Control Me, Mr Brown

Chapter 8

The next morning, Jason informed me I was to attend a gala with him.

He said it casually, as if asking me to pass him a pen, but my chest tightened.

A gala? With him?

I wasn’t given the chance to argue. Before I could open my mouth, one of his drivers was already waiting, ushering me into a black car that smelled faintly of leather and cologne. Jason didn’t even accompany me. Instead, he sent me off like a parcel, straight into the hands of a luxury salon in the heart of Manhattan.

The doors whispered shut behind me, and suddenly, I was drowning in light and glass. The scent of roses and expensive hairspray hung in the air. Women with perfect nails and sleek hair glided from one chair to another, while stylists dressed in black moved like a choreographed dance.

“Miss?” A woman appeared in front of me, already steering me toward a velvet chair. “Mr. Brown has given instructions.”

Of course he had.

What followed was a blur of hands and brushes. Fingers tugged through my hair, curling it into glossy waves that tumbled past my shoulders. Powder dusted my cheeks, blush brushed across my skin until I glowed in the mirror. My lips were painted crimson—a shade bolder than I’d ever dared.

Then the gown.

Silk slid over my skin, cool and dangerous. Midnight blue, it clung to me in ways that felt both indecent and intoxicating. The neckline plunged just enough to leave me hyperaware of every breath, while the back dipped low, exposing skin I never showed. I gripped the armrest of the chair when the stylist fastened the last clasp.

When I finally dared to look at my reflection, I didn’t recognize the girl staring back.

She wasn’t Clara, the secretary scraping by with rent and overdue tuition bills. She was someone else entirely—elegant, untouchable. A woman who could stand beside Jason Brown without looking like a mistake.

My throat tightened. But would he see me that way?

Jason was waiting outside when I emerged, already immaculate in black tie, his cufflinks glinting under the salon’s crystal light. His eyes flicked over me once, slow, deliberate. No comment. No compliment. Just a slight nod before he turned toward the door.

I followed, feeling the absence of his words more than I should have.

The gala was held at a building that looked like a palace, every window blazing with golden light. Cars pulled up one after another, spilling out men in tuxedos and women glittering with diamonds. The marble staircase stretched before us like something out of a dream—or a nightmare.

Jason exited first. Heads turned instantly, like iron to a magnet. He didn’t glance back, but I felt it anyway: the invisible tether that tugged me forward, the unspoken order to follow.

The moment my heels touched the steps, the world seemed to pause.

Flashes exploded like lightning. The hum of voices sharpened, slicing the night.

“Jason Brown… with a woman?”

“Impossible.”

“Thought he was—”

“Look at her…”

Their whispers weren’t loud, but I caught every syllable. Each word landed against my skin, prickling hot. My face burned under the weight of their stares. I fought the urge to shrink, to tug the gown higher, to vanish.

Jason didn’t slow. His hand brushed the air near mine, not quite holding, but close enough to anchor me. Stay with me.

Inside, the noise doubled. Crystal chandeliers spilled light like falling stars, champagne glasses clinked, violins thrummed faintly beneath the buzz of conversation. Every table gleamed with silver cutlery and towering floral arrangements.

Jason moved like he owned the room. Each time someone stopped him, he shook hands, exchanged clipped greetings, the kind of talk that sounded light but carried weight. I stood at his side, smiling politely, trying not to drown in the polished charm surrounding us.

“Are you two…?” A man’s brow arched, eyes flicking between Jason and me.

Jason’s reply was smooth, immediate. “No.”

The word cut sharp, leaving no space for misunderstanding.

I forced a smile, though it trembled. The speed of his denial lodged like a splinter under my ribs.

Time blurred. A glass of champagne found its way into my hand. The bubbles fizzed against my tongue, doing little to ease the knot in my stomach. Everywhere I looked, women glided past like swans, their laughter practiced, their jewels catching the light. I caught reflections of myself in mirrors and glass, and each time, I startled. The woman staring back looked like she belonged—but inside, I didn’t.

Jason excused himself to speak with an older man, his hand briefly pressing my lower back before leaving me by the edge of the room. I sipped my drink and let my gaze wander.

And that’s when I saw it.

He turned his head slightly, just enough for the collar of his shirt to shift beneath the glow of the chandeliers. For a fleeting moment, a scar revealed itself—a pale, jagged line cutting into his skin before disappearing beneath his collar.

My breath caught.

It wasn’t a scratch. It wasn’t small. It was the kind of scar that spoke of violence, of pain. A mark carved deep enough to linger forever.

I looked away quickly, but the image burned into my mind. The whispers about him, his tight control, his detached calm—it all suddenly felt like a facade. What had happened to him? What had he endured beneath the perfect armor he wore so effortlessly?

The thought lodged itself in me, heavy and sharp.

Then the room shifted.

It was subtle at first, like the soft pull of a tide. People turned their heads. The chatter dimmed. Even the music seemed to falter.

I followed their gaze.

A woman had entered.

She wasn’t just beautiful—she was breathtaking. Tall, with the kind of elegance that came from money that had never known limits. Her gown was silver, flowing around her like liquid light. Diamonds burned at her throat, catching every flicker of the chandeliers.

She didn’t walk. She glided. And wherever she passed, people noticed.

I swallowed hard. This… this was the kind of woman Jason Brown should stand beside. Not me.

My chest tightened as I watched her draw closer.

I thought that would be the end of it—another reminder of how wide the gulf was between his world and mine.

But then she spoke.

“Jason.”

Just one word, low and smooth, curling through the air like smoke.

Jason hadn’t even seen her yet. But the moment the sound reached him, his body froze. His spine stiffened. His jaw clenched. The calm mask he wore so effortlessly cracked—not in front of anyone else, but right here, beside me.

I felt his grip on my arm falter.

Slowly, mechanically, his head turned. His gaze locked on her, and the air between them snapped taut.

The woman smiled. Not sweet. Not warm. A smile that knew exactly what it meant.

A whisper floated near me, carried from one guest to another.

“Juliette Winters.”

The name rippled across the crowd like smoke, curling around us, seeping into every corner of the room.

I didn’t know her. But from the way Jason’s face paled, from the way his composure splintered, I knew exactly what she was.

Someone who mattered.

Someone dangerous.

And for the first time since I’d met Jason Brown, he looked afraid.