I wish I could believe the lie. But when Damiano’s hand came down on my skin, telling me what I was, who I belonged to—something inside me just…broke open. Or maybe broke apart.
Either way, I came from being spanked like a misbehaving child, and the humiliation of that should have eaten me alive.
Shouldhave.
Instead, all I could think about for hours after he left was the weight of his hand, the heat in his voice, the way he seemed genuinely shocked that my body had responded to him like that.
Which is fucked up on about seventeen different levels.
And the really twisted part is, I want him to do it again. I want to push him until that control cracks, until he puts his hands on me and?—
“Caligula, howwonderfulto see you,” a Vanderbilt widow coos, appearing at my elbow with champagne and curiosity. “We heard such terrible rumors. Thank God you’re alive!”
Next to me, Damiano’s presence is difficult to ignore—but I do my best. Ifeelhis fury burning through his clothes as he glares at the white-haired woman, and she smiles at me and me alone, like he doesn’t even exist.
These people see my social worth. Half of them seehimas some hired bodyguard. The ones in the know? They just see the beast who bought me.
And I plan to relish every second of his discomfort.
“Rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated,” I tell Mrs. Vanderbilt with a charming smile.
“But your cousin—?” she asks delicately.
“A tragedy,” I tell her, clipped. And I move on, Damiano trailing in my wake now. The crowd parts and flows around me like water, and whispers follow. They’re a vicious lot, the New York elite. Few of those whispers are complimentary, toward me or the man shadowing me. But every murmur, every sideways glance, every moment of recognition that bypasses Damiano entirely—I feel it feeding the beast behind me.
And my soul rejoices.
“Cal!”
I turn and see Jesse Foster gliding toward me through the crowd, his arm threaded through that of an older man I also, unfortunately, recognize.
Daniel King.
Jesse’s smile is radiant. “You look amazing.” His voice drops to an intimate whisper, eyes inquisitive. “How’s the arrangement working out?”
It’s a struggle, but I keep my expression perfectly pleasant. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Jesse. How are you?”
Jesse grins with delight. Daniel King gives me a nod and then stares at Damiano.
I should have realized back at the Obelisk, of course. But I only see it now.Daniel Kingis Jesse’s “owner,” the one who pays his tabs, the one to whom Jesse signed over ten years of his life. If I’d realized back then, would I still have agreed to the auction?
Probably.
So what does it really matter?
We exchange pleasantries for exactly the right amount of time—long enough to be polite, short enough to avoid running out of small talk. When they drift away toward the bar, I feel rather than see Damiano move closer.
A sense of unreality settles over me as he leans down to speak in my ear. “For such a parasite, Jesse Foster passes well for a human being.”
I’m not sure I want to know the answer, but the question comes out before I can think it through. “What do you mean?”
He sounds almost pitying. “Don’t you get it yet? Your buddy Jesse gets a commission for every desperate he delivers to auction. He wasn’t helping you survive, golden boy. He was selling you out.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. But somehow, I am.
Still, never show weakness in public. I turn to look Damiano dead in the eye when I respond. “Then you’ve taught me another valuable lesson, Dami.”
“And what’s that, little prince?”
