18. Helen
HELEN
Darkness swallows the room so completely that for a moment I wonder if I’ve gone blind.
I can hear breathing now, more than one. Even. Close. Male. Musk and citrus mingle in the air, warmed by too many bodies. But none of them is Red Fox’s scent.
Someone passes closer, a hand trails along my arm, followed by a brush of leather.
My skin prickles.
Another follows. Fingertips comb through my hair, as if testing whether I’ll recoil.
I hold my ground, letting my senses stretch outward. A palm rests briefly on my shoulder, firm and assessing, then disappears.
Another presence presses closer at my side. His breath grazes my neck, and for a moment my body leans toward it. Something in it is wrong. Too eager.
I lean back.
The circle tightens. And there, I sense another scent—spiced, woody. It’s almost lost beneath the movement around me, and I can’t tell where it’s coming from.
Someone traces the curve of my waist through velvet, knuckles grazing the small of my back before retreating. Then a different hand catches mine, flipping my palm upward, his finger circling the sensitive center.
I step toward him. My fingers climb, searching. Chin. Mask. Smooth surface.
Wrong shape.
I let him go.
Frustration coils, braided with something unmistakably physical.
I know he’s here. I know the difference in him without seeing him.
Another man steps in behind me. I wait for contact, but none comes.
I pivot. My hand lifts before I consciously choose to move. I sweep outward and meet fabric. Definitely tailored. I close the distance, and the air around him thickens, as if the darkness gathers to him.
He doesn’t reach.
He waits.
That’s how I know.
I let my fingers explore, mapping him through touch alone. Chest beneath fine cloth. The rise and fall of breath. The faint scent of something I recognize as him, wood layered with something rarer.
“Fox…” I say only to him.
My hand moves higher. He holds steady, offering patience for my search.
Neck.
Jaw.
Lips.
My fingers linger. I feel the movement beneath my touch and whisper, “Found you.”
I want to trace their shape, but I stop, suddenly aware that I may not have long. Instead, I slide upward and find the edge of his mask. The material is firm, sculpted. I follow its contour, committing every line to memory. He remains motionless, yet there’s current beneath that composure.
Around us, the others continue their orbit, but the world has narrowed to this single axis of heat and breath. I lean closer, my fingers tightening along his covered cheek. Mask brushes mask as I cup his face, my thumb catching on a raised metal curl. He doesn’t stop me.
The realization lands heavy in my chest, and it has nothing to do with the darkness and everything to do with want.
Shit! What am I doing?
Victor could be watching.
Victor might be the reason I’m even here in this room.
I pull back—and our masks snag.
“Damn.” I fumble, trying to free my mask from the ornamental curl. He reaches up to help, but I tug too hard.
A small metallic snap.
Instinctively, I catch the loosened piece between my fingers and draw it away.
He exhales, just enough for the breath to brush my lips.
My pulse kicks harder. I hold the fragment between us, then step forward until my body aligns with his, testing the space. Waiting to see if he will claim the piece back.
He doesn’t.
He leaves the choice with me.
And that restraint is fucking intoxicating.
I slip the small metal piece inside my neckline.
All of a sudden, the floor gives way.
I fall with a gasp, velvet tangling around my legs as I hit ground that gives just enough to keep my bones intact. The darkness thins, reshaping itself into a different room entirely. Around me, walls are paneled in dark timber, the air is cooler, this game is no longer what it was a breath ago.
“Hey!” My voice ricochets off the walls and comes back empty.
I scan the room, blink, then stare. Is this a trick?
“Oh shit…no, no.”
The walls are moving inward. I set my shoulders and resist. It makes no difference. The room shrinks around me, inch by inch.
Then another body drops through the trap door.
Stag.
His dark mask stark against the timber backdrop. Up close, it’s unmistakable. Even before he speaks, I know.
“Jag…Jagger, it’s you!” Relief floods me.
“Yes, it’s me, Helen. My God…”
He touches me like he needs proof. His palms glide over my dress, over the mask, over my shoulders. Then his hands slow, intention replacing caution.
“Victor! Get us out of here!” I shout as the walls close another fraction.
He gives me a sideways smile. “Relax. I’ve got this.”
So this is how the Game resolves. The hero returns. The heroine is saved.
He gauges the narrowing gap, then springs upward, catching the lip of the sliding partition and hauling himself up with impressive agility. He peers into the space above the mechanism.
“There’s clearance. We can crawl out.”
I move to follow, and the hem of my gown jerks tight.
