Page 51 of Broken Blades

My stomach dropped. Plummeted straight through the floor and kept falling. "Tomorrow? Already?"

The word came out too high. Too desperate. I hated the sound of it.

He nodded once. Matter-of-fact. Like he was discussing grocery lists instead of parading me in front of cameras.

"Morning coffee at a busy café. Then the arena. Cameras will be there."

Of course they would be. That was the point. The entire humiliating, degrading point.

His gaze drifted over me. Slow. Assessing. Not sexual—worse. Professional. Like a stylist deciding if I was worth the effort. "Wear something soft. Something that looks good in photos."

"You can't tell me what to wear." My voice came out sharper than I intended. Defensive. But I didn't take it back.

His expression didn't shift. Didn't harden or soften. Just stayed flat and controlled and infuriatingly calm. "I'm not telling you what to wear. I'm telling you how to sell this."

The distinction felt paper-thin. Meaningless. A technicality he could hide behind while still controlling every detail.

I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him to go to hell. Wanted to walk straight back up those stairs and lock myself in that guest room until morning. But my father's voice echoed in my head. Protect what we've built. The merger. The company. The legacy.

Thirty days.

I could survive thirty days.

Couldn't I?

I forced myself to nod. Stiff. Reluctant. But a nod nonetheless. "Fine."

His mouth curved. Just slightly. Not quite approval. More like acknowledgment. Like I'd performed exactly as expected, and he was mildly satisfied with the result.

"Good girl."

There it was again. Those two words that slithered under my skin and wrapped around something I refused to examine too closely.

I stood before he could say anything else. Before my traitorous body could react again. Before that flush could spread any further. "I'm going to bed."

He didn't stop me. Didn't argue. Just watched me retreat with that same flat, measuring expression.

I made it halfway across the living room before his voice followed me.

"Chastity."

I stopped. Didn't turn around. Couldn't make myself face him again.

"What?”

The silence stretched. Heavy. Deliberate.

Then, quietly…

"Sleep well."

The words shouldn't have rattled me. They were polite. Normal. Exactly what anyone would say. But the way he said them. Low and controlled and laced with something I couldn't name.

It didn't sound like a pleasantry. It sounded like a promise. Or a threat.

I climbed the stairs without answering. Each step felt heavier than the last. By the time I reached the guest room and shut the door behind me, my hands were shaking.

I leaned against the wood. Closed my eyes. Tried to slow my breathing.