EIGHTEEN

The library was foreboding tonight. The gold lettering on the spines of the books glinted razor sharp, and the unused fireplace was a wide, dark mouth threatening to devour me.

I’d arrived early for our appointment, even though it had taken every ounce of strength I possessed to get me through the doorway. I hadn’t seen Macalister since last night. The mere thought of him made ice crawl down my spine.

And this evening he was late.

It was exhausting sitting here, waiting while tension held me in its stiff grasp. Was this his intent? To remind me who was in control since he’d supposedly relinquished ownership over me?

I wasn’t about to text him and give him hard evidence I was waiting for him. He’d likely take it the wrong way.

So, I was just about to leave when he finally arrived and stalked into the room, bringing a cold draft with him. He undid the button on his suitcoat before he lowered himself into the seat across from me. “Excuse my lateness. There was an issue I had to handle personally.”

His focus went to the board, and then to me expectantly. I always played white, which in theory had the advantage of the first move, but I hadn’t been able to capitalize on it yet. He waited impatiently for me to pick up a pawn and make my opening, acting like this was all normal and everything in the hedge maze had never happened.

Like the Minotaur didn’t exist.

I toppled over my king, letting it clatter to the desk. “I resign.”

He was prepared for this. Perhaps the only thing that surprised him was I’d waited this long to try it. His demeanor was calm and controlled. “No. You’re not allowed.”

“I’m done. I’m not playing anymore.”

Cold drifted through his expression. “We made an arrangement, and you’ll honor your word, as I did mine.”

“I won’t.” I felt small but tried not to show it. “I can’t after last night.” If he was truly obsessed as he’d said, then there was a small chance he cared for me. I pleaded to that side of him. “Let me go.”

His eyes were murky water moving beneath a thin layer of ice. “No.”

My heart sank to my toes, but what did I expect? He’d turned down fifty million dollars for me. “Then . . . I’m going to resign every night.”

His frustration could have been masking his desperation, but if so, he hid it well. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and peered at me with tight eyes. “I’m disappointed in you, but I may be willing to compromise.”

“You mean, renegotiate.”

“Yes,” he said.

I shook my head. “No, I’m not interested.”

I’d finally learned to stop digging myself into a deeper hole. Any gains I’d made were short-term and followed by terrible consequences. I wasn’t too proud to admit he’d bested me, but I wasn’t going to feel shame over it. He had thirty more years of experience than I did.

When I rose to my feet, genuine alarm coasted through his face. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I made my move and the game is over, so we’re done here.”

He stood so quickly the chair banged back against the bookshelf. “One game a week.”

My hesitation made him elaborate.

“We’ll revise our agreement. Instead of every night, we’ll only play once a week.”

I was so tired. “In exchange for?”

“Nothing.” He let out a begrudging sigh. “I can’t make you enjoy the game, and certainly not if we stop playing altogether.”

This was a better outcome than I’d hoped for, but I gave him a discerning, wary look. What was the catch?

“This is more than fair,” he added with irritation. “I’ve allowed you multiple times to change the rules. Last night, for example.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. He’d given me partial freedom, even when I’d lost. “Fine,” I snapped. “But tonight counts.”

Meaning I had a whole week where I didn’t have to see him. I walked toward the door, no longer feeling like Atlas holding up the sky on my shoulders. I wanted to hurry out before he changed his mind.

“Marist.” Macalister said my name like he was summoning a servant. “You may want to say your goodbyes to Royce. There’s a financial reporting symposium in Sydney next week that I’ve decided to send him to. I think he could use the experience.”

I turned in place, staring at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“He’ll be back in time for the anniversary gala next weekend, but he’ll need to leave tonight.” Macalister picked up the white king and put it back in its spot.

I ground my teeth and swallowed my anger. It was absolutely clear what he’d done, and I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “You said you weren’t going to interfere.”

His dark expression pinned me in place. “And I haven’t. I don’t see how I can do anything if he won’t even be here.” He smoothed a hand down his tie as if he could brush away my feelings that easily. Desire seeped in and pooled in his eyes. “I look forward to our next game.”

