Chapter 12 #2
"Tell me about the inner circle," she says quietly. "Tell me why it matters so much. Why you'd buy me at an auction, train me for weeks, prepare me for this—what are you getting that's worth all of this?"
It's a fair question.
One I should have answered weeks ago.
I lean back against the couch. "Power. Real power. The kind that makes you untouchable. The kind that means no one can ever destroy you."
"Why do you need to be untouchable?"
"Because my father wasn't. Because men with more power than he had crushed him. And I watched him drink himself to death because he couldn't fight back. Couldn't protect what was his. Couldn't—" I stop.
"Couldn't what?"
"Couldn't protect me. From what came after. From what happens when you're powerless and people know it."
"What happened?"
"I lost everything. The house. My college fund. Any inheritance. All of it was seized by creditors. I was fifteen. Ended up living with Mrs. Silva for three years before I could legally emancipate and start building my own life. My own fortune. My own protection."
"So, this is about never being powerless again."
"Yes. The inner circle controls wealth and influence that makes them immune to the kind of destruction my father faced. They can't be touched. Can't be ruined. Can't be—" I stop again.
"Can't be hurt," she finishes softly.
"Yes."
"And you think joining them will make you safe."
"I know it will. I've spent the last five years positioning myself for this. Five years attending their events, making connections, and proving my worth. The showcase is the final test. Everything I've worked for. Everything I've built. All comes down to this fucking showcase."
She's quiet, processing. "And me? Where do I fit in this plan?"
"You were supposed to be the entry ticket. The demonstration that I could control something precious. That I deserved a place among them."
"Was?"
"Things have changed."
"How?"
"You stopped being a means to an end. Started being—" I struggle for words. "Started being someone I care about. Someone I want to protect. Someone I don't want to share with sixty strangers in a room."
"But you will. Because you need the inner circle more than you need to protect me."
"I don't know. That's what I'm trying to figure out."
She sets down her book completely and looks at me with those hazel eyes that see too much. "What happens if you don't go through with the showcase?"
"The Consortium doesn't forgive that kind of slight. If I commit and then back out, I'll be finished with them. Blacklisted. And the Consortium has a long reach. They could make my business difficult. Could freeze me out of deals. Could—"
"Could destroy you like those men destroyed your father."
"Potentially."
"So, it's the showcase or potential ruin."
"That's overstating it. I'd survive without the Consortium. My business is solid. But I'd never have the kind of power I've been working toward. Never be untouchable. Never be—"
"Safe," she finishes again.
"Yes."
Another long silence.
"I'll do it," she says finally.
"What?"
"The showcase. I'll perform. I'll be perfect. I'll make sure they accept you into the inner circle."
"Eden—"
"I'm already trained. Already ready. And you need this. You've needed it since before you even met me. So, I'll do it."
"Why?"
"Because—" She stops. Looks away. "Because I want to make you proud. Because you've taken care of me in your own fucked-up way. Because I understand what it's like to feel powerless and want to never feel that way again. Because—"
"Because?"
"Because I care about you too. Even though I shouldn't. Even though it's Stockholm syndrome or conditioning or whatever psychological term explains how captives fall for their captors. I care about you. And I don't want to be the reason you lose what you've been working toward."
The admission steals my breath.
"You care about me."
"I hate that I do. Hate what it makes me. But yes."
"Eden—"
"So, we'll do the showcase. I'll perform perfectly. You'll get your inner circle. And then—" She stops.
"And then what?"
"And then maybe you'll let me go. Maybe once you have what you really want, you won't need me anymore."
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
"Is that what you think? That once I have the inner circle, I'll discard you?"
"Won't you?"
"No. Never. Eden, the inner circle stopped being what I really wanted weeks ago."
"Then what do you want?"
"You. This. Whatever the fuck this is between us that doesn't have a name. I want you in my bed every night. I want to wake up and see you reading in that chair. I want to watch you discover yourself. I want—" I stop.
"What?"
"I want you to stay because you want to. Not because you're a captive. Not because you're trained. Because you choose me."
"That's not how this works. You bought me. You can't ask me to choose you when I'm not free."
"I know, but I'm asking anyway."
She stands abruptly.
Paces to the window.
Stares out at the grounds.
"Just a few more days," she says.
"Yes."
"And you haven't decided yet. Whether we're going through with it."
"No."
"When will you decide?"
"I don't know."
She turns to face me. "I think we should do a dress rehearsal. Run through the whole thing. Let me practice performing like it's real. Then you'll know if I'm ready. And maybe that will help you decide."
"A dress rehearsal."
"Yes. Today. Right now. Set it up like the showcase will be. And I'll perform. Show you I can do this. That I'm ready."
"Eden—"
"Please. I need to know if I can do it. And you need to see if you can actually go through with watching me do it. So, let's just—let's rehearse. All of it. Everything I'll have to do that night."
