18. The Dinner #2
We stand. Resume the performance. But something has changed. Carlo didn't need to know the mechanics of the Protocol to hurt us. He just needed to remind me that before I was a "companion," I was a person. And that Sebastian has a history of turning people into ghosts.
Carlo told me Sebastian would punish me for not loving him.
Is this what it looks like?
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of faces and forced pleasantries.
Sebastian introduces me to people I've memorized from photographs. I deliver my practiced responses. No one seems particularly interested in me, which is exactly the point.
Carlo appears across the room occasionally, watching. Always watching. The woman in red stays at his side, silent and hollow-eyed, and I think about what Sebastian said. That she was a singer, before. That she doesn't speak now.
That could have been me.
Should have been me, if Bennett had his way.
"One more," Sebastian says quietly. "Alexa Rain. Then we're done."
Alexa Rain turns out to be a sharp-faced woman in silver, her eyes calculating behind a practiced smile.
"Sebastian. And this must be your latest project." Alexa's gaze rakes over me without warmth. "She's not your usual type."
"I don't have a type."
"Don't you." Alexa's smile sharpens. "The last one was dark-haired too. But she had more... fire. Before you extinguished it."
"Chloe suits my current needs."
"I'm sure she does." Alexa turns to me directly. "And how are you finding the arrangement, my dear? Sebastian has such... specific methods of ensuring loyalty."
"The arrangement is adequate."
"Adequate." Alexa laughs. A brittle, joyless sound. "You're very composed. I wonder how long that lasts. I've seen what his influence does to women. It starts with 'adequate' and ends with..." She trails off, her eyes glittering. "Well. You'll find out."
"Alexa." Sebastian's voice is sharp enough to cut. "We were just leaving."
"Of course you were." Alexa's smile doesn't waver. "Give my regards to your process, darling. Whatever it is you do to them... it certainly is effective."
She drifts away into the crowd.
I stand very still. They suspect. They all suspect something. Drugs, brainwashing, conditioning. But they don't know. And that ignorance makes them look at me not with pity, but with a kind of horrified fascination. Like I'm walking into a buzzsaw and telling them it's just a breeze.
"We're leaving." Sebastian's hand is on my back again, propelling me toward the exit. "Now."
We retrieve our coats in silence. The valet brings the car. We climb inside, the partition already raised, and Sebastian doesn't speak until we're blocks away from the building.
"What Carlo said. About Margot."
"I don't need to know."
"You heard her name. You'll want to know."
"What I want is to finish my contract and leave." I stare out the window at the passing city. "Your past is your business. It doesn't affect our arrangement."
The silence that follows is heavy. His gaze presses against the space between us, loaded with things he wants to say.
"She was the first woman I thought I loved." The words come out rough. Like they're being dragged from somewhere deep. "I gave her everything. The collar, the access, my trust. She used all of it to destroy me."
"I know. Carlo explained."
"Carlo explained what he wanted you to hear." Sebastian's voice hardens. "He wanted you to think I'm dangerous to the women I care about. That wanting more from me leads to destruction."
"Doesn't it?"
The question hangs between us.
"Margot wasn't destroyed because I cared about her.
She was destroyed because she never cared about me.
" He's looking out his own window now, profile sharp in the passing streetlights.
"She played a role. Convincingly. For two years.
And when she had what she needed, she revealed what she actually was. "
"A con artist."
"A weapon. Sent by a competitor. Designed to get close to me, to learn my weaknesses, to use my capacity for attachment against me.
" A bitter laugh. "It worked perfectly. I nearly lost everything.
The only reason I survived is because I stopped trusting anyone.
Stopped letting anyone close enough to hurt me again. "
"Until now."
"Until now." He turns to look at me. "I took you, thinking it would be safe. A contract, a Protocol, clear terms. Nothing that could be used against me. Nothing that could hurt."
"And instead."
"And instead I find myself hoping you'll stay. Watching for signs that this matters to you. Making collars with constellations for a woman who counts the days until she can leave."
His voice is stripped bare. Raw. None of the control he usually wears like armor.
"Sebastian—"
"Don't." He cuts me off. "Don't comfort me. Don't explain. I'm not asking for anything. I'm just—" He stops. Breathes. "I'm just telling you why I’m the way I’m. Since Carlo was so eager to share his version."
The car continues through the city. The silence grows.
"Margot was a weapon," I say finally. "I'm not."
"I know."
"I'm exactly what I said I am. A woman honoring a contract. Nothing more, nothing less."
"I know that too."
"Then why does it matter? Why tell me any of this?"
He's quiet for a long moment.
"Because you were right. In my office, when you asked about her.
Understanding why I'm like this is relevant.
Even if it doesn't change anything." He meets my eyes.
"Even if you still leave when the year is over.
Even if this is just a transaction to you.
I wanted you to know that it wasn't always like this for me. That I was capable of more, once."
"And now."
"Now I have protocols and contracts and walls." His voice flattens. "And women who count the days."
The car pulls into the underground garage of his building. Stops. The driver opens our door.
Sebastian climbs out. Offers me his hand. I take it, let him help me from the car, release it the moment I'm standing.
We ride the elevator in silence.
We enter the penthouse in silence.
I start toward my room. The one I never use, the one that's still technically mine even though I sleep in his bed every night.
"Chloe."
I stop. Don't turn.
"Three hundred and forty-three days." His voice is quiet. "That's how many are left. In case you'd lost count."
I had. I stopped counting somewhere in the blur of dinner preparation. Somewhere in the cold distance we'd built between us.
I don't thank him for the reminder.
I just keep walking.