I fled the library without another word.

Ironically, I saw Royce more the following week than I did Macalister, even though my fiancé was on the other side of the world. He’d FaceTimed me twice during the week. Because of the time change, I’d come home from class in the evenings, and he was just waking up and preparing for his days at the conference.

Now, it was Saturday. He’d landed late last night, come to the house, and gone straight to his bed. He’d likely sleep until it was time to go to the gala. I wouldn’t see him until he was wrapped in a tuxedo and wearing his mask.

Alice’s hair and makeup team had dismissed me from her room ten minutes ago. I’d fought hard to wear my hair down, and she’d finally agreed when the hairdresser backed me up. Medusa’s snakes shouldn’t be pinned away.

But it meant I had to don my mask hours before the party tonight, so the woman could style my hair around it and hide the band that held it in place. I was still adjusting to its heavy weight on the bridge of my nose as I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror in my room.

I didn’t think any jewelry could compete with my great-grandmother’s necklace, but I’d been wrong. I was wearing the necklace now, the diamonds draped around my throat like a wreath, but my gaze kept working its way back to my face. I loved the way the delicate snakes weaved and chased each other in a lacy pattern.

The only color on me right now, besides the tiny emerald eyes of the snakes, was my vividly stained red lips. I had on a short, white silk robe over my black strapless bra and panties. I’d been instructed not to put on my dress until it was almost time to leave. Alice didn’t trust me to keep it free of wrinkles and accidents, and it was of the utmost importance we all looked flawless when we arrived at the venue, according to her.

But I longed to put on the dress. I eyed it hanging on the door to my closet, itching to finish my transformation. How was I going to survive another thirty minutes?

There was a short knock on my door, but it pushed open before I could acknowledge it, which meant it couldn’t be anyone else. Macalister didn’t wait. He owned this house and this room, and he felt he should be able to come and go as he pleased.

I spun to face him, my hands immediately going to the sash of my robe to make sure it was cinched tight. It didn’t matter that I was covered—I felt naked.

I wasn’t; I was just horribly underdressed.

Was it the same tuxedo he’d worn during the initiation? It was a rich black, and the lapels had a faint sheen to them. Black buttons dotted a line up his white shirt, ending in a perfectly tied black bow at his throat. He wasn’t wearing his mask yet. Perhaps he thought it was beneath him and would only put it on when we were in the limo, heading to the Harbor Plaza.

His gaze roamed the room in search of something, and when he discovered me, he studied me carefully. He catalogued my bare legs, the silk robe, my red lips, and the glittering mask around my eyes.

I forced myself to sound calm rather than terrified. “What do you want?”

His expression gave nothing away. “I have something for you in the library.”

“What is it?”

He didn’t answer me. He disappeared from my doorway, demanding I follow him. Anxiety clung to my skin. I was chilled in the persistent air conditioning Macalister required, and yet I began to sweat. What terrible thing awaited me in the library?

He stood facing the window, his hands clasped behind this back, and he didn’t turn when I entered the room, but he must have sensed it. “It’s on the desk.”

The only thing resting there was a large and flat wooden box with a metal clasp. It looked similar to the one my mother stored her best silver flatware in. The grain of the wood was inlaid to create a beautiful pattern.

Fear gripped me. It was another Pandora’s Box, and I wasn’t interested. “No, thank you.”

He turned to look at me over his shoulder, his eyebrow lifted in displeasure. “There’s nothing inappropriate inside, and you’re being rude.”

I held in a tight breath and plodded to the desk, my suspicion-meter all the way in the red as I cautiously undid the clasp and lifted the lid.

Black and white alternating squares were bordered with scenes from the ancient myths I adored. The chessboard was seated in deep blue velvet, a darker shade than the eyes staring at me as I curled my fingers around the edges of the heavy board and lifted it to get a closer look.

“Oh,” I sighed.

Beneath the board, the thirty-two chess pieces were displayed. Zeus and Hera as the black king and queen, Athena and Poseidon as the white pair. For both colors, Ares was the bishops, Pegasus the knights, and two Greek columns served as the rooks. Below, eight satyrs were pawns, half-goat and half-man with tiny horns on their heads. I put down the board and picked one of the pawns up, marveling at the weight and detail.

