Chapter 9 More Ruthless Than the Devil

"So," Elliott said as he crossed one leg over the other and settled deeper into his chair, "what exactly do you want to know?"

We were seated across from each other at a round glass table trimmed in gold, placed in the middle of what looked like an indoor conservatory. A narrow fountain ran behind him, its water spilling softly over carved stone, while birds somewhere above us kept filling the silence with restless chirping. Green plants crowded every corner, climbing over white trellises and hanging from the ceiling in thick curtains of leaves. It should have been peaceful. In another life, perhaps I would have admired it.

Right now it only felt like another beautiful section of a prison too large to memorize.

Getting here had taken several turns through hallways and private passages, enough that I had already lost any hope of tracing the route back on my own. The mansion was built like a maze designed by someone who did not want people leaving without permission. That realization alone had soured whatever appreciation I might have had for the scenery.

I folded my hands tightly over my lap and stared at Elliott.

He stared back with that same infuriating smile.

I had too many questions clawing at my head, but I did not trust him enough to give him the satisfaction of seeing desperation first. So instead of beginning with the obvious, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, "Is this your idea of a date?"

His brows jumped.

Then he leaned forward so abruptly that the table trembled. "Do not tell me you are disappointed."

I blinked. "What?"

He placed both hands dramatically over the table and looked around the conservatory with exaggerated offense. "I knew it. You expected moonlight, roses, candles, perhaps a violin in the corner. My heart is wounded."

I closed my eyes for a second.

Why did every conversation with him feel like a test of my blood pressure?

"There is no reason for me to be disappointed," I said flatly. "You told me that if I agreed to this date, you would answer what I wanted to know. I agreed because I need information, not romance."

His grin faded.

Not completely, but enough that the shift caught my attention.

I leaned slightly forward. "I am desperate to get out of here, Elliott. If sitting across from you and pretending this is a date gets me answers, then fine. I will sit."

He studied me quietly, and for the first time since meeting him, he looked less amused and more thoughtful.

"You really are planning to leave."

It was not a question.

I nodded.

"That is the only plan I have."

A short laugh escaped him, but there was no humor in it.

"You have courage," he murmured, almost to himself. "Or maybe just no understanding of where you woke up."

I narrowed my eyes. "Then explain it to me."

Instead of answering, he leaned back and rubbed a hand over his jaw. Some of his earlier playfulness drained away, exposing a different kind of man beneath it, one far less noisy and much harder to read.

"You know," he said after a moment, "I was actually curious about you long before today."

My forehead creased.

"What?"

He looked at me directly. "I wanted to know what sort of woman could make Reign spend that amount."

The words settled heavily between us.

My fingers tightened over my lap.

I still could not think about that auction without feeling the same humiliation crawl under my skin. Numbers had flown over my head like weapons, each one turning me into a more expensive object, and above all of them had stood Reign with that calm voice of his, buying me as if he were selecting a piece of art.

"I did not ask him to do that," I muttered.

"I know."

"Then stop talking as though I should be grateful."

Elliott sighed and dragged his chair back a little. "You misunderstand me. I am not saying you should thank him. I am saying that no one spends that kind of money unless something in them has already snapped."

That made me look up.

"What does that even mean?"

He gave me a long look, one that seemed to debate how much he should say.

"It means," he said slowly, "that Reign does not move without reason. He does not breathe without calculating consequences. Every person around him knows this. Every deal he touches is deliberate. Every decision he makes usually benefits him ten times over."

I listened despite myself.

Elliott's voice had lost all traces of mockery now.

"So when a man like that walks into an underground auction and throws away a trillion for one woman..." He paused and exhaled. "You should understand why I am interested."

A cold sensation slid down my spine.

Interested.

The word made me feel like a specimen under glass.

I looked away toward the fountain, trying to organize the unease growing inside me. "That still does not explain why I am here."

"No," Elliott agreed. "Because the truth is, I do not know the full answer either."

My head snapped back to him.

"You do not know?"

"I know Reign," he said. "That is enough to know when something is abnormal."

I stared at him, waiting.

He rubbed both hands over his face before standing from his chair and pacing beside the fountain. "This is why I am telling you to stop thinking about escape as though it is a simple afternoon errand."

My eyes followed him.

He looked genuinely agitated now.

"I do not need permission to leave," I said, my own temper rising. "No one asked whether I wanted to be kidnapped. No one asked whether I wanted to be sold. I woke up in this place without consent, so yes, I am going to leave."

He stopped pacing and looked at me.

"You talk as though the outside is still waiting for you exactly the way you left it."

His sentence made my chest tighten.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, choosing each word carefully, "that you still do not understand what kind of men were bidding on you that night, and you still do not understand what kind of man Reign is."

I pushed my chair back and stood.

"I do not care who he is. I have to get out."

Elliott laughed once, sharply, but frustration had completely replaced humor.

"You think this is about walls and locked doors?" he asked. "You think walking out the gate solves everything?"

"Yes."

"No, Ruchee." He dragged a hand through his hair and looked at me with visible strain. "It only puts you back where they can reach you."

The words struck me so suddenly that I forgot to answer.

They.

My abductors.

The men from the auction.

I felt my throat go dry.

Elliott stepped closer to the table and lowered both palms against the glass. "Listen to me carefully. You can hate Reign all you want. Frankly, most people do. But if your current plan is to run out of this mansion the first chance you get, then you are planning your own funeral."

I swallowed.

Every nerve in my body had gone alert.

"Why are you trying to stop me?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again.

"Because," he said, "Reign is far more ruthless than the devil, and if even a man like him decided that keeping you here is necessary, then the danger outside is something you are not prepared to meet."