The waist is cinched gently, not tight—no discomfort, no rebellion—just enough to define me. To frame me. To make sure I look exactly the way someone else decided I should.
It’s beautiful. That’s the cruelest part.
The skirt falls in soft layers to the floor, whispering when I walk, brushing my ankles like it’s trying to hush me. No pockets. No room for anything practical. No place to hide.
I look like a symbol.
Like anoffering.
Beckett grabs his suit from a garment bag. “I need to change,” he says, already heading toward the bathroom. He pauses to spear me with a dark look. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Yeah…I can’t promise that. The last thing I want to do is remain around these buzzing gnats whooohandaahover me, as if I’m the most beautiful girl in the world instead of a carefully constructed doll.
I need a minute—a second—to breathe.
I wait until the bathroom door clicks shut before slipping out into the hallway.
The air feels cooler there. Realer.
I press my palms against the wall and close my eyes, breathing slowly, trying to steady the feeling in my chest—the one that says everything is about to change, and I won’t be able to stop it.
The silk of the dress is a poison against my skin. Every brush of the fabric is a reminder of the polished, smiling doll she’s created.
How the hell are we going to get through this?
I know in my gut that this is it—Aria’s final play. She has positioned the pawns where she wants them on the board, and tonight will end with one of us being checkmated.
I lean my forehead against the cool plaster of the wall and try to breathe.
Just breathe.
Is it possible for us to get word to Raymond, Ryker, and Landon? I have a feeling we’ll need the backup.
What about Dominic, Beckett, and Zane? If we’re nearing the end, will Aria have any use for them? Will she kill them just to spite me? The mere thought causes my heart to race even faster, my hands to turn slick with sweat, my stomach to curl in on itself like brittle paper meeting a flame.
Fuck.
A shadow detaches itself from the deeper darkness near the stairs, and I jump.
Zane.
He moves with a predator’s grace, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. I take a moment to admire the suit Aria forced him into. It clings to his muscular physique in a way that almost makes me jealous. His obsidian hair has been—get this—combed away from his chiseled face.
He’s gorgeous.
And mine.
Completely.
He doesn’t speak. He just crosses the space between us, his presence filling the narrow hall. His hands come up to bracket my face, his thumbs stroking the line of my jaw. His gaze is heavy, dark with a possessive anger and a raw, urgent need that makes my own anger and fear melt away into a liquid heat that pools low in my belly.
“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. “Your makeup team and Beckett are just on the other side of that door. Dominic is down the hall. Aria is in the living room. Fischer is in his bedroom. Any sound, and they’ll come running. We don’t have a lot of time.”
Before I can answer, his mouth is on mine, a punishing, desperate kiss. It’s not gentle; it’s a claiming. His tongue sweeps in, tasting me, owning me, and my hands fly up to grip the front of his shirt. The silk of my ridiculous dress is bunched in his fists as he presses me back, back, until my shoulders hit the wall witha soft thud. The impact is a shock, but it’s nothing compared to the shock of his thigh wedging itself between my legs, pressing hard against the ache that has already started to build there.
He breaks the kiss, his lips hovering over mine before moving to my ear. “You make a sound, Ellie,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin, “and I stop. Understand?”
I can only nod, my throat too tight to form words. A wicked, dangerous light glints in his eyes. This is a game to him now. A test.