“This is beautiful,” I said. “They’re so intricate.”

When I looked up from the piece, I found Macalister viewing me with fascination. Like a starving man watching someone else eat. It made my heart beat faster and my nerves rise. He’d given me a gift. What was he going to want in return?

“I thought we could play a quick round.”

There it is. “Thank you, but I don’t think we have time. We don’t want to be late for—”

“They won’t start the party without me.”

I’d left the door open. He strode to it and pushed it closed, and the action made alarm spike through me. As much as I wanted to see this gorgeous chess set arranged on the board, it felt dangerous. I wasn’t mentally prepared to spar with him right now, when I was barely dressed.

But he didn’t care. He sat in his seat and began to pull the black pieces from the case, arranging them on their squares. My options were limited. I could play the game and get it over with or argue and waste time and have to play the game anyway. He’d get his way, regardless.

I plunked down into my seat, gingerly extracted my white pieces to set them up, and when we were both ready, I made my first move.

“Your mask is stunning,” he said as he moved his pawn. “Medusa?”

“Thank you. Yeah, it was a gift from Royce.” I moved another piece. “What’s yours? Zeus?”

He took his turn and gave a faint, enigmatic smile. “No, not Zeus.”

A stone turned over in my stomach. I had the terrible realization of who he was going as and couldn’t bring myself to say it. I tried to steer the conversation away from the subject.

While we played, he talked about how proud he was of his company and that HBHC had reached such a milestone. They’d survived the Great Depression and the global financial crisis in 2008, and under his leadership, stock had soared.

Well, up until last month.

“Shareholders love to panic at every minor detail,” he mused. “We’ll be fine.” He confidently slid Ares three spaces diagonally and took my satyr pawn, placing it on the desk with the other pieces he’d captured.

Hairs on the back of my neck tingled. Something was wrong. I stared at the board in confusion, trying to figure out where I’d made a wrong move—

Holy. Fucking. Shit. I hadn’t.

But Macalister had.

He realized it at the same moment because he launched forward in his seat and tried to put my pawn back in play.

My breath was hurried. “No, you took your hand off. Your turn is over.”

He looked furious, but also like he was about to be ill.

His chest lifted in an enormous breath when I moved my knight. “Check.”

I’d never seen him take so long to make a move. He stared at the board with hostility, as if it had somehow caused his situation. No doubt he was running different scenarios in his head, trying to compute a way out that didn’t end with his defeat.

He slid his rook forward like every square it crossed was painful. It probably was to him. I’d spent the last few months suffering in his endgame, and he didn’t like the roles being reversed.

I took his rook with Hera. “Check.”

My heart beat like a war drum, and it was fitting, because my Ares was going to deliver the fatal blow. Macalister only had one move left, and yet he didn’t make it. Had my Medusa mask turned him to stone? Or was he simply sitting there, contemplating his defeat?

I’d done it.

Finally beaten him and released myself from our arrangement. All he needed to do was move, and then I could utter the word I’d wanted to for so fucking long.

But I didn’t get to tell Macalister checkmate.

He gave me a look of pure malice before he violently swung a hand across the desk and sent the pieces flying off the board. Some slammed into the bookcases and others crashed loudly to the floor, and I was up out of my chair before I could take a breath, stumbling back away from him.

“We’ll play again,” he exploded. His expression was cold fury as he slapped his hands on the desk and used them to help push to his feet.

“But I won.”

“No, it doesn’t count.”

When he lost the game, he seemed to lose everything, including his control. He charged at me, and by the time I realized what was happening it was too late to run. His arms closed around my arms and waist, and we stumbled backward, all the way until my back slammed into a bookcase.

His mouth crushed down on mine, stopping my panicked noise from escaping. As he pressed his lips against me, he used his body to drive me back into the shelves, the wood digging in. It was uncomfortable in every sense of the word. He smothered me. I felt each button of his shirt, my breasts flattened by his wide chest, and the swell at the center of his legs that pushed greedily at my belly.

