He gestured lazily toward the staff waiting by the doors.
“So you will be escorted to your quarters and confined there until the roads are safe to travel. Meals will be brought to you. You will have no contact with the remaining contestants. Consider yourselves… guests of the house, for now.”
Thirteen’s chair scraped back first, the sound harsh in the stunned quiet. She stood too quickly, her pageant smile long gone, replaced by something raw and furious.
“This is ridiculous,” she snapped, voice trembling at the edges. “You can’t just?—”
“I can,” Henry cut in softly. “And I am.”
Ten rose more slowly, that runway grace finally cracking — her hands clenched at her sides, knuckles white. She didn’t speak, but her eyes flicked once toward the windows, where the storm still raged against the glass.
Their partners followed in silence, faces unreadable.
The staff moved forward — polite, firm, inescapable — and guided them out.
Four chairs emptied.
The doors closed with a heavy, final click.
Henry lifted his glass again, this time to the entire table, though his gaze settled firmly on me.
“To those who remain,” he said quietly. “Enjoy your dinner. It’s excellent.”
Across the table, Jacob’s scarred fingers found mine under the linen cloth and squeezed once, and then it was over.
Four couples left… just four, and one of them was us.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
CHRISSY
December 14, 11:45 PM
By the timeI dragged myself back to my room, exhaustion hit like a wall. The fire burned low, casting flickering shadows across the walls, the bed calling to me like a promise of oblivion. My body still ached from last night, deep bruises blooming under my skin from Mr. Stonewood’s palm, a soreness between my thighs that throbbed with every step. I peeled off my clothes slowly, wincing as fabric brushed tender spots, and slipped into a soft nightgown before sinking into the blankets. The sheets were cool against my heated skin, and I let out a shaky breath as sleep pulled me under almost immediately.
I didn’t mean to dream of hands on my skin… rough ones that gripped and punished, then gentle ones that traced and soothed, but the dreams blurred together, pulling me deeper until a shift in the air woke me. Not a sound, exactly… more like a presence. I could feel someone’s gaze trained on me.
I blinked slowly, lashes heavy, letting the room swim into focus. Dim firelight danced across the rug, shadows stretching longand dark. And in the wingback chair by the hearth... Jacob was sitting there, watching me.
He sat forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands loosely clasped, his gaze fixed on me like he’d been there for hours, memorizing every breath I took in sleep. The fire’s glow caught the scarred side of his face, deepening the ridges and pulls, making him look raw and vulnerable in a way that twisted something sharp in my chest.
My breath caught in my throat.
“Jacob?” He didn’t move at first, just held my gaze with that intense, wrecked stare, hungry and uncertain, like he was fighting himself even being here.
“How long have you been here?” I whispered, my voice barely carrying across the quiet room.
“Long enough,” he said, his voice low and rough.
Heat prickled across my skin, chasing away the last remnants of sleep.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.” He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the silence. “But I couldn’t stay away. Not tonight.”
Something inside me cracked open, wide and aching. I sat up slowly, the covers pooling around my waist, my nightgown’s strap slipping off one shoulder. The cool air raised goosebumps on my arms, but it was his gaze that made me shiver.
