The theater suddenly became a torture chamber. The scent of spent desire, which should have been sweet victory, now reeked of my catastrophic failure.
I lay splayed on the carpet, physically pulverized, mentally gutted, and stripped of every defense. Her performance—the overwhelming, targeted erotic assault…wasn't intimacy. It was the calculated silencing of the witness. She made me incapable of lying, of thinking, even of moving, right as the clock ran out.
And now, she held the evidence of my deception.
Her voice, flat and cold, was the sound of a judge handing down a sentence. "You're late. And I already have the final, unfiltered report."
I scrambled back, leaning against the sofa, pulling the cashmere throw over my waist. The words on the burner—"missing," "orchestrator"—told her enough. Lola had confirmed only that Chester was missing, not dead, but that was enough to confirm the lie.
"Belinda," I choked out, pushing myself up. "Wait. Lola's report—"
"Lola's report confirms that you made a colossal mess and decided to clean it up without consulting the property owner," she cut in, her tone utterly dismissive. "I didn't need confirmation of the truth, Jackson. I needed confirmation of the lie."
I had to give her a truth she could swallow, a lie that justified my silence and her father's absence while maintaining my role as her indispensable ally.
"You're right," I confessed, the words tasting like ash. "I lied about the details, not the threat. Chester is not 'off-grid' for a merger. He is currently in a secure, non-traceable location in the Dolomites."
I pushed the narrative hard, giving her a detail she couldn't immediately verify. "He went too deep into the Russian energy deal—he was targeted for immediate extraction by a rival consortium. If the news of his capture leaked, it would have collapsed Thorne Corp. and put a price on your head. I didn't 'kill' your father, Bel. I bought him. And I hid him."
I pushed the ultimate button, connecting the lie directly to her deepest, rawest wound—the verbal abuse she'd suffered the other day.
"I hid him," I repeated, my voice dropping, "because I couldn't stomach waht he said about you the other day. I registered his threats in my mind. Bel…he is an active, poisonous threat to you. I was maneuvering the company into a solvent position for you, so that when he comes back, he'd be stripped of his power to hurt you with his business, his name, or those disgusting words. That is why I was silent. I replaced your war with a defensive siege to spare you the personal damage."
I held my hands out, a gesture of desperate appeal. "I was trying to protect you from the personal ugliness he was preparing to unleash."
"I don't need protection," she hissed, her eyes flashing with genuine malice. "I need an ally. You will spend the next twelve hours proving that you are worthy of carrying my secrets, not hiding them."
She walked toward the elevator, hitting the 'Up' button without looking back.
"Get dressed," she commanded. "We leave in a few hours so we need our rest. You are going to compile that full report on everything he was dealing with in the Dolomites, and you are going to drive me to your parents' house. And I expect you to be absolutely relaxed and charming. Because if I sense one hint of deception during the drive, I will turn the car around, take you back to my house, and let your security detail deal with the fallout of your treason."
The doors slid open, and she was gone, leaving me naked, exposed, and utterly ruined on the floor of her own theater.
~The next morning~
I made it to the office, secured the full transaction report I owed her, and was back at the house exactly forty-five minutes later. I felt the absence of the tactical guards—a silent acknowledgment from Liam that she had completely taken the lead.
I was clean-shaven, dressed in a relaxed sweater, and carrying the weight of a thousand sins. I felt raw, but that raw edge was amplified by a surge of pure, magnetic adoration. She had just eviscerated me, and all I could think about was her whispered command.
I found her in the garage, standing by the Mustang, wearing the simple, high-collared dress she'd selected. It was elegant, practical, and perfectly hid the line of the weapon I knew she was carrying.
"Report is compiling. Secure access to your network is open," I stated, my voice calm, professional, and entirely subservient.
She nodded once. "Good. Let's go."
As we pulled onto the highway, the scent of expensive leather and damp asphalt filling the cabin, I reached for her. My hand instinctively sought her thigh, the contact immediate and necessary. I couldn't help it. I was addicted to the physical reminder of her dominance. The fabric of her dress felt impossibly thin beneath my palm, and the thickness of her thigh beneath it was a magnetic pull, a constant, visceral distraction. I needed her to know her power was absolute.
"Tell me about your family," she said, cutting through the silence, forcing the transition.
I tightened my grip on her thigh, my thumb beginning that slow, deliberate stroke. She didn't flinch, only watched the road.
"They're the opposite of the life I built," I answered, my voice low and rich. "My parents are ridiculously normal. They're funny, B. They host garden parties and they still watch classic movies on VHS. They'll love you. They're great."
"And the black sheep is suddenly bringing the prize home," she noted.
"I told them about you," I confessed, pushing ahead, eager to feed her ego and confirm my surrender. "I told them about the terrifying, beautiful complexity. The intelligence that could bankrupt me by Tuesday. The fact that you were the first person who ever challenged me without being afraid of the consequences."
I paused, letting the raw confession hang in the air, my thumb digging slightly into her leg, a painful, needy pressure. "You're the only person I've ever been with who I genuinely believe is capable of killing me in my sleep, and that is why you're worth risking my family for."
"And they were fascinated. They've wanted to meet you for months. When I told them I needed a distraction to keep you from destroying the office, they specifically asked me to bring you tomorrow, on my father's birthday."
I offered the shield of my brother. "You'll meet Lyle. My younger brother. He's the standard—a pediatric surgeon, married, two kids. Zero shadows. He's their proof that the family is fundamentally good. They'll spend 90% of the conversation singing his praises."
She finally looked at me, her eyes glinting in the weak light. "So, this isn't a distraction, Jackson. This is a performance. And they're the jury."
My fingers flexed, gripping her thigh. "The jury, yes. But you're the main event. And I'm your devoted manager."
I drove fast, the Mustang a weapon cutting through the dawn. The question wasn't if I would survive the day. The question was what new, terrifying command she would issue next to satisfy her suspicion about the Dolomites.
As much as she scares me…I can't help but be dangerously consumed by her. I know she knows what she does to me. I see it in her eyes whenever I look into them.
Belinda's POV
The moment we pulled up the long, manicured driveway, I understood everything Jackson had said. This wasn't an estate…it was an isolation unit. The house was a sprawling New England colonial…all white paint, green shutters, and aggressive normalcy. It was utterly devoid of the shadows and steel I was accustomed to.
Jackson killed the engine of the Mustang and the ensuing silence was deafening, broken only by the chirping of birds—a sound I associated with high-altitude surveillance footage, not family gatherings.
"Welcome to the perimeter of peace," Jackson murmured, the familiar irony back in his voice. He glanced at me, his eyes dark with that unnerving mix of pride and fear. "Remember the rules Bel…charming, respectful, and absolutely no references to corporate espionage, deep-sea shell companies, or the fact that my life expectancy is currently tied to your mood."
I gave him a faint smile. "I'm always respectful when I'm assessing the enemy's origins, Jay."