His gaze flicked over Chrissy briefly.
“And some of you failed spectacularly.”
Fourteen stiffened like someone had prodded her spine with a cattle prod.
“I told you — she dropped the vase on purpose?—”
“No,” Henry said, voice like a razor wrapped in satin, “you struck one of my staff, Amelia, in the face. And for that, you are eliminated.”
She sputtered, indignant, but two security guards had already appeared at her elbows.
“Mr. Stonewood will hear about this!” she tried. “I’m sure he would agree?—”
“He was watching,” Henry said, each word a nail hammered into her coffin. “He saw everything, and I can assure you he doesn’t agree with anything about you.”
My jaw clenched. I hadn’t just watched. I’d wanted to break her nose myself. No one touched my staff. No one touched my people. And no one — not one goddamn person — hurt someone in my house and walked away smiling.
The guards escorted her out and the remaining contestants shifted uneasily.
Good.
Fear made them manageable.
Henry let the silence settle, then continued.
“One of you,” he said, and now his tone shifted, subtle, but unmistakable, “took responsibility for damage she didn’t cause. She shielded the staff with no thought for herself.”
Chrissy froze. Every cell in her body telegraphed tension. Shame. Pride. Fear.
And under all of it, something she didn’t want to name, something I knew intimately.
“She proved herself willing to accept consequences,” Henry said. “Willing to be accountable. Willing to protect those with less power than she has.”
A murmur broke through the room.
I kept my face blank, Jacob’s face, but inside? I burned with pride.
Because she didn’t do it for whoever might be watching. She didn’t do it to impress me, and she didn’t do it because it was strategic.
She did it because it was who she was.
And Chrissy Jones had no idea that for a man like me — a man who’d only ever seen loyalty when it was bought, aside from Henry — that was the most dangerous thing she could’ve shown me.
Henry straightened.
“Number Eighteen remains in the Game.”
Chrissy exhaled shakily, her shoulders dropping a fraction. She didn’t look at me.
Smart girl.
Because if she had, she would’ve seen something she wasn’t ready to understand yet. I wasn’t furious with her for taking the blame. I wasn’t disappointed. I wasn’t planning to punish her because she’d embarrassed me.
I was planning to punish her because she’d made me feel something and I was powerless to stop myself.
Desire. Interest. Protectiveness. Possession.
She’d thrown herself on a sword that was never pointed at her and dared me to decide what she was worth… and I intended to show her.
