Chapter 8 Borrowed for an Hour

"This is nice. We are finally alone together."

I stared at Elliott in disbelief as he leaned far too comfortably against my shoulders as though we had known each other for years. The grin stretched across his face made him look entirely too pleased with himself, and the casual familiarity of his touch irritated me enough that I immediately shoved him away.

"What exactly do you think you are doing?"

He stumbled back half a step, not because my push had much strength, but because he allowed it, and then he laughed as if my annoyance was the most entertaining thing he had encountered all day. He planted both hands on his hips and continued looking at me with shameless amusement.

For several seconds I simply studied him, trying to understand what category of lunatic this mansion had produced. Reign was the terrifying silent devil variety. Elliott, on the other hand, seemed to be carved out of chaos and poor timing. The more I looked at him, the more convinced I became that he was the type who could smile in front of a bomb and ask whether everyone was having fun.

"Who are you?" I finally asked, deciding that even a strange answer would still be better than standing here drowning in assumptions.

He lifted both brows dramatically and placed a hand over his chest. "The definition of heaven."

I blinked.

"What?"

His grin widened. "You heard me."

I pressed my lips together and looked away for a moment, inhaling slowly so I would not commit my first murder inside this expensive hallway. Talking to him felt like trying to hold a conversation with a radio station that kept changing frequencies on purpose.

The absurd part was that my mind, against all logic, almost wandered into ordinary thoughts. For a second I caught myself evaluating whether every person in this mansion was insane or if only the men had been selectively cursed. I nearly scolded myself for it. I should have been focusing on escape, on answers, on how to get out of this place before sunset if possible. Instead, here I was standing in an oversized shirt arguing with a human festival decoration.

"That," Elliott said, laughing as though he had heard every thought in my head, "is exactly where you are."

I narrowed my eyes. "Do you always answer questions no one asks?"

"Only when I am inspired."

I chose silence.

It felt safer.

Also, I genuinely did not know how to continue speaking with a man who treated conversation like an improv performance.

Just then, the maid from earlier stepped forward with her head still bowed. "Miss Ruchee," she said softly.

I turned to her at once, surprised enough that my irritation toward Elliott paused. Hearing my own name from strangers still felt unnerving. I had not introduced myself to anyone since waking up here, and yet they addressed me as though my identity had been printed and distributed with breakfast.

"Yes?"

"We have orders from the Master. Please come with me."

Master.

The title alone made me glance briefly in the direction Reign had disappeared.

So that was what they called him in this house.

Before I could follow her, Elliott suddenly draped an arm over my shoulders again, as if he had materialized from the air solely to be inconvenient.

"Miss Thraia," he said brightly, "I am borrowing Ruchee for a little while."

The maid hesitated.

Elliott smiled wider.

"Perhaps an hour," he added.

I slowly turned my head to look at him.

Borrowing?

Was I a library book now?

"What are you talking about?" I asked, my voice edged with disbelief.

He removed his arm and folded both of his own across his chest, shifting into an unexpectedly thoughtful posture. For one fleeting second he looked almost serious, and I nearly made the mistake of assuming maturity had finally found him.

"Well," he said, "I borrowed you from my cousin."

I frowned. "Your cousin?"

He nodded toward the entrance Reign had used.

"Reign."

The single word settled in my chest.

Cousin.

So this infuriatingly loud creature was related by blood to the infuriatingly silent devil.

The family tree must have suffered greatly.

"And," Elliott continued with a grin that ruined whatever seriousness he had briefly borrowed, "for the next hour, you are under my delightful supervision."

I stared at him.

There were too many things wrong with that sentence for me to choose which one to attack first.

"I am not under anyone's supervision," I said sharply. "And I am certainly not something to be borrowed."

His expression softened only slightly, enough for me to notice that behind all the clownish behavior was a man far more observant than he pretended to be.

"Yes," he said, "you are very offended by that word. I can tell."

I folded my arms over my chest.

"As any sane person would be."

He tilted his head, studying me with surprising interest. "Good. That means the fire is still there."

I did not know what that meant, and I was not sure I wanted to.

What I wanted were answers.

Real ones.

Who abducted me. Why I had been auctioned. Why Reign had spent a trillion. Why everyone here already knew my name. Every passing minute inside this mansion made me feel more trapped by information than walls.

Elliott must have seen something change in my face because his grin returned, this time slower, more deliberate.

"You want to know why you are here," he said. "You want to know who Reign is, what this place is, and why a man like him emptied half a kingdom for a woman he had never touched."

My throat tightened.

He had struck every question directly.

I hated that he knew it.

I hated even more that curiosity rose faster than caution.

I should not trust him. I knew that much. Men connected to Reign were not safe by default simply because one of them smiled more. But information was a weapon, and right now I was standing unarmed.

I turned fully toward him.

"If I agree to listen," I said carefully, "will you actually tell me the truth?"

Elliott's smile spread with satisfied delight, as though he had been waiting for me to ask exactly that.

"I might," he said.

I glared.

He laughed.

"All right, all right. I will tell you enough truth to keep you from running into the sea before dinner."

That was not comforting.

Still, it was more than anyone else had offered.

I exhaled slowly. "Fine. Talk."

He leaned closer as though preparing to reveal a national secret, then lowered his voice with theatrical seriousness.

"I will," he said, "but only if you agree to go on a date with me afterward."

For several seconds I simply looked at him.

Then I wondered whether every man in this mansion had been professionally trained to destroy my patience.