Chapter 23 Eva
EVA
It’s a disaster.
He is here. Not just him. All of them. Each one scarier than the next.
Seriously, I’m not sure who I’m more afraid of. Grandpa, who has never been so silent; Dan, who is acting like he is the emperor of the world; Reginald Grant, who is more dangerous calm, than Thomas Pike angry; or Mason who has been recklessly hunting me around the ballroom all bloody night.
Is he crazy?
I can’t speak to him here.
Not after the very public altercation between our families.
After leaving him at that hilltop three days ago, I didn’t know when I would see Mason again.
Dan has found some event or the other for me to attend, even dragging me to his boring meetings, slowly but surely, postponing my return.
He even went so far to arrange one-to-one virtual sessions with my professors, where I couldn’t hide in the back with my head down.
A part of me is relieved to see Mason, another is horrified at the prospect of being seen with him.
It doesn’t help that he's wearing a dark brown fitted suit that draws out the molten chocolate of his eyes and does nothing to hide the sculpted power beneath.
His dominant, merciless presence pulls focus the way it always does—effortlessly, undeniably.
Even from across the room, he exudes that pull, gravity wrapped in arrogance.
But I can’t. Not tonight.
I try my best to avoid him. Faking conversations with strangers who smile at me from all directions, or downing glasses of champagne to ease the nerves—something I have been practicing for the last few days.
But when he drifts closer still, chasing me around the hall, I ask Grandpa to join me on the dance floor.
Even though my feet are like stone, walking on these foot-eaters all night.
Still, he doesn’t give up.
Casually leaning on the pillar in my eye line, Mason watches me like a hawk. I refuse to meet his gaze. One slip, one brief moment of eye contact is all it will take.
Grandpa leads the waltz, like he used to when I was a child. The same way he used to dance with Mum.
I look at my grandfather’s weary face, and my mind puzzles.
The man of the hour—the guest of honor, the respected real-estate mogul, the evil private corporate head.
And all I see is—Grandpa. My same old, still reads a newspaper, watches black-and-white films, sleeps with lights on, grandfather. Is that delusional?
“I’m sorry you had to see that, hon,” Grandpa says as I stare at his wrinkled face. “But it’s time you know who our friends are, and who aren’t.”
“Your friends. Your enemies.” I make it clear, my voice steadier than I expected. “Not mine.”
“You are part of this now.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “But I’m building a Chinese wall.”
He laughs at the reference.
“You are a copy-paste of your mother; you know that.”
“I take that as a compliment.” I flash a smile.
Grandpa grins, the lines of his face growing deeper. Then he looks over my shoulder.
“Can I cut in?” A voice comes from behind me.
Nick appears out of nowhere, asking for a dance?
Hell, no.
“Archibald, of course.” Grandpa spins me toward him. “Mind her, she steps on your feet,” he warns.
Nick takes my hand. And it takes all my will not to jerk it away. Before I can protest, his arm wraps around me. My peripheral vision practically catches fire as Mason’s gaze burns a hole in my face. I keep my eyes fixed on my feet, the safest place to look right now.
“Hey.” Nick smiles.
“Hey,” I mumble. “What’s this?”
“Dad wants me to be nice to you and get ahead of them.” He jerks his chin toward the group of guys laughing on the balcony. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’m the best of that lot.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Nick’s hand drifts down my back, and my spine turns to ice. The chatter around us blurs. His touch may as well be a stain slowly spreading across my body.
I shouldn’t have. I really shouldn’t have. But I do. I sneak a peek toward Mason and—instant regret.
Mason’s eyes are dark and feral. He looks like an animal ready to hunt—to break and tear. Nick, oblivious, keeps swaying me under the chandelier, soaking in the attention from the crowd with a smug smile, utterly unaware of the threat. Then he leans in, his breath brushing against my ear.
“You know you’ve really grown into yourself. You look damn hot in that dress. Etheridge glamor suits you.” Nick’s eyes peer down my cleavage.
Okay, how long is this song? I need to get away from Nick before—
Nick’s hand lowers to my arse, and I gasp.
Crack!
My feet halt mid-step at the sight of broken glass in Mason’s hand, red dripping from the shards stuck in his palm. But he doesn’t even flinch. Our eyes catch and hold. A silent current sparks between us, making me jerk away from Nick and shrug him off.
But it’s too late.
Mason doesn’t stop to pull the shards out of his hand, or for the waiter who offers him a napkin, or to hear Hugo’s urgent words. No, he doesn’t wait another beat. He storms toward me, force and fury in every step.
