Chapter 13
13
I should be grateful. Oliver changed his vote, sparing me from Pax Monroe’s sadism, but all I hear is him saying yes . Maybe it was a test. Maybe it was a performance. Either way, when it counted, he reversed course and stood between me and the dungeon.
But redemption doesn’t stand a chance when betrayal is still shouting, which is why I’m still furious.
He lounges across from me in a leather armchair, apparently unbothered after playing executioner and savior in the same breath. A glass of something expensive rests on the table beside him, untouched.
It’s all I can do not to glower, my emotional upheaval threatening to turn the sitting room to ash. The fireplace has nothing on me. If anything, those flames only feed my ire, spreading too much heat across my skin.
Oblivious, he flips through a thick binder of year-end financial projections, wire-rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose. Spreadsheets, budgets, numbers, he said. Something about the accounting coming due for Zodiac Corporation.
Not that I care. I’m filled with the kind of acidic emotion that seeps into everything, even the walls.
A harsh exhale escapes me as I drag my attention to Sebastian’s paintings. His style is unmistakable, defined by brooding texture and signature shadowplay. The woman from Oliver’s past haunts the room from those portraits, her presence chaperoning our every move.
How can Oliver stand it, the constant reminder of what he lost? Is the visual something he needs? Does the ache dull when he curates it, hanging his grief in frames for all to see?
I’m nowhere near that kind of acceptance.
I’m not ready to let go of my anger either.
Because after this morning’s trip to the dungeon, sympathy for Oliver Whitney eludes me. Maybe it’s buried under the shock somewhere, hiding in a place I can’t reach—not while my wrists still remember the threat of shackles.
He shifts in his seat, turns a page, and even the quiet brush of his fingertips on paper makes me cringe.
An hour ago, he dangled me in front of the Brotherhood, using my body to make a point before turning it into leverage, and now he’s going about work like it’s any other day? He’s too calm for someone who lit such a dangerous match.
And I’m too scorched to keep pretending I’m okay. “Where are you planning to take me?”
“You always do ask the right questions.” He sets the binder aside. “I like that about you.”
“Don’t.” My hands curl into fists. “Don’t act like this is a game. You were going to hand me over to Pax.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.” He tilts his head, chin in hand. “Or did you believe what I wanted you to believe?”
“That vote wasn’t some test! It was real.”
“And yet, here you are, untouched.”
I count to five, trying to weaken the storm inside me. “I want to know where you’re taking me.”
Rather than answering right away, he unfastens his cuffs and rolls the sleeves to his elbows. Then he lifts his glass, takes a leisurely sip, and says, “We’re going to the States.”
My heart jumps into my throat. “Why?”
“For an initiation.”
I don’t realize I’m clutching the edge of the chair until my knuckles turn white.
“Initiation into what ?” I demand.
“A private circle.” His eyes stay on mine, unblinking. “Invitation-only.”
“Private as in…a secret society?”
“Yes, but secrecy isn’t the only thing that binds them. These men have particular tastes, and they’re very interested in meeting you.”
My insides contract, something vital recoiling from the threat he hasn’t yet spelled out. “What do they want with me?”
“Your virginity.”
“No! You can’t do that. It’s a breach of contract.” I’m desperate enough to use the rules as a shield. “The Brotherhood will kick you out of the auction.”
“What makes you think I want to marry you?”
That stops me cold. Unwittingly, I glance at the woman in the paintings, shrinking under the display of her bondage.
“So you want to ruin me for whoever wins, is that it?”
“I’m not taking your virginity, Novalee. I’m only using it as my way-in. The men in this group appreciate rare commodities.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You and I will give them an exclusive show, leaving your virginity intact.”
“But…what do they get out of that?”
“Poetic irony. The act of defiling something so innocent while preserving your maidenhead.”
“ Maidenhead ?” I scoff. “What is this, the sixteenth century?”
“I don’t think they had Vance’s elixir back then.” His mouth curves into a sly grin. “You’ll be under the influence again. The virgin doesn’t get to climax at this event.”
My eyes widen. “I’m not going.”
“It’s not a request. After my favorable vote today, you owe me.”
“I don’t owe you a damn thing! You voted to punish me.”
“And then I saved you.” Rising from his seat, he stalks to where I’m sitting, amber liquid sloshing in his glass. Slowly, he sets the tumbler aside and invades my space, arms braced on the back of the chair.
He lowers his head, attention dipping to my cleavage. It’s a brief moment, but I feel that glance everywhere. Heat creeps up my neck, and the memory of him loitering in my doorway last night floats through my head.
The darkened room.
The soft light in the hall.
The weight of his stare.
The slide of my fingers through velvety flesh, every movement soaked with arousal.
The release that never came.
That same restless energy throbs at my core now, and I smash my thighs together. He’s stirring things I don’t want to feel, each spiral of need dragging me back to Liam.
Back to Sebastian, whose paintings suffocate me, every brushstroke a silent judgment.
