Chapter 13 – Chrissy
Chapter
Thirteen
CHRISSY
I slumped back against the door of my room and exhaled, sharp and shallow.
What the hell was that?
Jacob wasn’t just the man who’d changed my tire anymore.
He wasn’t just the man who’d kissed me in a moment that never should’ve happened.
Somehow, Jacob kept looking at me like he already knew the shape of my choices, even the ones I hadn’t made yet, and my god…
being seen like that did things to me. He was the man who’d stepped between me and elimination, the man who’d put his whole livelihood on the line for me, the man who kept looking at me like he knew a thousand things about me I didn’t know yet.
And now we were bound together in a game I didn’t fully understand, and his entire future hinged on my performance.
The guilt hit like a punch, hot and sickening.
Had I messed up the Game already? Had I jeopardized everything just by letting him get too close?
I ran a hand through my hair, still trembling. I pushed off the door and kicked off my heels one at a time, the soft thump of them hitting the rug louder than it should’ve been in the cavernous silence. My toes sank into the carpet, but it didn’t ground me. Nothing could.
I paced the length of the room — three steps to the bed, three steps back to the door — trying to find enough oxygen to make my brain work.
Jacob’s warning replayed in my head like a movie reel stuck on loop.
Be careful. The boss is a jealous man.
A jealous man. The words shouldn’t have made my pulse skip. They damn sure shouldn’t have made something low in my stomach go tight, but they did.
Because jealous meant… what, exactly? Was he dangerous? Controlling? Possessive? Or just… invested?
I swallowed hard.
Was that really the kind of man I was supposed to marry? Someone who inspired fear in a man like Jacob? Someone who controlled entire rooms without raising his voice? Someone who could make or break a life with a few lines in a contract?
Someone who might one day look at me and think I belonged to him?
My breath stuttered, and I hated the part of me that didn’t recoil from the idea.
What would it even feel like to be wanted that way? To be claimed? To be… hoarded? What would it feel like to be protected so fiercely it crossed the line into possessiveness?
Had anyone in my life ever looked at me like I was valuable enough to guard?
God, that thought alone was humiliating.
Because maybe — deep in the smallest, stupidest part of me — it sounded intoxicating. Not the control or the fear, but the idea of being wanted so much that someone fought for me. The idea of being chosen, kept, and even treasured.
I rubbed my hands over my face, mortified at myself. This was exactly how girls got eaten alive by men like that.
What if Jacob wanted me like that? What if he was the one who fought for me?
It didn’t matter anyway because I wasn’t allowed to want Jacob, and I didn’t know a damn thing about Mr. Stonewood besides his money, his power, and the fact that he apparently had a jealousy problem big enough that it needed to be spoken out loud as a warning.
He was a stranger, one who might control my entire future… a stranger I was supposed to impress enough that he’d pick me… one I might end up married to in less than two weeks.
My stomach dropped.
Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
That was the only reason I was here. That was the reason I had to win. I needed the money and that was that.
I needed to stop drowning. I needed a future where I wasn’t waking up every morning in survival mode, even if it meant tying myself to a man whose jealousy put Jacob on edge. Even if it meant suppressing whatever this… thing… was between me and Jacob before it ruined both of us.
Even if I had to choose a stranger over the one person in this place who’d shown me real kindness.
I stopped pacing and pressed my forehead against the cool wood of the door.
“I can’t screw this up,” I whispered. “Not for me. Not for him. Not for Granny.”
But my heart was still racing from two different men for two very different reasons.
And that terrified me into motion. I needed to find something to do with my hands.
I didn’t even mean to unpack. It just kind of…
happened because I needed something to ground me.
So, I dragged my suitcase onto the bed and started folding things into drawers: socks, sweaters, a satin nightie I wasn’t sure I’d have the guts to wear.
Toothbrush in the bathroom. Lip balm on the nightstand.
Each little task was a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
The room was… perfect, rustic and luxurious all at once, with thick rugs underfoot, rich wood-paneled walls, and a view of the dark trees just beyond the frost-kissed window. The bed was big and plush, draped in a heavy down comforter and crisp white sheets that smelled faintly like cedar.
