Chapter 44
TAKING CREDIT
The room is plunged into darkness.
Terror seizes my core. I already felt trapped in a room full of predators. Hard enough to face in broad daylight. But in the dark? Now that’s just downright unfair.
No one screams. No one claps.
The darkness stretches for one heartbeat.
Two.
Then, with a steady hum, the lights spring to life, revealing a sea of faces whose expressions range from bewilderment to concern to amusement.
V doesn’t hesitate. He starts clapping. Firm, fast, and loud.
Others soon follow suit, until the room explodes in applause.
I stand on jelly legs, offering the best curtsy I can muster.
Mister M swaggers in from God-knows-where, dressed in a full crimson suit, with a sharp black tie and a cocky smirk to match. He claps slowly, clearly relishing the attention. When he reaches the stage, he pivots to face the still-stunned audience.
“Wasn’t she lovely? It’s such a privilege to have been the one to train her. An honor to call her mine.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. Here he is.
The man who has done positively everything in his power to ruin my every opportunity and tear down my hopes and dreams has decided I’m now worthy of his affections.
To top it all off, he’s patting himself on the back for merely standing in the same room as my “success.” I wait for V to argue, to snap back with something dry and witty.
But he’s quiet. He presses his lips together, as if to tell me he’s holding his tongue, and I should as well.
Mister M turns to V, face etched in cruelty. “Thank you for babysitting, Harrow. I’ll take it from here.”
I turn to protest, but V shakes his head, shoulders tense. Frustration and hurt linger behind his eyes.
“Dance with me, won’t you?” Mister M outstretches a hand. The only thought that dares cross my mind is how much I would love to spit in his face. Unfortunately, there are a few too many people lingering a few feet too close. I offer him a curt nod.
“I’d be honored,” I hear myself say. He wastes no time taking my hand in his and yanking me away from V.
His hand finds my waist possessively as we assume a starting position.
As always, his timing is impeccable. We join the dance floor just as a new piece begins. It’s slower, melodic and floaty. Nice.
Well…it would be. If I were with someone else. Anyone else, actually. I’d rather twirl around the dance floor with Doctor Carr than be stuck with Mister M. But here we are. Three steps. Glide. Turn.
“Incredible work, 214,” he starts. My stomach dips.
Even here, he won’t use my name. “You know, I almost believed you were sincere." He smiles like it’s praise. My expression falters. He clocks it immediately. “Don’t fret, little star. No one else noticed.” He slows long enough to brush a hand down my cheek.
“Still, it’s a shame. Such ugly lies for a pretty girl. ”
My heart flutters at the half-compliment, before I remember who uttered it. Now repulsed with myself, I draw his arm up, forcing my way under it in an incredibly stiff turn. He catches my waist again, tighter this time.
“Now, now, you’re supposed to be following my lead.
” He lets out a chuckle that turns humorless halfway through.
“You seem to forget that more and more each day.” He pulls me back more forcefully, throwing my body into the moves like he used to in ballroom basics.
For a moment, I allow myself to be pulled around like a rag doll in hopes it’ll get this over with faster. It only displeases him further.
“Feeling mad, little star?” he taunts.
“Do you want me to be mad?” I retort through my teeth.
“It’s certainly more fun that way.”
My heel lands on his foot. Half on purpose, half because he’s moving us impossibly fast. Mister M’s teeth grit, but his smile only widens. He tightens his hold until my chest slams into his. Our foreheads almost touch. I try to wrench back, but his grip is firm.
“That’s more like it.” He drags a thumb down my cheek. “Defiance looks good on you.”
The dance concludes, but he’s still watching me.
There’s another wave of familiarity in the gold dancing in his irises.
I will myself to look away, now aware of the figure approaching us.
An older man claps Mister M on the back, balancing a sloshing glass in his other hand.
“Ashford! That was quite the performance. Your parents must be proud. Such a shame they couldn’t make it. ”
Mister M bristles, smile flickering so briefly I might’ve imagined it. He laughs politely, squeezing my arm tight enough to sting and guiding me in front of him like a shield.
“They’re attending a board dinner,” he says evenly. “Optics, priorities, all that. They trust me to make a suitable impression.” If he’s trying to hide the strain in his voice, it isn’t working.
The investor nods anyway, oblivious. “Ah—yes. Send them my regards.”
He takes his leave. I brace myself for whatever command Mister M has loaded up to bark at me next, only to find his gaze fixed somewhere behind me. No doubt on the girl he’s abandoned in the corner.
“Shouldn’t you be with Avery?” I ask innocently. There’s a pang in my heart as her name escapes me. I don’t feel pity for him; not really, at least. His jaw tightens.
“Don’t.”
“It was an honest—”
“Don’t,” he repeats, gripping my arm. “Don’t presume to know me.
Don’t presume to know her. Don’t feel pity for a situation you know nothing about.
” The edge of his lip twitches as he casts a look across the ballroom.
There’s a sharp inhale. A sigh. Then he snaps his gaze back to me.
A cold smile spans his face. “Let’s go. There’s more patrons I’d like to show you off to. ”
Hours pass, even if the clock claims it’s only been twenty minutes. The attendees seem to be multiplying. We finish with one couple and suddenly there are eight more. I’m the talk of the town after my light-altering performance, which is…not what I was going for.
On the bright side, I don’t have to take the lead.
Mister M is undeniably charming, and more than eager to do all the talking.
Most investors regard him with familiarity.
Hugs, compliments, fond stories of past gatherings.
I smile when required, dance when asked, but my eyes stay alert.
Scanning the room for anything and everything.
I spot V a few times as he works his way through the room.
I’m not surprised Mister M can perform this well; he was built for empty smiles and haughty laughter. Something tells me he’s been attending these sorts of gatherings since he first learned to gloat. Which, if I had to guess, was about five minutes after he learned to talk.
V’s skills, on the other hand, are admittedly startling.
People seem to flock to him. They hang on his every word, though he speaks few.
He offers easy smiles. Laughs too loud to be natural.
Drinks when others lead. He casts me a few sidelong glances, cueing subtly as he speaks.
Mask up. Reset. Mirror stance. Things Mister M would never catch.
Enforcers are milling everywhere. Posted along the back walls. Lingering by the stage. Some are intermixed in the group, accompanying girls and investors alike.
“—rebuilt remarkably.” Mister M’s stray words catch. I haven’t been paying attention, but a strange tug in my chest tells me this is important.
“Hm?” I ask, curiosity piqued.
“Nothing,” he says dismissively, swatting the air. “Be a doll and fetch Mr. Yoshida another drink. One for me as well.” I nod, stepping back. He catches my shoulders as I turn. “Hurry back. Wouldn’t want the little star getting lost.”