Chapter 8 – Chrissy
Chapter
Eight
CHRISSY
Old Stonewood Hunting Lodge – Foyer
“Very well, Jacob will be your partner in the Game.”
For half a second, I thought my knees might give out.
The words hit like someone cutting the rope on a noose I hadn’t realized was already snug around my throat. Air rushed back into my lungs in a sharp, shaky inhale I couldn’t quite disguise.
I was staying. I wasn’t getting shoved out the front door and sent back to Stonewood proper, with my tail between my legs, before the Game even started. I still had a shot.
Granny Irene still had a shot at spending the remainder of her days in as much comfort as I could provide.
I let out a breath, slow and careful, like any wrong move might make someone snatch the offer back.
Across from me, Jacob stood with his head slightly bowed, hands loose at his sides like he hadn’t just volunteered to throw himself under a bus for a woman he barely knew.
I didn’t understand him, but I was also absurdly, stupidly grateful for him.
The man in the sharply pressed suit, whose eyes looked like they’d seen war, let his gaze rest on me for a heartbeat longer.
He had an air about him like he didn’t have time for anyone’s nonsense, and maybe he was deciding whether or not I was causing nonsense for him.
Finally, he shifted, addressing the room at large, his crisp, silky voice carrying easily through the foyer.
“For those of you who don’t yet know me,” he said, “my name is Henry. I’ll be serving as Master of Ceremonies for Mr. Stonewood’s Game.”
Master of Ceremonies.
Of course, the billionaire recluse had someone like this running point for him.
Henry looked like he’d been born with a security clearance and a three -piece suit.
I couldn’t imagine him ever being a child, and bit the inside of my cheek at the thought that he must have sprung fully formed from the god of private security’s trigger finger like something from a twisted myth.
Henry continued, “There will be a formal dinner at seven-thirty this evening, where you’ll formally meet each other and receive your first instructions.
However…” His attention cut back to me, pinning me in place.
“Given your late arrival and the… complication with your originally assigned partner, Miss Jones, Mr. Stonewood has not yet decided whether you’ll be permitted to attend. ”
My relief curdled.
“Seriously?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Because someone else broke the rules?”
Henry didn’t so much as blink.
“Mr. Stonewood is a man who values discipline and order,” he said. “You are already on thin ice. He’ll review the footage and make his decision before dinner.”
Footage? Right. Cameras. Of course there are cameras.
I swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting myself to speak again.
“For now,” Henry went on, “Jacob will escort you to your room. You are to remain there, door locked, until you’re given further instructions. If Mr. Stonewood allows you to join the others for dinner, you’ll be notified.”
Door locked.
The phrase scraped down my spine, even though I was the one who’d willingly walked into this place and signed a contract that basically told me I was a volunteer prisoner, if what Jacob hinted at in the truck and the light skimming I’d done on the contract were anything to go by. Maybe I was crazy…
Henry turned to Jacob next, that cool green gaze of his sharpening. I tensed and bit my lip. I didn’t like that look one bit.
“Don’t forget to report to Mr. Stonewood in the West Wing afterward,” he said. “You’ll have to answer for inserting yourself into the Game the way you did.”
Jacob’s jaw shifted, a small tic that told me more than any outburst would’ve. He kept his eyes lowered, voice rough but quiet.
“I couldn’t just let her lose the Game before it even started because her partner was a careless, horny bastard who only wanted to get laid,” he said.
A few of the other women tittered at that. One of them snorted. Heat prickled at the back of my neck.
Henry’s mouth pressed into a hard, thin line and the temperature in the room seemed to drop a good ten degrees.
“It will cost you,” he said. “I’m sure.”
Jacob didn’t hesitate. He looked up at Henry, his blue eyes blazing in a way that made my heart skip several beats.
“Worth it.”
His mouth twisted up in a crooked grin as his gaze shifted to me, and I couldn’t resist smiling back, even as something in my chest did a weird little lurch again.
Henry seemed satisfied, if you could call that expression anything close to satisfaction. He stepped back, already done with me, with us, turning toward a cluster of women in cocktail dresses that each probably cost more than my rent for the month.
“Miss Jones,” Jacob said softly, drawing my attention back to him. “If you’ll come with me.”
My fingers tightened around the handle of my suitcase. I nodded because I didn’t trust my voice not to crack, and followed him.
