Belinda's POV
The moment the lock on the bedroom door clicked shut, I stopped moving. I wasn't cold, but the damp terry cloth against my skin felt suddenly like a masquerade costume. I stood in the middle of the carpet, letting the silence of the room settle around me, absorbing the frantic energy Jay had left behind.
My fingers went straight to the bruise on my neck. It was dark, already beginning to swell…a heavy, unmistakable mark. Just an hour ago, I'd reveled in it. The sheer, overwhelming force of him, his demand for my submission, felt like a thrilling affirmation of our parity. I let him take what he wanted, knowing I could always take it back.
But now, with the low, clipped voices of his new "security detail" filtering through the walls, the memory turned toxic.
It wasn't passion…it was desperation.
He was too aggressive, too hurried, too determined to leave that physical claim. It wasn't about meaningful intimacy…it was about stamping a receipt. He thought he could exhaust me, cloud my judgment, and then, while I was basking in the afterglow, feed me a manufactured crisis. He was trying to buy my silence with pleasure. That thought alone was an insult that deserved a bullet.
His story about my father…being "off-grid" for a high-stakes merger was the biggest lie of all.
If my father were facing a threat severe enough to warrant a 'clean sweep' tactical team, he wouldn't let Jackson take control of my security. His security is an army of shadows sworn to him alone and since he sees me as his property…he would have definitely sent them to collect me. More importantly, he wouldn't let anyone…least of all Jackson…be the messenger. My father briefs me directly. Period.
Just like the other day when he came to tell me how pissed he was I killed his partner. He came to find me himself.
Jackson's entire demeanor was wrong. The protective lover routine was thin, but the defensive CEO act was riddled with holes. He was hyper-focused, his eyes calculating the trajectory of my anger instead of easing it. He wasn't protecting me…he was protecting himself from me.
He was afraid.
I moved to the hidden safe behind the tapestry, my hands steady and precise. Jay gave me ten minutes for his "sanitized breakdown." I was giving myself five for the truth.
I pulled out the secure burner phone…the lifeline I kept completely outside of Jay's highly sophisticated digital net and entered the long, complex code for my most trusted source.
The line connected on the first ring.
"It's me," I whispered, dropping my voice to the low, guttural register that always commanded immediate action. There was no time for pleasantries. "I need a status report on the Chester operation. I want the absolute, unfiltered truth. No sanitizing, no corporate jargon. I'm giving you exactly five minutes, or I will consider your silence an act of betrayal and send a private retrieval team to your exact location."
I called a good friend, Lola.
I hung up before she could breathe a response.
Five minutes. Jackson had shown me his dominance with his hands. I would show him mine with information. The bruise on my neck was evidence of his mistake. He thought I was his to control.
He was about to find out exactly how dangerous it is to play a game of deception with the one person who knows how to make threats disappear.
Just because I'm his girl doesn't mean he should forget who I am. He said I'm too easily trusting of people right? Time to show him just how vigilant I really am.
"Bel" he called out from the other side of the door.
"Come in."
"Do you want to watch a movie in the theatre? We can talk afterwards. I promise."
He's trying to distract me. I can feel it.
"Sure. What do you want to watch?"
"Star Wars would be my request but since you're the one who's house has suddenly become a whole wiener fest without your permission…I'll let you pick. And no I haven't forgotten about the 10min you gave me." He finished before kissing my forehead.
"Tangled"
He looked confused…as if he was trying to figure out if he'd seen the movie before. "Okay"
He then disappeared from the room to let me get dressed.
As soon as I stepped out of my room, there were guards stationed all along the hallway. What the hell?
If this is supposed to make me feel safe…it's actually doing the opposite.
The hallway was a theatrical production of its own. Three men, positioned like statues along the wall leading to the grand staircase. Not the usual, discreet security who blended into the woodwork, but hulking figures in tactical gear, their presence a deliberate, heavy statement.
This wasn't Jackson's style. His security was professional, invisible, designed to make the client forget they even existed. This display was clumsy, designed to intimidate…or, more likely, to contain. It felt less like protection and more like a perimeter.
