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1
OCTOBER 23RD
The decision should be simple, like deciding between oatmeal and eggs for breakfast. No more complicated than choosing a color palette for a new dress design. As easy as selecting a pair of shoes for a special event. But this isn’t just any event, and the wrong choice could bring on a whole new level of emotional destruction.
As if there’s anything left to destroy after these past few weeks. The memories torment me, especially the moments I spent with the chancellor in the dungeon, trapped in the snare of Pax Monroe’s vengeance. I’ll never forget the ownership in Liam’s grip as he thrust his way to climax, or his shame afterward, thickening in the air with the scent of deviance.
And then there’s the memory of Sebastian and his wounded ocean eyes. Will he ever forgive me for what he interrupted on that island? There’s only one way to find out, and that involves cornering him at the ball.
Which brings me back to this decision.
With a sigh, I trace the complex stitching of the silver mask before hovering over soft, black lace. The unknown makes my fingers tremble. Too many what-ifs. Too many variables. Too many men to think about.
Men like Heath Bordeaux, Miles Sinclair, and the beast of all beasts…
The monster in the dungeon.
Will they wear silver or black? Or maybe the Brotherhood villains will cover their bases by choosing both.
One in silver, two in black. Or vice versa.
Rubbing the goose flesh from my arms, I sink onto the ottoman at the end of the bed. A light breeze drifts through the French doors, chillier now since the change of seasons painted the trees with splashes of blazing color. It’s too cold to leave the doors open for more than a few minutes, but I crave the sun, the break of waves against the cliffside, the gentle wind that carries a hint of freedom with it.
As the sun dips below the horizon, I close my eyes and breathe in the essence of the sea, a scent that’s reminiscent yet so unlike the tropical setting the Brotherhood dragged me away from just days ago. Somehow, even after everything I’ve been through, I find comfort in this moment—in these formulaic living quarters and the tradition of a new month.
My personal space in the House of Scorpio offers no surprises, easing my anxiety with the same balcony and seating area, the same luxurious quality of furnishings and linens, and the same layout I’ve become accustomed to in this tower. It’s the only constant in my life, and I cling to it in the face of this choice.
Because this decision is about more than just the villains.
Is it too much to hope that Sebastian and Liam will wear the same color, even if it’s the opposite of mine? That’s the only scenario that will put the three of us on even ground at Ford’s ball.
“Having trouble deciding?”
I lift my head and find Ford lingering in the doorway. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to see that you’re torn.” His hair is careless and overgrown like Sebastian’s, though it’s a lighter shade of blond. He’s a golden boy extraordinaire, decked out in a light gray tux with his hair slicked back.
A glance at the ornate clock on my nightstand shoots a ping of apprehension through my chest. The ball starts in a little over an hour, and I haven’t begun to get ready for it.
I’m still stuck on this choice.
“How can I decide?” I gnaw on my lower lip as he steps into the room.
“I can choose for you.”
For a tempting second, I consider it. Handing over the decision would certainly take the pressure off. But I’m already shaking my head as he settles next to me, leaving the box of masks between us on the ottoman.
“Thank you, but I need to make this decision on my own.”
Somehow, I need to make Sebastian see that he’s still got the biggest piece of my confused, fragile heart.
“How was your nap?” Ford asks, and his change of subject doesn’t go unnoticed.
I offer him a tremulous smile. “Restless.”
“Pax is a madman. I’d be shit shocked if you didn’t have trouble sleeping.”
“You don’t agree with the way Pax runs his house?”