We crossed the foyer under a wash of chandelier light. My boots squeaked once on the polished floor. Voices hummed behind us, low and speculative, tracking us as we went.
Let them look, I thought, lifting my chin. I don’t give a shit what a single one of them thinks of me.
They weren’t the ones on the chopping block on the very first night of the game.
We moved down a side hallway that felt older than the foyer.
It was narrower, the walls closer in, lined with faded paintings and dark wood trim.
The heat vents rattled faintly somewhere in the bones of the building.
Underneath the faint scent of furniture polish and wood smoke from the fireplaces, I could smell old wood, cold air, and something evergreen.
“Sorry about all that,” Jacob said after a beat, his voice pitched low enough that it wouldn’t carry. “Henry’s… thorough.”
“That’s one word for it,” I muttered.
He huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh.
“The rules matter,” he said. “To him and to Mr. Stonewood. If they think someone’s here for the wrong reasons, they’d rather cut you loose early than waste their time.”
“And you?” I asked. “Do the rules matter to you?”
He hesitated just long enough for me to notice.
“They matter,” he said finally. “But sometimes… context matters more.”
We passed a tall, arched window. Outside, the sky was already bruising toward full dark, clouds heavy and low. I could see the curve of the drive, the bare tops of trees, a hint of ice starting to slick over the stone steps.
Inside, my skin still buzzed from that moment in the foyer, from Henry’s warning in particular. The threat of being escorted out had left me uneasy, and the way that Jacob had stepped up without even flinching made me ache in a way I couldn’t explain.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.
He wasn’t what most people would call traditionally handsome.
But to me? He was devastatingly beautiful in a tragic sort of way, like a priceless painting that had been damaged, but was somehow more interesting and valuable because of it.
That scar should’ve made people stare for the wrong reasons.
I imagined that it made most people flinch, look away, and/or pretend they hadn’t seen it.
I’d seen that before, in the hardware store.
The way one cashier had gone pale and the other acted like Jacob might be more likely to rob the store because of his facial scarring.
But the longer I looked, the less I saw ‘ruined’ and the more I saw a story carved into his skin, one of strength built over pain… a story of survival.
The scars didn’t make him less. They made him more.
My fingers tightened on the suitcase handle again, itching with the stupid, reckless urge to reach up and trace them, one by one.
Congratulations, Chrissy. You’re officially losing your mind.
We turned up a flight of stairs, then down another hallway. This one was quieter, with no voices leaking under the doors. There was only the thump of my heart and the steady rhythm of Jacob’s boots on polished hardwood.
He stopped in front of a door near the end.
“Eighteen,” he said, nodding toward the brass number plate. “That’s you.”
“Of course it is,” I muttered.
I got here last, so of course I’m number eighteen… last to arrive and last in line.
He produced a key and unlocked the door. It swung inward on a room straight out of one of those historical dramas Granny liked to watch on her good days.
I catalogued everything as my gaze swept around the room.
High ceilings. Heavy drapes framing tall windows.
A four-poster bed with white linens and a dark, carved wood headboard.
A wardrobe big enough to hide in. Doors to the left and to the right.
A small seating area near the windows. A fireplace, cold for now, but laid with kindling.
It was beautiful, and it felt like a very nicely furnished prison cell.
Jacob stepped in first, flipping a switch on the wall. The lamps warmed the corners of the room, chasing shadows back into hiding.
“Bathroom’s through there,” he said, nodding toward a door on the left.
“Closet’s there.” He motioned to the right, then moved to the wardrobe, opened it, and revealed a neat row of dresses in deep jewel tones and classic cuts, each on a padded hanger.
“There should be a few options in approximately your size, in case Mr. Stonewood decides you’re allowed at dinner tonight. ”
I stared at the dresses. Silk. Satin. Lace. I couldn’t begin to imagine how much they’d cost whoever had purchased them.
“So he just… had someone guess my size?” I asked. “Is that hot or creepy?”
It came out drier than I meant it to, edged with nerves.
Jacob’s mouth twitched.
“Henry’s quite good at guessing a person’s size based on nothing more than a photograph,” he said. “He’s got an uncanny knack for it.”
My head snapped toward him.
“What photograph?”
He met my gaze, and for a half-second something like regret flashed there.