I tore my mouth away from his, smearing my red lipstick across his lips, and tried futilely to catch my breath. “Macalister, stop.”

He left our lower bodies connected but drew back and looked at me like prey he’d trapped and wanted to toy with before finishing off. He was wild as he stared down at me with his messy lips and savage eyes. “I don’t want to.”

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? When I tried to squirm away, his grip tightened and locked me down. Blood roared and banged frantically in my head. Should I scream? My hands were trapped at my sides, and I reached behind me, my fingers catching on the edge of a book. Maybe if he let me go, I could pull it from the shelf and swing it at his head.

Abruptly, his face twisted with torture, then it melted and he sobered. He didn’t release me, but tension faded from his arms. “I’m sorry. I was upset and . . . handled it poorly.”

The image of Royce’s destroyed bedroom flitted through my mind, but I had more urgent things to think about. Like how Macalister was still holding me captive. “Let me go.”

“I will in a moment.” He regained his composure, his cold veneer snapping back into place. “I tried to rid you from my system, Marist. I told myself I couldn’t want you because you don’t exist. That once I was clear of the fog of you, this desire”—he said it like it was distasteful—“would cease.”

He let go of me, only to put his hands on the bookshelf beside my waist, squeezing until the wood groaned in protest. His eyes were devastating, and I wanted to stop looking, but couldn’t. He was a violent crash on the side of a highway, a siren’s song for attention.

“But in your absence,” he continued, “the desire worsened, and I’m willing to acknowledge I cannot master it. So tonight, after the anniversary gala is over, you will come to my room, wearing only this mask.” His voice was full of dominance and power. “And then you will give me anything I ask for.”

My knees buckled, but he caught me by my hips, pinning me to the bookcase so hard the shelf rattled. “No,” I spat at him. “I won’t.”

He sounded genuinely offended. “Why not? I’m attractive and powerful. I can please you sexually, and there’s so much more I can—”

“I’m in love with Royce.” It came from me with no hesitation, the raw truth.

He flinched as if I’d slapped him, and then a nasty expression painted his face. “I don’t believe you. You’re too smart to do something as stupid as fall in love. If you did, then you wouldn’t have done what we did in the maze.”

His words cut deep, flaying me alive. “You left me no choice. I had to save him.”

Macalister lifted his chin but peered down at me, judging me critically. “Then do it again. Come to my room tonight and submit to me. He can keep his seat, and I’ll show you how I’m a better version of him in every way.”

I glared at him with the darkest look in my arsenal. “Fucking no.”

He sighed loudly and with reluctance, about to play a card he didn’t want to. “I had Nigel schedule an appointment with a dermatologist for you. I’m told the process of removing a tattoo is far more painful than receiving one, and it will take several treatments.”

I froze in place, barely able to breathe. “No.”

“Don’t look at me like that.” His voice was so stern, I struggled not to cower. “I do not approve of the choice you made. If you want to keep it, you’ll have to earn it.”

My eyes filled with hot, angry tears as I looked around the room frantically for escape. “I’ll leave,” I blurted.

“Where would you go?” He wasn’t cruel when he asked it, but it stung, nonetheless. “Do you think he would give up everything he has for you? As you’ve done for him?”

One lone tear spilled out from under my mask.

No, Royce wouldn’t. He’d told me so the night of our first date.

Macalister softened into something slightly more human. “You know better. He’s not worth tears.” He took a hand off the shelf and cupped the side of my face. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Say yes, and I will satisfy you in all the ways he can’t.”

The word no bowed on my lips. Not just to his offer, but to the way he was closing the space between us, his kiss threatening like low storm clouds coming in from the ocean.

But before I could issue the word, the library door creaked open.

In my struggle, the sides of my robe had come open under the sash, and I stood beneath Macalister with my bra and panties exposed. His hand was on my jaw and my lipstick smeared over his lips. I could claim it wasn’t what it looked like, but what person in their right mind would believe?

He took his time straightening away from me, not even a little bit embarrassed to have been caught.

Not even when it was by his own wife.