I kept my pace even, my head held high, acknowledging them with the barest, dismissive flick of my eyes. They were not here for me…they were here for him. They were watching the prisoner(me).
I found Jay in the living room, standing by the console of the hidden elevator that led down to the private theater. He was already wearing a relaxed cashmere sweater, attempting to project an image of domestic ease that clashed violently with the armed camp he'd built around us.
He turned as he heard my silk whisper on the marble floor, and the familiar warmth in his eyes was almost convincing. He moved towards me, but I preempted his touch, gliding past him to the elevator panel.
"I'm ready," I said, my voice pitched just right…soft, but firm.
"You look stunning B. Those bruises…" he trailed off, his thumb lightly caressing the spot on my neck, a possessive gesture that, this time, I let him get away with. "They really suit you."
"I'm glad you approve," I replied, the sweetness in my voice sharp enough to draw blood. It suits me because it's a reminder of your lie, darling.
He started to step into the elevator, but before the doors could close on his charade, my phone vibrated in my clutch purse. It was the secure burner.
Lola.
10 minutes and twelve seconds. She was quick.
I didn't acknowledge the vibration. I kept my eyes locked on Jackson, waiting for the casual distraction he would offer.
"I've already got the popcorn started. Salt and vinegar, just how you like it," he said, pressing the 'Down' button.
And here it is. The theater. The dim light, the soft seats, the distraction. He was trying to buy time, not just for his ten-minute report, but for my anger to fade. He wanted me sedated by nostalgia and comfort.
"Actually, wait," I said, and stepped back out of the elevator's steel maw.
Jackson froze, his hand still resting on the polished metal frame. The smile faltered, replaced by that dangerous, calculating stillness. The predator's pause.
"I forgot my blue-light glasses," I lied smoothly. "I can't possibly watch Tangled without being able to see Rapunzel's tiny floating lanterns. That's the entire point."
He looked at me for a beat too long, trying to gauge the depth of my sincerity. I gave him only placid indifference.
"Right," he said, slowly. "Be quick. I'll wait here."
I knew he wouldn't follow me. He didn't want to walk past his own guards again, or worse, have them see him as anything but the Alpha in charge.
I turned and walked briskly back towards the stairs. As I reached the third step, the secure phone vibrated again, a silent, urgent buzz that only I could hear.
I stopped out of his direct line of sight, turning my back to the silent, watchful guards in the hallway. I pulled the burner from the silk bag, my finger flying across the screen to decrypt the file.
The elevator doors hissed shut behind Jackson, sealing him in the steel box of his patience.
A single message from Lola filled the screen:
Chester Operation Status: Off-grid.
Personnel Report: Chester Knight is confirmed missing.
Orchestrater: J. Hill
My father…the monster who had sold me, the enemy I was dedicated to ruining, the man whose power I was systematically dismantling…was missing. And the man I had just shared my body with, the man who was waiting to hold my hand in the dark theater, was the one who I suspected has something to do with it.
My gut is telling me he knows something, and if he killed him that would mean he seized control of my revenge. He killed my father, and then, he lied to me about it.
I felt a blinding, electric fury. This means he had decided my fight was over without my permission. He had treated me like a fragile, naive thing who needed to be protected from the truth.
I tucked the phone back into my purse, the screen still displaying the fatal words. I smoothed the front of my dress, checked the placid reflection in the hallway mirror, and walked back towards the elevator with a slow, deliberate purpose.
Game on, indeed.
I stepped back into the elevator compartment. Jackson looked up, a satisfied, easy smile spreading across his face.
"Found them?"
I didn't smile back. "Yes," I said. "I found everything I needed."
I pressed the 'Down' button, sealing us into the dark theater, where the real show was about to begin.
I'm crazier than he thinks. He's lucky I hated my father's guts and that's why I'm able to keep my composure wether he's dead or kidnapped somewhere.
He wants to lie to me and make me look like a fool? I'll show him who's the fool.