“What?” Nick asks with furrowed brows, still clueless.
“I’m going to be sick,” I say, my hand flying to my stomach.
Then I whip around and make a run for it. Randomly, I head in the opposite direction to Mason, aimlessly hastening toward pockets of crowds, busy in polite chatter and whispered laughs. Anywhere but here.
Did anyone notice?
I search for Dan. He is in the far corner, deep in conversation with three businessmen. Grandpa is back with Lord Devereux. Mason’s father is with a man in a pocket-watch suit and Thomas Pike near the balcony. None of them is looking. Yet.
But the guards on the steps are. I slow my pace a little and give them a pursed smile until I find a hallway.
Unable to walk two more steps in these bloody heels, I rip them off my feet and break into a sprint.
I glance over my shoulder, my breath coming harsher.
He’s following steadily behind me. Sharp, unflinching eyes tracking my steps.
He could catch up with me in a flash, but he’s enjoying the hunt. Taking pleasure in making me run.
“Watch out, miss,” a voice calls, when I almost run into one of the staff carrying empty glasses on a tray.
I hold one palm up, and splutter a quick apology, but don’t slow down.
Veering a sharp left, I head down a quieter hallway, carrying my shoes in one hand, hoping to find a ladies’ room I can hide in.
But I’m out of time.
One look over my shoulder and I trip over my own feet. Mason grabs me by the elbow before I fall.
“Caught you, little dove,” he snarls into my hair.
I shriek as he lifts me off the floor, whirls me around, and shoves me into the nearest room.
He sets me on my feet in the center of the dark room. My head spins around in all directions, in the large, cold, stately room that carries a faint scent of vanilla. We are in Lord Devereux’s study.
He shuts the door with a loud clack.
“Mason, your hand.” I gasp as he drips blood on the pristine beige carpet.
His eyes move to his palm. He rips a shard out and chucks it on the floor, then continues to storm toward me like a man on the verge. I flinch away until my back hits the desk, and my shoes drop to the floor. And then he is towering over me.
Tension crackles like electricity in the air between us, claiming my every breath.
“What did I say about letting another man touch you?” he growls.
“I didn’t.”
“You did,” he spits, inching closer. “A few days back with your family and you’ve already forgotten who you belong to.”
His fingers curl around the diamond necklace on my neck, and he yanks it off, the chain grinding against my skin, leaving a long red mark. Diamonds stained with blood clank against the mahogany desk.
“You are coming with me. Right now.”
“No.” I shake my head. The heat radiating off him, the intensity in those brown eyes coursing through my bloodstream, raising my temperature.
“I wasn’t asking.” He begins working his phone.
“Mason, stop.” I snatch his mobile. “You can’t take me.
I had to make up a lot of lies to convince everyone you didn’t kidnap me in the first place.
Didn’t you see what happened out there? My family, yours, the guards.
There are police outside…” I breathe out, but my words do nothing to quiet his rage.
“You should have thought about that before you let that slimy prick touch what’s mine,” he roars, then grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the door.
“No, wait…” I screech, pulling free of his hold, clutching the edge of the desk, and grounding my feet.
“Eva, don’t fuck with me,” he grits, leaning in. “No one will stop me from taking you tonight. I’ll kill any fucker who tries.”
He reaches for my elbow, but I wrap my hands around his neck, rise onto my toes, and press my lips to his.
Smoke and whiskey hit me, bitter and burning, my own private flavor of ruin.
He doesn’t kiss me back. Just lets me move my lips against his.
Allowing me to savor his taste, dive into my twisted indulgence as I try to thaw him out of his rage.
But as soon as my tongue curls around his, he rips his mouth from mine, his hand flying to my throat, thumb landing on my pulse point.
“You think you can distract me that easily, princess?” he hisses. I freeze, my breath locked. He slowly trails up to my jaw, stroking. “Okay, little dove. I’ll make you a deal. If I pull up that sleeve and find you unmarked, I’ll let you stay. If not, you’ll come with me. Deal?”
His daring eyes turn darker with every second I remain silent. Because, of course, there are new marks under my sleeve. His nostrils flare. Without another warning, he grips my elbow, ready to drag me.
And there is only one way I can think of to stop him.
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
He halts, his eyes snap to mine, heat still radiating off him like an open flame.
“What was that, princess?” He arches an eyebrow.
“Fuck me,” I repeat, louder, my voice steadier.