Sleeping With The Devil

Willow’s POV I first find stillness to be noteworthy. The customary conversation and clinking glasses in the ballroom disappear as I pass the huge doors, my footsteps resounding. Curious, some with subtle indications of sympathy; all eyes turned toward me. Though I have always known this world—glitz, riches, control—tonight feels different. Tonight, Adrian's world is yours. And in the world of Adrian Blackwell, nothing is ever as it seems. I advanced, looking among the sea of faces for him. Like the seconds before a thunderstorm, the air seems charged and thick and heavy. My eyes follow a movement in the corner, and there he is, sloppily resting on a marble pillar, staring directly at me. My dark eyes meet theirs. Their eyes are strong, as if they are assessing whether I am a potential prey or reward. I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry, and my heart sounds more loudly in my ears. Ignoring the sinking sensation in my gut, I manufacture a grin and head toward him. "Adrian," I respond, hoping my voice sounds more robust than I feel. "Willow.," His voice is smooth, yet it's tainted with an element I can't precisely pinpoint. He takes my hand; his grip is uncomfortably tight but strong. "You are just on schedule." "For what?" he asked. I tried to free my hand, but he wouldn't let go. He slants in, his lips barely a breath away from mine. "It's for the first half of your existence." His words freeze me down my spine, and I back off, looking for responses. Though it comes out more like a nervous chuckle, you sound as though we are closing some type of deal. I try a light laugh. Adrian's smile is crisp. "We are in a way." Finally, he releases my hand, and entwining his fingers with mine feels possessive. "Shall we go somewhere quieter to talk?" I hesitate, but he is already guiding me into a poorly lit corridor away from the throng. The sounds of the party fade away, leaving only the faint echo of our footsteps. He opens the door to a private study, and I enter, my heart accelerating as I hear the gentle click shutting behind me. Crossing the room, Adrian secretly offers me one by pouring himself a glass of whiskey and holding it up. I shake my head, my stomach twisting with nervousness. "Okay, Willow," he says, sipping and eyes never leaving me. "I think it's time we quit gaming." "Games??" My voice wanders. Adrian, I'm not sure what you mean. Oh, but I believe you do. He lowers the glass and advances toward me, pressing me against the edge of his desk. He addressed me as his father. You did not think I was ignorant? I fixed my eyes on him and feel the space swirl. "My father's deal?" The words seem alien and dreamlike. Sure, sweetheart. He made it quite clear that he would be of great assistance. As he speaks, his fingers lift a lock of my hair and twist it between them. Still, I wanted to hear from you. His stare, heated and deliberate, feels weighty to me, as though he is urging me to lie. "I—coordinating? I... find it not clear. Though it's devoid of comedy, he laughs. "Do you realize why you're truly here, Willow?” His voice softens, but the menace stays. "Do you know the extent I go to for control?" "I thought..." I swallowed, feeling stupid. "I thought we were starting something real." Adrian laughs in darkness and emptiness. Willow, this is not a romance. Your father is guiding this alliance to protect his money and get a foothold in my realm. The reality comes to me like a blow to the chest. This was never about love or attraction. Like a piece in some warped game, my father had sold me off to Adrian like a negotiating chip. And Adrian... he followed everything exactly, performing his part. My eyesight hazes, and I blink quickly to prevent sobbing. And are you pleased with that? I hardly speak more than a whisper. He observes me, his face inscrutable. Willow, you have signed the marriage contract already. I could have your father's money in my possession within a month. Yes, I am more than satisfied with it. I fixed my eyes on him; the reality was settling in. But why then did you act? Dinner, elegance, all of it? "Because people like you need to hear, don't they?" He gazes at me and tilts his head slightly. You would never consent to this if you did not believe I was in love with you or if I had some deep, tormented past that needed healing. Well, love, let me save you the work; I do not need to save. My stomach turns, a concoction of hurt and wrath seething inside me. I back him and at last have my voice. "You bought my father's favor, but Adrian, you don't own me." Something flickers across his face—a trace of surprise or perhaps delight. "We'll see about that; won't we?" Desperate to leave the stifling room, I turn to go, but Adrian's voice stops me. "Oh, and Willow," he says, his voice icy. "One more thing exists." I stop not daring to turn around. "You might try to leave, but know no one leaves me." His voice gets to a whisper. You belong to me; if you try to run, I will find you. And next time I won't be so mild. The words hang in the air like an unspoken threat seeping into my bones. My heart raced, a shudder ran down my spine, and at last I opened the door and went back into the hall. One idea drowns out all else as I go. I need to make this dream a reality. Does Adrian Blackwell think he could influence me? He is unsure of who he should address his message to.