She's right.
I need to see if I can actually go through with this.
Need to know if I can stand there and watch sixty strangers see her submit.
Need to decide if power is worth more than keeping her to myself.
"Okay," I say. "We'll rehearse. Full run-through. But Eden—"
"What?"
"If I can't do it. If watching you perform makes me want to murder everyone in the room—"
"Then we'll figure something else out. Together. But we have to try first."
I set up the library to reflect the showcase environment.
Chairs arranged like an audience.
The camera running to simulate being watched.
Lights positioned to illuminate the performance space.
Eden watches me prepare with an expression I can't read.
When everything is ready, I sit in the audience section. "Whenever you're ready."
She takes a breath, then another.
Then she begins, and she's perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
She moves into the center of the performance space with a grace I've spent two weeks training into her.
Stands with perfect posture and waits for my command.
"Kneel."
She drops to her knees fluidly, gracefully.
No hesitation.
Looks up at me with eyes that show devotion I don't deserve.
"Present yourself."
She moves into the position—hands behind her head, chest thrust forward, spine arched.
Holds it without trembling. Without struggle.
Perfect.
"Come here."
She rises and crosses to me with steps that don't falter.
Kneels between my legs without being told.
Looks up at me waiting for the next command, and something in my chest cracks.
Because she's not just performing.
She's giving herself to me completely, willingly, in front of the imaginary audience.
Proving she's mine in every way that matters.
And watching her do it makes me want to burn down the Consortium and every man who would dare look at her like this.
"Tell me who you belong to," I say, my voice rougher than intended.
"I belong to you, Vaughn Sutherland. I'm yours. Completely yours."
"Would you do this in front of sixty strangers?"
"If that's what you need me to do."
"Why?"
"Because I want to make you proud. Because I want to be perfect for you. Because I—" She stops.
"Because you what?"
"Because I love you."
The words hang in the air between us.
Everything stops.
"What did you say?"
"I love you. I don't know when it happened. I don't know if it's real or just Stockholm syndrome or my brain trying to make sense of captivity. But it feels real. Feels like—like I'd do anything for you. Even perform for the Consortium. Even let them watch me submit. Even—"
I pull her up and kiss her before she can finish.
Kiss her like she's air and I've been drowning.
Like she's everything and I've only just realized it.
When I finally pull back, we're both breathless.
"Say it again," I demand.
"I love you."
"Even though I bought you?"
"Even though."
"Even though I trained you?"
"Yes."
"Even though I'm asking you to perform for strangers?"
"Yes, Vaughn, I—"
"I love you too," I interrupt. "I don't know when it happened either.
Somewhere between the auction and the hunt and watching you discover yourself.
Somewhere in those weeks of training. You stopped being an acquisition and became—became everything.
And the thought of sharing you with the Consortium makes me want to burn the whole organization to the ground. "
"Then don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't share me. Don't take me to the showcase. Don't—" She stops. Starts again. "What if we ran? What if we just—left? Disappeared? Started over somewhere they can't find us?"
"They'd look for us. The Consortium doesn't forgive—"
"I know. But would it be worth it? Would I be worth giving up the inner circle? Worth potentially losing everything you've built?"
The question hangs between us.
Would she?
Six days ago, the answer would have been no.
The inner circle was everything.
Power was everything. Being untouchable was the only goal that mattered.
Now?
Now I look at her kneeling between my legs, saying she loves me, offering to run away with me—
And I know the answer.
"Yes," I say. "You're worth it. Worth more than the inner circle. Worth more than power. Worth more than being untouchable. You're worth everything, Eden."
"You mean that."
"Yes."
"Then what do we do? We can't just not show up. They'll come after you. After us."
"I know. Which is why we go to the showcase."
"What?"
"We go. We show up. But we don't perform for them. We tell them—I tell them—that I'm choosing you over the inner circle, and then we leave. Together. On our terms."
"They'll destroy you."
"Maybe. Probably. But at least I'll have you. And that's worth more than anything they could take from me."
"Vaughn—"
"I spent years being powerless and afraid. Then I spent more years building power and protection so I'd never be powerless again. But you know what I just realized?"
"What?"
"Real power isn't about being untouchable. It's about having something worth protecting. Someone worth fighting for. And I'd rather fight for you than join men who would see you as property."
Tears stream down her face. "I can't believe you're choosing me."
"I can't believe it took me this long to realize you were the only choice that mattered."
I pull her into my lap and hold her while she cries.
And make my decision.
Six days from now, we'll go to the showcase.
But not to perform.
To burn it all down.
To choose each other over everything else.
To prove that some things—some people—are worth more than power.
And if the Consortium comes after us?
Then we'll deal with it. Together.
Because that's what you do when you love someone.
You choose them.
Even when it costs everything.
Especially when it costs everything.