It was too much, too tailored and on the nose, like maybe someone had studied me, then built a room meant to feel like safety. Or perhaps seduction.
A chill slid down my spine.
I turned to the head of the bed, intending to fluff the pillows, needing something else to focus on, and only then remembering what Jacob had said – that I would find something on the bed – and that’s when I saw it…
another envelope. It was thicker than the one from before, and heavier, too.
My name wasn’t on the front. No seal. No flourish. It was just… waiting for me.
I picked it up with both hands and opened it carefully, breath catching in my throat as I pulled out the single sheet of thick, cream-colored paper inside.
There were three rules typed at the top of the page:
Remember, little doll: no names, no kissing, no falling in love.
My heart stuttered.
Beneath that, there were lines of precise, elegant writing, not typed, but handwritten. Someone had taken the time to make it painstakingly neat, almost calligraphy.
Tonight, you will undergo a one-on-one interview with me.
You will sit at the edge of the bed.
You will put on the blindfold provided.
You will answer every question truthfully.
You will submit to any necessary punishments, as per the terms of your contract.
You will not remove the blindfold until you are told to do so.
Failure to comply will be considered grounds for elimination.
My mouth went dry. I looked up.
The blindfold was already draped across the pillows, its black silk, neatly folded, as if it was patiently waiting for me. It was almost as if someone knew I’d stand here and read this, with my hands shaking, and my heart beating too fast and too loud.
It felt like the room itself was watching me, somehow.
Everything inside me buzzed.
This was it, the moment, the point in every movie where the girl hears the eerie music start and decides to go anyway and seals her fate.
This wasn’t just a game anymore, it was real. I looked at the door.
I could leave.
I could pack up, head downstairs, demand my keys, and drive until the lodge was just a ghost in the rearview, until the man with the scar and the unseen billionaire pulling everyone’s strings both went back to being memories I’d convince myself I’d imagined.
But did I move? No, and I didn’t even want to because deep down — beneath the nerves, the doubt, and the lingering guilt — I already knew the truth.
I wanted this. I needed it, not just for the money. Not just for the chance to get Granny Irene out of the ‘balance due’ column forever, either.
I wanted to be seen and judged worthy. I wanted, more than anything, to be chosen, for once in my life. Even more, I wanted to know what it felt like to hand over control and become someone else, just for a little while, even if it meant following rules that made my chest tighten.
No names.
No kissing.
No falling in love.
I smoothed the skirt of my green dress down over my thighs, then tucked a loose piece of hair behind my ear, like that would somehow make me braver.
Then I sat on the edge of the mattress, spine straight, knees together, hands resting palms-down on either side of me to keep them from trembling in my lap.
I sucked in a deep breath and reached for the blindfold.
The silk slid cool through my fingers as I tied it in place with clumsy care, tightening it until I could see nothing but black.
The world narrowed to sensation and sound.
My own breath was what I heard first, too fast and too shallow, but real.
Then came the sounds of the room, its quiet hum, the tick of a distant clock, the soft groan of old wood settling beneath me. Somewhere, farther away, the wind dragged its fingers along the side of the lodge.
I fidgeted, picking at my silk skirt, savoring the smooth fabric as it slid through my fingers over and over and over.
What had this dress cost Mr. Stonewood? Probably more than my entire wardrobe combined, if I had to hazard a guess.
I did my best to sit still, perched on the edge of the bed like someone waiting for judgment. No… like someone who was begging for it.
I should’ve been terrified, and part of me was, just… not enough to change anything.
I stopped worrying at my skirt, and folded my hands loosely in my lap so I wouldn’t cling to the blanket like a lifeline.
Sucking in another deep breath, I forced my shoulders to relax, and tried to remember how to breathe like a normal human being, not a woman who’d just offered herself up to the unknown for seven hundred and fifty thousand reasons.
If you pass, Granny never has to hear the words ‘past due balance’ again.
The thought almost brought tears to my eyes, but a soft knock startled them back. Just three quiet raps, precise and controlled.
“Miss Jones.” The voice was muffled by the door, but something about it slid under my skin.
The sound was somehow familiar, but certainly not Jacob. He was rougher. Warmer. All gravel and heat and barely leashed concern. My heart dropped a little, one desperate hope dashed.