Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Vaughn
Six days until the showcase.
I should be confident.
Should be certain. Should be preparing for my inevitable triumph.
Instead, I'm sitting in my office at two in the morning, nursing scotch I don't want and staring at files I can't focus on.
Because something has gone wrong with the plan.
Not wrong, exactly.
Eden's training has exceeded every expectation.
She's perfect—graceful, obedient, responsive.
She performs every command flawlessly.
She begs beautifully.
She submits completely.
She's everything the Consortium could want to see.
The problem isn't her performance.
The problem is me.
The problem is that somewhere along the way—between the auction and the escape and the hunt and two weeks of intensive training—this stopped being about the Consortium.
And became about her.
I drain the scotch and pour another.
The inner circle.
That's what this has always been about.
That's why I joined the Consortium five years ago.
Why I attended their events even when they disgusted me.
Why I bid two million dollars on a virgin at a Valentine's auction.
Not for Eden herself.
For what she represented.
An entry ticket.
A demonstration of worthiness.
The Consortium's inner circle controls more wealth and power than most people can imagine.
Eleven men who make decisions that shape markets, influence governments, and move billions of dollars with a single phone call.
And they only admit new members who prove themselves worthy.
Who demonstrate absolute control.
Who show they can acquire something precious and train it to perfection.
My business is successful.
My company is worth three billion dollars.
I have money, influence, connections, but I don't have real power.
Not the kind that moves nations.
Not the kind that protects you from anything and everything.
Not the kind that makes you untouchable.
The inner circle has that power.
And I've wanted it since the moment I understood it existed.
My father died bankrupt.
Destroyed by men who had more power than he did.
Men who crushed his business, his reputation, and his life with casual cruelty.
I was fifteen, and my entire world fell apart.
Everyone left… everyone except Mrs. Silva, who said she’d never abandon me.
Even when she wasn’t getting paid, when we were broke as all hell, she stayed.
She stayed through the roughest parts of my life.
Watched him drink himself to death over eighteen months because he couldn't recover.
Couldn't fight back. Couldn't protect what was his.
I swore I'd never be that powerless.
Swore I'd never let anyone have that kind of power over me.
Swore I'd become untouchable.
And the Consortium's inner circle is how you become untouchable.
How you ensure no one can ever destroy you the way my father was destroyed.
Victor Hargrove. Geoffrey Morrison. Richard Blackwell.
The other eight whose names carry weight in rooms that matter.
They control everything.
And they've been watching me for five years, waiting to see if I'm worthy of joining them.
The showcase is my final test.
If I can prove I can acquire and train an acquisition to their standards, I'm in.
Everything I've worked for. Everything I've built. Everything I've sacrificed.
All comes down to six days from now.
So why does the thought of taking Eden into that room make me want to burn the whole Consortium to the ground?
My phone rings around seven in the morning, interrupting my third cup of coffee and my hundredth review of the showcase logistics.
Victor Hargrove. Of course.
I answer. "Hargrove."
"Sutherland. Good morning. I hope I'm not calling too early." His tone suggests he doesn't care if he is.
"Not at all. What can I do for you?"
"Just checking in about the showcase. Only a few days out now. Wanted to make sure everything is progressing smoothly with your acquisition."
Acquisition. The word grates more than it should.
"Everything is on schedule. She's ready."
"Excellent. And you're clear on the expectations? The performance requirements?"
"Crystal clear."
"Good. Because there will be quite an audience this year. All eleven inner circle members will be attending. Several potential new members like yourself. Their acquisitions. Some of the Consortium's most influential patrons."
My stomach tightens. "How many people total?"
"Perhaps fifty. Maybe sixty. It's become quite the event. The spring showcase is always our most prestigious gathering."
Sixty people.
Sixty strangers watching Eden kneel.
Watching her submit.
Watching her prove she's mine.
The thought makes my hands clench into fists.
"I see," I say, keeping my voice neutral.
"Your acquisition will be expected to perform multiple demonstrations. Obedience commands, of course. Presenting herself. And at least one intimate act—oral sex is traditional, though some members have gotten more creative. The audience appreciates variety."
"Understood."
