Shit. This isn't good.
Some instinct, some quiet terror sliding into place.
“She was dancing with him?” I say.
And I don't know why that is what comes out. I don't know why that feels like the most important thing I just learned, but fuck if it doesn't feel important. If it doesn't feel like something I should have noticed... stopped.
Theo’s brows lift. “Seriously, you ass? After you danced with a third of Richard's folder? Did you even have a proper conversation with her the whole night?”
I don’t answer him.
Because I do know what happened.
I brought her here.
I put her under these lights.
I let my father provoke me.
And instead of choosing her, I chose the game.
I chose this pre-programmed need to do better, be better than him.
“She was dancing with him,” Theo says flatly. “When you were busy being Richard’s good little pawn.”
My blood goes hot.
“She sat here until Graham swooped in, while you were parading women like trophies,” Theo continues. “Do you have any idea what that looked like?”
I turn away from him, breathing hard.
This feeling...
this heat, this restless, violent urge under my skin...
I don’t have a name for it.
I don’t get angry like this.
I get cold.
I get strategic.
This is something else.
“I need to go,” I say.
Theo scoffs. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Elliot asks, watching me closely. “Why bother?”
The question shouldn’t hurt.
It does.
“If this is how you treat her,” Elliot continues, voice sharp, “she’s never going to agree to what you’re offering. And frankly? You should let Whitaker have her. He’s already halfway there.”
