Murmurs ripple through the audience.
"I'm not going to perform. She's not going to perform. Because she's not mine to display. She's not property. She's not an acquisition."
Victor stands. "Sutherland, what are you?—"
"She's a person. A human being with thoughts and feelings and worth that has nothing to do with how well I've trained her to submit. And I'm not reducing her to a performance for your approval."
"This is highly irregular?—"
"This is me choosing her." I turn to look at Eden. She's staring at me with tears streaming down her face. "This is mechoosing love over power. Choosing her over everything you represent."
"If you walk away now," Victor says, his voice tight with fury, "you're finished with the Consortium. Blacklisted. We have reach, Sutherland. We can make your life very difficult."
"I know. Ask me if I fucking care. Some things are worth more than what you can offer. She's worth more."
I turn back to the audience. To the inner circle members in the front row.
To Victor and Richard and Geoffrey and all of them.
"You can keep your inner circle. Keep your power. Keep your grotesque displays and your illusion of control. I don't want any of it."
The room explodes. Voices raised. Outrage. Shock.
Victor's face is purple with fury. "You'll regret this, Sutherland. We'll?—"
"You'll what? Destroy me? Try. But you won't touch her. You won't come near her. Because if you do—ifanyof you do—I'll burn your world down. Every secret you're hiding. Every illegal acquisition. Every underage girl. Every law you've broken. I'll expose all of it."
The threat lands.
I can see it in their faces.
The sudden fear beneath the fury.
Because I'm not bluffing.
I've been collecting information for five years.
Documentation. Evidence. Insurance in case the Consortium ever turned on me.
Now I'm turning on them first.
"Stay away from us," I say quietly. "Stay away from her. Or I'll destroy all of you."
I take Eden's hand. "Let's go."
We walk off the stage.
Down the aisle between the seats.
Past the shocked faces and the outraged murmurs and the palpable fury radiating from the inner circle.
No one tries to stop us.
We walk through the showcase hall.
Through the Grand Salon where staff are cleaning up from cocktail hour. Through the foyer with its ridiculous chandelier.
Out the front doors. Down the marble steps.
