The room hums with quiet opulence. The high ceilings of Eulogia’s library stretch above us, lined with mahogany shelves packed with books that have never been seen by the public. Gilded chandeliers bathe the room in golden light, illuminating the elite men and women who move like all they know is control.
The women stand around in carefully arranged groups, each one looking perfectly dull. Their expensive gowns cling to bodies honed by strict discipline, every movement precise and intentional. Diamonds flash coldly. Their eyes narrow in apprehension as we walk in, sizing us up instantly.
Archibald exhales a low whistle and rocks back and forth on the balls of his leather-clad feet as he lights a cigarette and takes in a large lungful while passing one to Hudson. "Well, if this isn't a scene straight out of some fucked up fairytale."
Hudson nods and lights it, taking his own deep inhale as he surveils the room.
Dexter smirks, also scanning the room and puffing on a just-lit cigar. "More like a chessboard. And we’re stepping onto it as newly crowned pieces."
Fordham rolls his shoulders, unaffected as he also sucks down a cigarette. "Then we should play to win."
I glance at them impatiently. "We gonna talk all night, or actually do this?"
Archibald chuckles, ignoring the butler who appears beside us with an ashtray. He flicks his cigarette onto the carpet and crushes it under his foot. An action only a man with his kind of power could get away with. “Fine, fine. But since we're official now, call me Archie, and that's Hudson,” he says, nodding to the tall and quiet guy standing next to him.
Dexter shrugs and nods to his twin. "And me, Dex. And don’t bother calling this asshole Fordham."
“It’s Ford,” his darker and more polished twin mumbles around his smoke.
They wait for me to respond. I say nothing.
Archie raises an eyebrow, amused. "Okay, too cool for nicknames, are you, Herron?"
I grunt, ignoring him. "Let's get this over with."
Near the staircase, four women watch us closely. One has sleek dark hair and sharp, calculating eyes that immediately latch onto me. Attractive, but cold. Everything about her seems carefully planned, too perfect, and painfully predictable—my Chosen.
Dex nudges my arm. "First move’s yours, Herron. Let’s see what kind of game you’re playing."
I finish my champagne, drop the empty glass onto a passing waiter's tray without looking, and move forward.
The night is only beginning.
Martine Lilian Huntington-Russell
Present Day
A chill creeps down my spine as I watch the stranger disappear into the darkness, his polished shoes tapping menacingly against the brick path. The scent of expensive cologne and tobacco lingers in the air, mingling with the distant hum of conversation from the dormitory suite behind me. I exhale slowly as I turn toward the looming silhouette of my building.
When I watched his mouth, bold and unapologetic, pressed to the exact spot where mine had just been, I was shocked. That deliberate gesture was intimate, making my pulse flutter in mythroat. Who does that? I don’t know his name, but something about the way he moved, like the world was already his and I was next, makes my breath catch.
My brothers will be furious when they realize I left the party alone. Ford, in particular, has a talent for making me feel like a careless child whenever I deviate from his careful orchestration of my life. How dare I, a grown woman, be left unsupervised.
But tonight, I don’t care.
There’s a slight chill in the air, the kind that sets in when it’s finally late enough that the warmth of the summer sun fades.
I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, feeling the softness of it between my fingertips. I’ve always loved how soft my apple shampoo makes my hair.
As I near my building, another quite familiar figure steps out from the shadows just beyond the gas lamps, his presence sending a fresh wave of irritation through me.
I let out a loud sigh, not caring if my offending visitor hears me.
"Leaving the party so soon?" Archie drawls, his voice slick with amusement. Leaning against the stone railing outside my suite entrance, his disheveled hair makes him look rakish in the glow of the evening lights. His eyes linger on me a beat too long, filled with a familiar hunger I’ve become increasingly adept at ignoring.
He’s handsome, I’d never deny it. But we’ve shared too much, and I’d sooner gag than ever be attracted to him.
I don’t stop walking. "Not interested, Archie."
