“I never would’ve guessed,” I murmured.
“I wasn’t one for very long,” Vincent said. “I was quickly promoted to an Architect for my ability to read people, even when they think they’re unreadable.”
The look he gave me was pointed and borderline accusatory, but I brushed it off.
“Most people spend their lives learning how to hide,” he continued softly. “They become attached to the surface of things—to the version of themselves that feels safest to say aloud. But I’ve found people are remarkably talented at lying to themselves. They convince themselves they want control when what they want is safety. They ask for desire when what they want is intimacy. They ask for attention when what they want is to feel chosen.
“The trick is learning where to look. People always reveal themselves eventually. You just have to know where to find their cracks.” He sighed. “People are messy, Owen, but they are predictable. Almost painfully so when you understand them.”
That made sense. I didn’t read people the same way he did, but I did understand predictability and behavior.
“There’s a reason I don’t interact with the Society or my clients—why I have a manager who acts on behalf of Mr. Hemingway. That’s the way the Society has always been run. Mr. Hemingway has always kept himself distant because it allows the Society to run flawlessly with each transition,” he explained. “Admittedly, when I was an Architect, Mr. Hemingway didn’t interact with the Architects. That was something I chose to change. It was a trust I chose to build. When the former Mr. Hemingway wanted to retire, I was his choice to take over the title and the Society. It wasn’t something I could say no to. And one day, I’ll pick someone to take over for me.”
I stared at him as my mind worked to wrap around that piece of information.
“WhyVincent Hemingway? I assume it has something to do with the artist and the writer.”
“The Society itself predates Hemingway, but yes, the first Vincent Hemingway was inspired by both men. He used certain ideologies in their works to enact a drastic change in how the Society worked and functioned. Van Gogh taught us that people ache to be understood, while Hemingway taught us just how far they go to hide it. And here, at the Black Silk Society, we shatter the walls behind which they hide and help them feel understood. You’d be surprised how one moment in time can drastically change a person. One moment of being seen and heard—of not having to hide behind walls with another person—can dramatically change a person. That glimpse of what could be motivates us more than we know.
“And yes, sex is almost always involved, but sex creates vulnerability. It’s a means to help them strip away the walls they’ve built. It’s a form of connection that solidifies change within us. We help people become who they were meant to be,but we also help them with the quiet motivation to continue that change,” Vincent told me. “As for my role… Vincent Hemingway is nothing more than philosophy. The individual matters less than the purpose he serves. He becomes a keeper of human longing. He is a curator of desire and a protector of vulnerability. He is the first Architect of the Black Silk Society. The one that handles the emotional truths others so readily hide from.”
My gaze drifted over him slowly as my mind tried to wrap around the enormity of it all. The responsibility. The history. The weight. It was almost too surreal to grasp. My understanding of the Society seemed so limited when he broke it down like that.
And as I stared at him, a strange kind of awe filled me. Vincent had always been a little larger than life, but in the way that a boss or leader was. Nothing could’ve prepared me for the actual reality of what he was and what he carried to keep the Society running. Or of what he’d given up to step into the role he was chosen for.
“Who were you before you became Vincent?” I asked.
“No one of consequence,” he answered. “Vincent Hemingway is exactly who I was supposed to be.”
I accepted the answer and let the conversation end. His evasion wasn’t a surprise. I wondered if anyone knew who he was before he became Vincent. Well, maybe Elena knew. But was that it? How much of himself had disappeared in the wake of filling the role?
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” Vincent asked once more as he changed the topic with a grin.
“Fine. I’ll stay for dinner, but I oversee the cooking,” I said in exasperation because I knew he wouldn’t stop asking. Besides, one last dinner before everything changed sounded nice.
CHAPTER 18
Liam
In the two weeks that followed my experience with the Black Silk Society, I changed. It wasn’t a drastic, blow-my-life-up kind of change. In fact, most things remained exactly the same. However, it was there in the small things.
It started with boundaries—ones that protected me. I refused to run out the door like a madman every morning just to get to work extra early. Instead, I ate breakfast. Well, I tried to eat breakfast. Sometimes, I just drank coffee and read a book because the peace and quiet was nice. And byreading a book… I definitely meant catching up on trashy reality shows. It was good for my soul.
I stopped answering work emails after ten and let them pile up—which they did. Mr. Jennings had a penchant for sending me late-night demands for the next day. I left them all unread until I went into the office in the morning. I even said no to staying latetwice. Only twice. It took a lot of nerve for me to do it once, let alone twice. I couldn’t stomach doing it more than that.
Especially not with how Mr. Jennings had stared at me like I’d grown a second head.
And more than that, I started vocalizing what I wanted. Sometimes it was little things like where to go for lunch or the afternoon coffee. Other times, it was choosing to actually reply to messages on my dating apps and entertain the conversations being thrown my way.
Which was exactly how I ended up sitting across from a very attractive man in a nice bar downtown for drinks after work. Nathan Klein was objectively handsome with his windswept blond hair, bright hazel eyes, and easy smile. As the assistant to another CEO, he understood how to manage schedules, handle impossible demands, and survive on caffeine.
He was nice—really nice. Conversation flowed easily with him, and I laughed more than I had in a while.
Unfortunately, the problem was that I wasn’t… interested. There was no spark or intrigue. Instead, I found my mind wandering right back to the man who gave me the watch I refused to take off. The same watch I mindlessly brushed my thumb over as I listened to Nathan chat.
“I swear every time Mr. Rowe gets a new girlfriend, all hell breaks loose,” he was saying. “This latest one? She’s got him invested in his own goddamn horoscope.”
“Really?” I frowned because that didn’t sound like Mr. Rowe at all. I knew the man from a few of his business arrangements with Mr. Jennings.