“Come on, Helen!” He reaches down. “We’ve got to hurry!”
I twist, pulling at my skirt. It’s trapped deep in the seam between panels as the walls continue their slow advance.
He lets out half a scoff. “Stay here. I’ll stop the mechanism,” he says and withdraws his hand. His gaze flicks to a corner where a digital countdown glows red. “I’ll come back for you. Don’t trigger the safe word. Whatever happens, don’t say it. Trust me. We’re close.”
His hand disappears, then he does.
“Victor!”
No answer.
Every movement only tightens the hold, the gown pulling hard against my waist. Victor isn’t going to get back to me in time.
Is this still part of the design?
Whatever it is, I hold to the one thing that matters—the stakes.
A shadow appears above.
“Jag!”
No.
Red Fox.
His mask emerges where Victor vanished, outlined against the dim light. He watches.
“Fox!” My voice cracks. “I’m stuck.” I show him the fabric pinned in the panel seam.
He doesn’t move.
The safe word hovers at the back of my throat.
If I say it, everything ends. The money disappears. The game stops. And Olivia’s future returns to uncertainty.
And what if this is deliberate? That my dress was meant to catch? After all, it was sent to me from the organizer.
Perhaps hesitation is the real test.
The invitation said to place my trust wisely.
I have to wait for Victor.
The countdown hits zero. The panels don’t stop.
“Are you kidding me?”
What was that countdown for then? And where is my knight now?
The wood presses against my hips, hard enough that I can’t draw a full breath. Between the safe word and the shrinking space, I choose my ally.
“I trust you,” I say to Red Fox, the words rising from somewhere deeper than logic.
He drops through the narrowing gap with lethal precision, landing beside me. His hands find the panel seam in a single motion. He then grips the trapped velvet and pulls it free.
The pressure against my body releases, enough to allow movement. He wraps a hand around my waist and pulls me into him, guiding me through a hidden slit in the wall just before the panels slam together with a violent thud.
We spill into another room, the low ceiling pressing the space close, silk sheets spread across the bed under gold-toned lighting that makes everything feel decadent.
He sets me down on a wide bed, his hands lingering at my waist.
My thighs clench. “Fox…”
He lets me go, and Jesus, he removes his jacket.
My hands rise of their own accord, claiming his shoulders, sliding to his chest. Hard muscle meets my palms through the thin barrier of his shirt. Every nerve in me is lit. The space between us burns. I lift toward him, mouth inches from his. The air hums with the possibility of it.
“You’re far too interested in a man you know nothing about, Hellion,” he rasps.
His hand slides into my hair, and then he stills.
I feel the decision in him before I see it.
He pulls back. “Not like this.”
Before I can protest, he lifts me into his arms and runs. Hidden corridors swallow us. My skirt is gathered in his grip so it won’t catch again.
And then—
We’re back in the wooden chamber.
The walls stand wider now than when he pulled me free. Without warning, they begin to move again. The timer remains at zero, as if it marked a different event altogether.
“Hold on, Helen! I’ve almost got it!” Victor’s voice echoes from somewhere unseen.
Red Fox steps back into the concealed doorway, vanishing as cleanly as he arrived.
I end up exactly where the gap narrows around my hips. This time, the panels grind to a halt.
Victor drops down beside me seconds later, breathless and pleased with himself.
“I found the switch.” He smiles wide as if he has conquered something far more dangerous than sliding wood.
I let my pulse settle before I meet his eyes. “Where were you?”
He pulls me into his arms. “Helen, Helen, Helen. You’re still questioning me even after I saved us.”
“That was close,” I say.
He kisses the crown of my head. “I’m here now.”
I glance down.
My gown falls perfectly around my legs. The train hangs loose, no tear, no crease where it had been caught.
Suddenly a panel slides upward, revealing a passage.
After near-crushes and forbidden contact with Red Fox, the game apparently resumes its script.
Victor takes my hand and leads me forward, his stride confident. We move through narrow corridors that feel less threatening now, as though the architecture itself acknowledges his success.
The passage opens into the same lavish room where Fox had taken me earlier. The sheets lie smooth, untouched, as if nothing had happened here minutes ago.
Victor turns to me with that look where he believes he has won. He pushes me backward. When my back lands on the bed, his mouth claims mine. I kiss him back, searching for the spark I felt when I lay on this same silk with Fox.
It doesn’t come.
My hand moves slowly across his back. He keeps kissing with his own urgency, already pulling at his belt.
My body remains quiet beneath him. There’s no answering surge or desperate pull.