"And Sutherland—this is important. She needs to appear willing. Eager, even. The Consortium doesn't approve of acquisitions who look coerced or frightened. We're not monsters. We're connoisseurs of consensual submission. Your girl needs to demonstrate genuine devotion. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Because if she shows resistance, if she hesitates, if there's any indication that you've broken her through force rather than training—that reflects poorly on you. On your worthiness for the inner circle."
"She won't hesitate. I've been very thorough."
"I'm sure you have. Which is why I'm calling with a proposal."
My instincts go on alert. "What kind of proposal?"
"Several inner circle members have expressed interest in your acquisition. She's quite beautiful, and virgin acquisitions are rare these days. They'd like the opportunity to evaluate her more closely at the showcase."
"Evaluate how?"
"Oh, nothing invasive. Simply observe her up close. Perhaps test her obedience with a command or two. Geoffrey is particularly interested in seeing how she responds to unfamiliar authority figures. Thinks it demonstrates a higher level of training."
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. "Absolutely not."
"I'm sorry?"
"No one touches her. No one commands her. She's mine. That's the whole point of the showcase—demonstrating my control, my training. Not someone else's."
Victor's silence is pointed. "That's a rather possessive stance, Sutherland."
"It's an accurate stance. She belongs to me. I'm not sharing her with Geoffrey or anyone else."
"Even if refusing might impact your consideration for the inner circle?"
The threat is clear. Subtle, but clear.
"Even then."
Another pause.
"Interesting. You've become quite attached to her, haven't you?"
"She's my acquisition. Of course I'm protective of my property."
"It's more than that, I think. You care about her. That's foolish, Sutherland. Caring makes you weak. Makes you vulnerable. The inner circle doesn't tolerate weakness."
"Protecting what's mine isn't weakness. It shows my strength."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps you're allowing emotion to cloud your judgment." Victor's tone shifts to something almost paternal. "Let me give you some advice. Between now and then, decide what you really want. Power? Or the girl? Because you might not be able to have both."
He hangs up before I can respond.
Fuck, I need to decide what I really want.
As if it were that simple.
As if I haven't been asking myself that question for the past week.
Power or Eden.
The inner circle or the woman sleeping upstairs in my bed.
Everything I've worked for or everything I've discovered I actually want.
Six days to decide.
Six days to choose.
Fuck.
I find Eden in the library at ten on the dot, curled up in the armchair by the window with a book.
Jane Eyre, again, I notice.
She's read it three times since she arrived.
She looks up when I enter. "Is it time for training already?"
"Not yet. I wanted to talk first."
Wariness enters her eyes. "About what?"
"About the showcase. About what else to expect."
She closes the book slowly, marking her place with a finger. "Okay."
I sit on the couch across from her. "The showcase is coming up soon. You know that. But I haven't told you all the details. About what the environment will be like. Who will be there."
"How many people?" Her voice is small.
"Approximately sixty."
She goes pale. "Sixty?"
"The inner circle members and their guests. Other potential new members presenting their acquisitions. Some Consortium patrons. It's the spring showcase—it's always the largest event of the year."
"Sixty people watching me—"
"Watching us. Watching me demonstrate my control. Watching you demonstrate your training. It's not about you alone, Eden. It's about what we are together."
"Which is what? Owner and property?"
"Which is whatever we make it."
She's quiet for a long moment. "What will I have to do? Specifically?"
"Obedience commands. Kneeling, presenting, holding positions. Verbal responses to questions. And at least one intimate act performed in front of the audience."
"Oral sex."
"Yes. That's traditional. Though—" I stop.
"Though what?"
"There's been interest from some inner circle members in observing you more closely. Testing your obedience to unfamiliar commands. I've declined on your behalf."
Something flickers in her eyes. "Why?"
"Because you're mine. No one else gets to command you. No one else gets to touch you. That's non-negotiable."
"Even if it costs you the inner circle?"
"You’re more important to me than the fucking inner circle."
She stares at me like I've spoken a language she doesn't understand. "I don't understand you."
"I don't understand myself lately."
"You said the showcase is in a few days. That we're running out of time. But now you're saying you'd refuse the inner circle if they tried to share me. Those things don't make sense together."
"I know."
"So, which is it? Am I here for the showcase or not?"
"I don't know anymore."
The admission hangs between us.