Chapter Six

The room still smelled like him.

A mix of something expensive and dangerous, something I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to wash off.

I sat in the dark, unmoving, lips tingling from his kiss. My heart was still racing—half in anticipation, half in confusion.

Jillian Colbert didn’t say things he didn’t mean. That much, I was starting to learn.

But he also didn’t say things to make you feel better. Which made his last words all the more terrifying.

“You will be.”

What did that even mean?

I lay down that night, fully clothed, too wired to sleep and too drained to stay awake. I drifted in and out of dreams where his voice echoed like a warning, like a promise.

I didn’t see him the next morning.

Nor the afternoon.

The mansion was cold and far too quiet, despite the house staff moving about like ghosts. I stayed in my room most of the day, occasionally stepping out just to feel less like a prisoner.

I kept thinking about Alyssa. About how sure she was that she still belonged to him. How comfortable she was in his space—in our space.

And worst of all, how he didn’t push her away.

The kiss… the touches… Was I just a game to him? Something to test before tossing aside?

By the time night fell again, I had reached a silent conclusion.

I wouldn’t let him play with me.

If I was going to be stuck here, then I would find a way to survive without handing him my heart on a silver platter.

He could have my obedience—but not my submission.

Not anymore.

I was just reaching for the edge of my robe when I heard a knock.

Not the gentle kind.

Three firm raps.

I knew it was him.

“Come in,” I said quietly, not bothering to cover up. I was in a silk nightgown, red, short, and delicate—but at that moment, I didn’t care if he saw. Let him look.

He stepped inside, the same quiet power in every movement. His eyes immediately fell on me, lingering for a beat too long before he shut the door behind him.

“Were you going somewhere?” he asked, voice low and laced with amusement.

“No,” I said, crossing my arms. “But you were.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Was I?”

“You’ve been gone all day.”

“I had business.”

“I’m sure Alyssa kept you company.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Annoyance? Amusement? I couldn’t tell.

“She’s not the reason I stayed away,” he said, stepping closer. “I needed space.”

“From me?”

“No. From what I want to do to you.”

His words were blunt. Raw. And they hit me right in the stomach.

I backed up, but he followed.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I said, my voice trembling.

“So are you.” His hand came up, fingers grazing the strap of my gown. “And we both know who’s going to win.”

My breath caught as he traced the edge of my shoulder. I hated how easily my body responded to him. How quickly I became pliant under his touch, even when my mind was screaming at me to fight.

“What do you want from me, Jillian?” I whispered.

He tilted my chin up with his fingers. “Everything.”

Then he kissed me.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow—painfully slow—like he was savoring the moment. Like he wanted to burn it into both of us.

I didn’t resist. I didn’t even pretend to.

The kiss deepened, hands exploring, mouths clashing, breath mingling.

Before I could think, I was backed up against the bed, the mattress hitting the backs of my knees.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against mine, breath hot against my lips. “You can stop this,” he said softly, seriously. “Right now. Just say the word.”

I didn’t.

Because I didn’t want to stop.

Because despite everything—despite his cruelty, his coldness, and the confusion he left in his wake—I wanted to feel this. I wanted to be wanted.

So I pulled him down with me.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of heat and tension and the unspoken promise that nothing would ever be the same between us.

He didn’t make love to me like a man in love.

He claimed me like a man who needed to win.

And I let him.

I woke before him.

The sun was just beginning to pour through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue over the room. Jillian’s arm was draped over my waist, heavy and possessive, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.

For a moment, I let myself pretend that this was real.

That we were real.

That the war between us had ended and this—this—was our peace.

But then he stirred.

And reality came crashing back.

His eyes opened slowly, still sleepy but sharp. Always sharp.

I shifted under the sheets, not quite sure what to say. I wasn’t even sure what I was allowed to say.

He brushed a thumb along my jaw. “You okay?”

I nodded. “I think so.”

“Good.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and complicated.

He sat up and reached for the shirt on the floor, pulling it over his head. I couldn’t help but watch the way his muscles moved, smooth and fluid.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he said without looking at me.

“Because I don’t know what happens next.”

His eyes flicked to mine. “What do you want to happen?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know. I just… don’t want to be a pawn.”

“You’re not,” he said simply. “You’re mine.”

My heart jumped, but I forced my expression to stay neutral. “That’s not the same thing.”

“It will be.”

He stood and walked to the door, pausing before he opened it. “Tonight, you’ll be at my side for the meeting with the partners. Dress like it.”

Before I could respond, he left.

Just like that.

And I was left alone again, wrapped in his warmth, drowning in his words, and unable to tell if I was finally winning him over… or losing myself.