname from the press releases, the board meetings, the filings I’ve been digging through for weeks. My mind runs down a list of possible connections, most of them dangerous.
He sees the recognition, and his mouth curves. “Now you know.”
I try to step back, but his hand holds me in place.
Briar whispers, “Don’t look so scared. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it already.”
“That’s not reassuring,” I say.
He laughs again, and it’s almost—almost—kind. “You’re wondering why you’re still alive.”
It’s not a question, but I nod.
He reaches up, and removes my mask. For a second, I’m naked. I want to snatch it back, but Briar just turns it over in his hands, studying the cheap elastic, the smudge of paint on the left cheek. “Homemade?” he asks.
I nod.
He smiles, faint and fond. “Keep it. It suits you.”
He hands it back, and I don’t know what to do except hold it.
He says, “I like you, Landon. It’s inconvenient, but there it is.
There’s something… electric about you and I can’t help but wonder how you’d feel submitting to me.
Now, you must understand… this isn’t something that happens often for me.
Usually my playthings die under my hands, but you… I want you to bend.”
He brushes my hair off my forehead, then lets his hand fall to his side. I’m too shocked to say anything. To move. To breathe.
How could this beast of a man feel some kind of way about me? He doesn’t know anything about me.
Briar lets me stand there for a minute, not saying anything. He stands at my side, his profile defined against the dark. I feel him watch me, gauging how I’ll react.
He moves to the rail, leaning with one hip against it. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says, gesturing at the city.
I nod. “Makes you wonder how many people you could lose from up here before anyone noticed.”
He smiles, full and bright. “You’re not nearly as boring as your file made you out to be.”
That makes me laugh, and I feel some of the fear bleed off. I step up to the rail, grip it with both hands. My knuckles whiten, not from cold but from trying not to tremble. I look down, counting the floors, the distance.
Briar says, “You’re thinking of jumping?”
“No,” I say, and it’s the truth. “If I was going to, I’d have done it years ago.”
He hums, like he approves of the answer. “I don’t like people who throw things away.”
I glance at him, at the way the wind ruffles his hair. It’s lighter out here, almost gold. There’s nothing accidental about the way he’s put together, and it makes me feel even more fake, with my outgrown jacket and the mask still dangling from my fingers.
He doesn’t break eye contact. “You’re still scared of me.”
I want to say no, but I can’t. So I just stare at the lights below and say, “Shouldn’t I be?”
He shrugs, like it’s an old joke. “I suppose.”
We’re quiet for a while. My body wants to fidget, but I force myself to stay still, to match his composure. He makes it look effortless, like he’s practiced being the only thing in a room worth seeing.
He says, “Tell me what you see when you look down there, at the city crawling beyond the estate.”
I squint, and the city wobbles. “A lot of people who don’t know what’s really happening.”
He nods, satisfied. “And what happens if they find out?”
I answer honestly. “They’ll panic, or they’ll pretend it isn’t real. But most of them will just keep going.”
He turns to face me fully, arms crossed now, and for the first time I notice a ring on his finger—a simple gold band, no stone. “And you?” he asks. “Why did you have to dig?”
I think about it. “Someone hired me and then it became an obsession. It bothered me that the numbers didn’t add up. I didn’t care who got caught, as long as I could make the puzzle make sense.”
He’s quiet, and in that silence I hear the orchestra switch songs, something familiar but slowed down, like a pop song rewritten as a requiem.
“I believe you,” he says, and it feels like a test I didn’t know I was taking.
Then he steps in, closer than before. “You have a choice, Landon. You can choose to stay… as mine. You’d be under my protection, but also be mine to do with what I please.
You’d be afforded the protections I can offer within my power under House Harrington.
You can choose to walk away… but then I’d have to dispatch you. ”
The implication is clear. My heart thuds in my chest.
“Not much of a choice, is it? What happens if I stay?” I ask, and my voice comes out steady.
He lets the silence draw out, then says, “You get to see how the other half lives.”
My mind runs through a thousand scenarios, none of them ending well, but I’m too stubborn to quit. “Fine,” I say. “Option one it is.”
“Excellent choice. Let’s celebrate, pet.”
He leads me to the far side of the balcony, where there’s a small table set with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He uncorks the bottle with a flick of his wrist, pours us both a measure. The wine is almost black, and the glass is thin enough that I’m afraid to touch it.
He raises his glass, and I follow suit.
“To the people who don’t break,” he says.
We drink. The wine is expensive and tastes like nothing I’ve ever had. I want to say something witty, but my mouth is dry. Instead I watch him, the way his lips curve around the glass, the way his eyes never leave mine.
He sets his glass down, steps around the table, and stands behind me. His hands land on my shoulders, gentle at first, then more insistent. He’s not hurting me, but there’s no mistaking who’s in control.
“Why are you giving me a choice?” I ask, voice barely above the wind.
He squeezes my shoulders, then lets his hands slide down my arms. “Because your weakness makes me want to protect you. Maybe because you’re not even trying to hide the fact that you’re a little lamb in a den of wolves.
Maybe because you didn’t even try to lie.
I appreciate honesty. I can’t explain the pull because I don’t even understand it.
You’re not my usual type, and yet… I keep picturing you bent over this railing. ”
I turn, and we’re so close I can see the flecks of silver in his eyes.
He says, “You remind me of something fragile. Something worth preserving.”
I don’t know if that’s a compliment, or a warning.
He steps back, gives me space. “Come inside,” he says, and I do.
We leave the balcony behind, but the cold air follows us in, tingling across my skin. The lights are lower here, the furniture arranged like a set for an interrogation. Briar sits, and I sit opposite him.
He cocks his head, watching me. “Since you agreed to be mine, I want you to understand the rules. I want you to respect them.”
“And if I can’t?”
He sighs, like I’m a slow student. “Then we’ll do things my way.”
My mouth is dry. “Which is?”
He leans in, nose brushing my cheek, and says, “I’ll break you so clean, you won’t even remember you wanted to fight.”
I believe him.
“You will stay here, in my penthouse, until such a time as it’s safe to move you to my permanent residence. Once there, we will set up the boundaries of our relationship.”
“Relationship?” I swallow around my Adam’s apple, fear suddenly curling in my gut. Death would have been an easier choice and suddenly I regret not choosing option two.
He chuckles and the sound rumbles. “Yes, my little nerd, relationship. But for tonight… it’s Valentine’s, and I intend to intoxicate you until you can’t think straight. And then I intend to fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”
My head nods in spite of my best efforts to control myself.
Answers will have to wait…
It appears I am going to undergo a different kind of interrogation process.