Grief and anger collide in my chest, threatening to steal the air from my lungs. I grab hold of my anger with the last of my mental strength, and something long overdue snaps inside me.
With a hoarse cry, I slam my hands against his chest.
But he doesn’t budge.
Like stone absorbing a gust of wind, he takes it.
I rear back to strike again, and that’s when he grabs my wrists.
“You’re about to find yourself in trouble.” His grip tightens, eyes burning like he welcomes the fight.
And maybe he does.
Maybe he wants me angry.
“If you take me to the dungeon, you’ll lose leverage for your precious trip.”
“I didn’t say a thing about the dungeon.” His focus drops to my mouth.
The air thickens.
My breath stutters, but it isn’t fear pooling in my stomach.
It’s something far worse.
A ragged cry leaves me as I free myself from his grasp. He releases me without resistance, but he’s already one step ahead, winning the battle with his words.
“The trip is happening, Novalee. That’s not up for debate.”
“Liam won’t allow it.” I instill certainty into my voice, but the words ring hollow. “He’ll never give you permission.”
“The chancellor will do what’s necessary to keep you safe.”
He’s right, and that’s what guts me the most.
“Go to hell,” I shout, then storm toward the front entrance, my heels clicking against the marble. I don’t know where I’m going—I only know I can’t stand the sight of him a second longer. I wrench the door open and refuse to look back, even as his voice trails after me, smooth as silk.
“You can’t escape this.”
The door bangs shut behind me, and the sound ricochets through the foyer. My blood surges hot as the last ten minutes loop through my head.
Initiation offering.
Rare commodity.
No escape.
Just like the night Ford dangled me in front of Axel Ivermann, who later tried to…
Rape me.
The elevator stands in front of me, but I can’t bear to wait. I rush for the stairs, yanking the door open and charging upward, two steps at a time. Sharp gasps tear at my throat as the stairwell spins around me in a tornado of concrete, metal, and rage.
No footsteps follow. Did I slam the door in Astrid’s face? She must have been nearby, but in my blind fury, I can’t remember seeing her at all.
I don’t know how many flights I climb before my legs give out. Wheezing from the frantic ascent, I let my body move on instinct and push through the nearest exit.
Instantly, I recognize Sebastian’s floor.
I didn’t come here with intention. Somehow, my feet carried me to the one place I still belong. The air has an instant calming effect, infusing my lungs with the lingering scent of Sebastian’s oil paints and something that’s purely him .
I’m not the only one seeking comfort in his memory.
Lilith Astor sits slumped against his door, knees pulled to her chest. Dark hair falls in tangled waves around her shoulders, and her makeup is smudged, mascara tracking down her cheeks in black rivers.
I’ve never seen her like this, so disheveled, her designer clothes worn and wrinkled. As my pulse slows to normal, I close the distance and sink to the floor beside her.
Minutes pass as Lilith trembles, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Seeing her broken and human dissolves the last of my anger from the argument with Oliver.
We’ve never been close. She’s treated me like a rival from the start, but now we’re just two women sitting outside a door that won’t open, drowning in the same insurmountable grief.
Eventually, she lifts her eyes to mine, red-rimmed and swollen at the edges.
“I don’t know how to do this.” Her voice splinters as she lays a hand across the swell of her belly “Sebastian’s supposed to be here. You were supposed to raise her with him.”
I blink back tears. “It’s a girl?”
She nods, wiping at her face with trembling fingers, smearing the black streaks even more.
“I’m a disaster. I’ll make a terrible mother. I can’t do this without him.”
Empathy aches in my throat. “What about Vance?” I tiptoe the question out, testing the fragile ground of her complicated love life.
She gives a bitter laugh. “He won’t even look at me.”
“Because of the pregnancy?”
“Vance is…” The flutter of her wet lashes sends more moisture tracking down her cheeks.
“I hurt him too much. He’s prideful and possessive, not the kind of man you toy with and then ask to raise another man’s child.”
I recall the way they tore at each other on his birthday. He made me watch them that night, and yet I’d felt like an interloper, catching a glimpse of something volatile and private, a combustible coupling of two possessed souls.
“Have you asked him?”
“There’s no point.” She lets a beat pass. “We can’t marry. There’s no future for us.”
There’s so much I want to say. I could tell her she’s not as alone as she thinks she is.
Landon’s trying to redraw the lines, and if he, Liam, and the others succeed, the houses will finally be allowed to intermarry.
And then there’s the truth of all truths to break this delicate moment wide open…
She’s my half-sister.
But I don’t say any of it, leaving Landon to decide when it’s time to bring Lilith into the family secrets.
All I can do is reach for her hand, free of pride or judgment, my fingers lacing with hers as we both struggle through the pain.
“Talk to him,” I finally say. “Vance is completely in love with you. Don’t let another day go by without honoring that. You never know when fate might rip it away.”
“Why are you being kind to me?” She turns toward me, raccoon-eyed and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before. “I’ve been horrendous to you.”
“So was Sebastian in the beginning, but I saw him.” I pause, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I see you, Lilith. Vance will, too.”