A tight, uneasy silence followed. Henry let it settle for a breath before speaking again.
“On that note,” he added, his tone still smooth, but with an undercurrent sharp enough to cut, “there are additional clarifications I presume our contestants will appreciate hearing aloud.”
Nine masked men didn’t move a muscle. The eight women I was here to compete with all held their breath, and so did I. My fingers tightened around the napkin in my lap.
“The gentlemen assisting us,” Henry said, “are being compensated very generously for their participation. An obscene amount of money per day, in fact.”
A few women’s heads tilted, minds clearly racing. Mine included.
“However,” he continued, “that compensation ends the moment a contestant is eliminated. The man assigned to her will be dismissed immediately, and his contract — and his pay — terminate with her departure.”
Silence fell on the dining room, sharp and brittle.
I thought that was the worst of it, but I was wrong.
Henry’s gaze slid deliberately to Jacob.
“There is,” he said, “one unique situation among our participants that we were not prepared for.”
The air shifted and crackled with an electric undercurrent, like the whole room took a single, collective breath and held it.
“Contestant Number Eighteen’s original partner — the previous Number Seven — was removed from the premises prior to the Game’s commencement. In order to prevent an automatic disqualification for her, our groundskeeper, Jacob — Number Seven, now — volunteered to take his place.”
Heat crawled up my spine. Every woman in the room turned and stared at him. Jacob didn’t move. He barely seemed to be breathing.
“Mr. Stonewood,” Henry went on, “was… unimpressed by this breach of protocol.”
My heart dropped.
“However, in the interest of being a good sport, he agreed to allow the substitution under very specific terms.”
Henry’s voice remained placid, but a razor edge glinted beneath every word.
“Number Seven will receive the compensation that was originally intended for the eliminated participant, provided that Contestant Eighteen remains in the Game.”
Every hair on my arms stood up.
Henry clasped his hands behind his back again.
“However… if Contestant Eighteen is eliminated, disqualified, or otherwise leaves the Game for any reason, Number Seven must returnallfunds earned during his participation in the Game, including his usual wages.”
The room went deathly still.
“And,” Henry added, the final stroke of the blade, “should she be eliminated, upon her elimination, Number Seven will also be required to tender his resignation from his position as Mr. Stonewood’s groundskeeper.”
My breath punched out of me and the room spun.
Resignation. Jacob could lose his job — lose everything — because of me… all because he’d tried to help me.
A low, rippling shock spread across the table as the implications sank in. The other women looked at Jacob with sudden, sharp curiosity, like realizing a man might be far more invested in his partner’s performance if his entire livelihood was tied to it.
But Jacob? He didn’t flinch, not even once.
He just sat there across from me, masked and unreadable, the candlelight catching on the pale ridges of his scars, looking like a man carved out of stone. And somehow that was worse.
“Number Seven accepted these terms,” Henry finished calmly, “and so the Game proceeds.”
I couldn’t breathe. He’d risked everything for me, a girl he barely knew, a girl who could barely keep her hands from shaking in a room full of women who all outranked and outclassed me in one way or another.
