Let the games begin.
THE PAWN
QUINTON
Sophie reclinesin one of the plush armchairs in her suite, her designer sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose as the December sun seeps through the blinds.
My sister likes to act innocent and nonchalant. It’s her ideal role. She’s spent decades mastering it. But this week, she’s playing a different character—the goddamn instigator. I stand before her, seething, my fists clenching at my sides as I struggle to maintain my composure.
"You know how I feel about Cavanaugh," I hiss. "You had no right to invite him. I specifically told you to keep this holiday quiet."
“Quinny, darling, I truly don't understand what the big deal is. Damon's a family friend.” Sophie tilts her head, her perfectly painted lips curving into an infuriatingly serene smile. "Perhaps this has more to do withEmerythan you?”
Sophie is a fantastic performer, but over the years, I’ve learned enough about her theatrics to recognize the manipulative undercurrents in her words.
"And so what if it does?" I growl. "You still should’ve listened to me. You had no right to bring him here.”
She shrugs. "I'm just being a concerned sister, Quin. After all, you never really tell me anything. I have to look out for you somehow."
"I am a grown man," I say, my voice low and intense. "I don’t need you to look out for me.”
She leans forward, placing her mimosa glass delicately on the side table. “The last time I stayed out of your business, Q, you got your fucking heart broken.Twice. I refuse to see that happen again.” She adjusts her sunglasses. “What better way to gauge a woman’s intentions than to put both contenders in the same arena?”
My jaw tenses. “It’s not a competition?—”
“Friend.” The word rolls off her tongue like poison. “That’s what she calls you. A friend.” Her brow perks up beneath the rims of her sunglasses. “We both know you don’t see her asjusta friend. I’m not blind, Q. But you? You might be.”
"You have no idea what you’re talking about," I retort, my frustration bubbling.
Sophie's gaze narrows, her facade slipping for a moment, revealing a flicker of genuine concern. "Don’t be delusional, Quinton. Not again. I may have overstepped, but I did it for you.”
I remain silent, aggravated. And it’s perhaps because I know she’s correct. I know there’s a smidgen of truth in her words. I saw it in Emery’s eyes last night. They burned with something toxic, something I don’t ignite within her.
Sophie sighs, relenting slightly. "New Year's Eve is only six days away, Quinton. This week will fly by. Observe and learn. Use this time to your advantage.” The sound of tires on snow echoes from outside, and she snaps her head to the window, gaze flicking down to the driveway. “Oh… Well, this is interesting.” I follow her sight line, brows knitted together as Damon exits theSUV…with a woman. “Maybe I was wrong,” she mutters. “Maybe there’s nothing to worry about, after all.” Sophie stands up, polishing off her mimosa. “Shall we go greet our new guests?”
Bastard.
He’s always known how to start a cold war.
I descend the grand staircase into the foyer, Sophie waltzing behind me. As we reach the bottom of the stairs, my gaze lands on Cavanaugh standing in the entryway with a woman on his arm. My jaw tenses involuntarily. The poor girl, Damon’s unwitting pawn for the week, is a striking brunette with long legs and pouty lips. A perfect choice. He knows exactly who she looks like.
“Sophie, you look as enchanting as ever,” Damon says sweetly before turning toward me, smirking as he introduces hisguest. "This is Maya. Maya, these are our hosts for the week, Quinton and Sophie Marquis.” Maya gives us both a shy smile. Damon slings his arm around her shoulder, leaning into her ear and whispering something in Spanish. Maya’s cheeks flush and she giggles. “Maya’s from Spain. She doesn’t speak much English.”
Maya and I stare at each other briefly, and I can see the flicker of curiosity in her eyes. She's no fool. Energy is a universal language. And she can certainly sense the tension in the room.
I nod politely, hiding my irritation. "A pleasure to meet you, Maya."
“Well, we have a lovely week planned,” Sophie addresses Damon and Maya. “I’ll get Marsha to print you a copy of the itinerary. Today, we’ll be joined by the world-class ceramic artist, Pierre Rahul.” She gives Maya a deceivingly friendly wink. “I hope you’re ready to get your hands dirty.”
Damon translates softly into Maya’s ear, and she expels a coy laugh. It’s infuriating how effortlessly he can charm anyone,especially when it serves his purpose. But maybe she’s being paid to laugh. Or perhaps she’s simply clueless. Either way, it’s unfortunate.
As I'm about to make my exit, Emery emerges from the sitting room. I rein in a grin as she adjusts the burgundy smock around her waist, the bulky shape in no way concealing her mountainous curves.
Emery’s green eyes widen, and everyone falls silent as she steps into the entryway and sees Damon with Maya. I watch her carefully, knowing that this moment will reveal more than I care to see.
Emery conceals her jealousy well, but there’s a subtle shift in her posture.
Damon taunts her with a sly smile. "Emery, you remember Maya, don't you?" He cocks his head. “I believe you met. Last night?”
