Chapter 6: Knight, Devil, Both

(Lorei's POV)

"The Hartwell Gala's tomorrow night," Richard says over breakfast, buttering his toast like he's announcing the weather. "Full family attendance. It's important, half the board will be there."

I feel Elias's eyes on me before I even look up. I haven't been alone with him since the study three nights ago, I've made sure of it, skipping breakfast twice, taking the back staircase, locking my door the second I'm in my room. I don't say a word, just keep my eyes on my plate. 

Fucking perv.

I've decided I'm done letting my body run this show. I need to figure out what he meant about the marina, and I can't do that if I turn into a mess every time he's in the same room as me. Distance, that's the plan. Careful conversation, careful watching, and absolutely nothing else. I still feel disgusted thinking about what I did in that study, touching myself while I watched him on a call, like some kind of pathetic teenager with no self-control. I did that. Nobody made me do that part. That's the piece I can't forgive myself for. It's so shameful, I couldn’t even tell Priya.

"I'm not going," Elias answers flatly, setting his cup down.

Richard's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "Elias,” he says, his voice stern.

"I have a call with Singapore tomorrow night."

"Reschedule it." Richard's voice edges harder. "You're twenty-eight. You can survive one evening in a ballroom."

"I didn't ask to survive it. I said I'm not going." Elias stands, chair scraping back hard, and for a second the whole table sits in stunned silence. "Enjoy the gala." He walks out, and the front door shuts loud enough to rattle the china.

Nobody says anything for a second. My mom's gone pale, glancing between Richard and the empty doorway like she's trying to figure out if this is her fault somehow. Richard's jaw is tight, staring down at his plate.

"He's probably just stressed with work," I say, because someone has to say something, and I genuinely can't stand watching my mom's face fall like that. "I'm sure it's not about the gala at all."

Richard exhales, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders. "You're probably right." He gives me a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Lorei."

***

The gala's the next night, and everyone's dressed crazily expensive, you can tell just from across the room. Richard and my mom are pulled into a circle of greetings the second we walk in, air-kissing people whose names I'm never going to remember. I trail along for three, maybe four introductions, smiling until my face actually hurts, before I peel off toward the terrace doors, desperate for two minutes where nobody's expecting anything from me.

That's when I see the worst human being I've ever met in my entire life, the one I've spent six months hating and trying to forget and mostly failing at both, Fisher.

My stomach drops straight through the floor as I see his face, memories of how we first met three years ago flooding my head. It was at a dinner his mother, who was my mom's boss at the time, threw. My mom was his mom’s personal assistant, running her schedule and her errands and absorbing her moods for a paycheck that barely covered our rent. I wasn't even supposed to be there. My mom brought me along because the sitter cancelled, and Fisher found me hiding by the dessert table because I didn't know a single other person in the room. I never believed someone like him would actually want someone like me. I spent two years waiting for him to realize his mistake. I guess he finally did. Only that I had fallen deeply in love with him.

He's got Camille on his arm, both of them glittering under the chandeliers, and the second he spots me, his whole face lights up with a very ugly smile, he’s annoyingly perfect set of teeth coming to view.

"Lorei!" He steers Camille straight toward me, loud enough that heads turn. "Wow. Didn't expect the help to be invited to something like this."

A few people nearby burst into laughter, hearing him.

Fucking asshole.

"Fisher." I keep my voice even, even though my hands are shaking at my sides.

"You remember Camille." He pulls her closer, presenting her like a trophy. "Just got back from Paris. Fashion week." He looks me up and down, slow, cruel. "Cute dress. Rental, right? Must be hard, keeping up appearances. Heard your mom quit her job."

"It's actually mine," I say, chin up, though my face is burning.

"Sure it is." He turns to the small crowd that's gathering now, playing to them. "You know her mom used to work for my mom? Fetching coffee, running her dry cleaning. And now she's living in a mansion, pretending she belongs there. Must run in the family, attaching yourselves to people who actually built something."

More laughter rings out. I look around and I see people whispering to each other gesturing at me mockingly.  My eyes start stinging badly, hot tears threatening to burst out. 

But no, I will not cry here. I’m not giving him that satisfaction.

"That's enough," I manage, voice shaking.

"I'm just being honest." he grins, delighted. "Not an insult if it's true."

"Actually," a calm, deep voice cuts through the crowd, "it's both. An insult, and demonstrably false. Which makes you look worse than her, if we're being honest."

It’s Elias.

He steps in beside me, one hand settling possessively at the small of my back, and  I see mouths dropping open, eyes widening. 

"Elias Walker." Fisher's smile falters for the first time. "I didn't realize you two were…"

"Her stepbrother," Elias's voice stays pleasant, almost bored, which somehow makes it worse. "It’s obvious you didn’t know, since you clearly also didn't realize the Walker Group finalized the Hartwell shipping contract this morning, the one your father's firm was counting on to avoid defaulting on its loans next quarter. I sat across the table from him myself. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week." He glances at Camille, a smug smirk on his face. "It’s quite interesting that you chose this exact week to flaunt a new fiancée at a gala full of investors. Bold, watching your family's finances collapse while you're busy insulting someone else's." 

The color drains out of Fisher's face completely. Somewhere behind him, an older man in a sharp suit turns his head slowly toward Fisher with an expression that promises a very unpleasant conversation later. Probably his father. Two years of dating, didn’t meet him once.

"That's… that's not accurate," Fisher stammers, but nobody's really listening to him anymore. Camille's hand has gone rigid on his arm, her face gone from smug to panicked in about two seconds flat.

"We should… we should find the Hendersons," she says loudly, already pulling him away. A small ripple of applause and laughter moves through the onlookers, a few people clapping Elias on the shoulder as they pass, murmuring about the perfect, doting stepbrother. The performance is flawless. I almost believe it myself. 

Then his hand tightens at my back, and he leans down, mouth close to my ear, voice dropping low.

"I could still feel you shaking against that bookshelf," he murmurs. "You've been avoiding me all week. Did you think that would make it stop?"

"Stop it." My voice comes out too breathless to sound as furious as I need it to.

"You've got two options." His voice stays casual, pleasant, even as heat crawls up my neck at every word. "Keep avoiding me, and keep dreaming about exactly how that would've ended if my phone hadn't rung. Or come find me tonight, and actually finish it."

"You're disgusting," I whisper, and I mean it, I do, even as my thighs press together without my permission.

"You keep saying that." He straightens, already scanning the crowd for someone more important to talk to. "You should try meaning it sometime." 

He's gone before I can respond, swallowed into the crowd, already laughing at something across the room.

Fcuking asshole.

I make it to the restroom on unsteady legs and lock myself in a stall just to breathe. In the mirror, my reflection's flushed, furious, ashamed.

Get it together, Lorei.

"You can do this," I whisper to myself, gripping the edge of the sink. "You don't need to want him. You need information. That's it. That's the whole mission."

I fix my lipstick with shaking hands, smooth my hair, and make myself breathe until my face stops burning.

Find out what he knows. That's all this is. That's all he gets to be.

I just wish my own body believed me.