“He’ll have to get the fuck out of her room before the other contestants wake. I’m assuming he’ll use the secret passage and go back to the West wing,” I said. “Let him sit with what he’s done, what we all have to pivot from now.”
And Chrissy Jones? She needed to understand just how close she’d come to destroying everything, including the man she’d just slept with.
By the time Chrissy Jones was brought to my office, the house had already been scrubbed back into order.
Beds remade. Cameras recalibrated. Narrative reasserted. Ben Stonewood did not like chaos lingering.
Chrissy stood just inside the doorway, her skin pale and posture tight, dressed in luxurious clothes she could never afford, even on her best day. Her dark eyes flicked once to the security detail stationed behind her, then back to me. She didn’t sit. She didn’t ask to.
Good instincts. Too late, but… good instincts.
“Close the door,” I said.
The click sounded louder than it should have.
I folded my hands on the desk and regarded her for a moment longer than was comfortable. Not to intimidate her — fear wasalready doing its job without my help — but to let the weight of what she’d done settle fully into her bones.
“I know,” I said calmly, “that Mr. Stonewood told you the night before last that he intended to keep you if you somehow managed to pass all his tests.”
Her breath caught, just slightly, and her cheeks flamed bright pink.
“And yet,” I continued, “you allowed Jacob into your bed last night.”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. Whatever explanation she’d rehearsed died before it could escape. I didn’t give her room to find another.
“I don’t know what Mr. Stonewood is going to do,” I said. That part was true. “But I am told that you are under house arrest effective immediately. You are restricted to your room until he comes to deal with you personally.”
Her hands clenched into tight fists.
“House arrest?” she whispered.
“You’ve done very well in the challenges, Miss Jones,” I went on, my tone almost conversational. “Exceptionally well, considering the circumstances.”
I leaned back slightly in my chair.
“I would hate it for you if you came this far only to fuck it up now.”
Her eyes shone, panic breaking through the composure she’d been clinging to since dawn.
“What… what happens next?” she asked.
I stood, signaling the conversation was over.
“Whatever Mr. Stonewood deems appropriate. Best of luck to you,” I said evenly. “Someone will knock on your door when it’s time for you to put on your blindfold. Mr. Stonewood will speak with you personally about what Mei reported to me this morning.”
The color drained from her face so fast I thought she might faint.
Security stepped forward before she could say anything else. They didn’t touch her — they never had to — just positioned themselves close enough that she understood resistance was pointless.
As they escorted her out, she looked back once.
I remained where I was until the hallway cameras confirmed her return to her room.
The lock engaged with a soft, final sound.
Only then did I allow myself to exhale.
Chrissy Jones had mistaken proximity for permission. Ben Stonewood would disabuse her of that notion shortly, I was sure, and when he did, there would be nothing left for me to manage except the fallout. Unless, of course, she broke him first. God help us all if that happened because the last time a Stonewood man fell this hard, it ended with the sole heir in a coma and a fortune’s worth of blood money. I finished my coffee and waited for the next disaster I’d have to clean up.
