TAINTED

Chapter Six

The summons came at midnight again.

Not from a guard this time, but from Atlas himself.

He appeared at the doorway of her small chamber, leaning against the frame like he had all the time in the world. The sight of him there—black shirt open at the throat, cigarette between his fingers—made her breath catch.

“Come,” he ordered.

Deynn wrapped her silk robe tighter and followed, heart hammering as he led her not to his study, but to a smaller lounge tucked deep inside the mansion. The room was dimly lit, a single bottle of wine gleaming at the center of a low table.

Atlas sat on the couch, lounging like a king, and gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit.”

She obeyed, her pulse quickening.

“We’re going to play a game,” he said smoothly, flicking ash into a tray. “Spin the bottle. But not like children. My rules.”

Her throat tightened. “Your rules, sir?”

He leaned forward, his black eyes catching the glow of the fire. “Whoever the bottle points to must answer a truth—or take a dare. Refuse either, and you pay a price.”

Her stomach twisted. “What price?”

Atlas’s lips curved into that faint, lethal smile. “You don’t want to find out.”

He gave the bottle a slow spin. Glass scraped against wood, circling, circling, until it pointed—directly at her.

Deynn forced herself to lift her chin, masking her nerves. “Truth.”

Atlas leaned back, swirling his glass of wine. “What do you fear most, Deynn?”

Her chest tightened. His eyes bore into her, searching for cracks. If she lied, he’d know. But the truth—at least part of it—was safer.

“Losing myself,” she whispered.

For a flicker of a moment, something unreadable passed across his face. Then he smirked and gestured for her to spin.

The bottle turned, clinking softly until it landed on him.

“Dare,” he said without hesitation.

Her mind raced. Every instinct screamed not to provoke him—but a dangerous spark inside her whispered otherwise.

“I dare you… to tell me something no one else in this house knows.”

Atlas’s smile deepened, but his gaze sharpened like a blade. He leaned closer, until she could feel the heat of his presence.

“No one dares me to reveal secrets, little maid. That’s your first mistake.”

Her breath caught—but then he surprised her. His voice dropped low, a confession more intimate than she expected.

“When I was fifteen, I put a bullet in my first man. My father watched. He didn’t flinch. He only said, ‘Good. Now you belong to us forever.’”

The words hung heavy between them, and Deynn’s skin prickled with unease. He had given her something real—maybe too real.

“Your turn again,” Atlas murmured, spinning the bottle. It landed on her once more. His smile curved, dark and deliberate. “Dare.”

Deynn swallowed hard. “What do you want me to do?”

Atlas leaned forward, his hand brushing the tie of her silk robe, loosening it just slightly. His voice was velvet, dangerous, intoxicating.

“Stay exactly as you are,” he whispered. “And don’t move—no matter what I do.”

The air between them crackled, a storm waiting to break.

And Deynn realized too late—this was no game.

This was Atlas Santoro unraveling her, one spin at a time.

Deynn’s fingers curled tightly in her lap, every muscle in her body taut. She could feel the silk robe sliding against her skin where Atlas had loosened the tie. His command—don’t move—still echoed in her head like a chain.

Atlas’s gaze never left her face as he leaned closer. He set his glass down on the table, the soft clink unbearably loud in the silence.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Obedience looks beautiful on you.”

His hand lifted, slow, deliberate, until his knuckles brushed along her jaw. The touch was feather-light, almost tender, but his eyes were knives—measuring, dissecting, owning.

Deynn’s pulse thundered, but she forced herself still. Not a flinch. Not a retreat.

Atlas smiled faintly, as though amused by her stubbornness. His thumb traced the corner of her lips, lingering there. “You want to defy me. I can taste it on your breath. But you don’t.”

His hand drifted lower, to the hollow of her throat. The weight of his thumb pressed just enough to remind her how easily he could take the air from her lungs. Deynn swallowed, her robe sliding further open with the movement, exposing the lace beneath.

Atlas’s gaze flickered down—just once—before locking back onto her eyes. “Do you know why I made this your dare?” he asked softly.

She shook her head, barely. Her voice scraped out, hushed: “No, sir.”

His lips curved, slow and dangerous. “Because stillness reveals everything. Lies, fear, hunger. A body that stays still is louder than any confession.”

The words sank into her bones. He was studying her, peeling her apart with patience, waiting for the smallest betrayal of who she really was.

Then, as if to test the edge of her control, he leaned closer—so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. His hand slid to her waist, fingers brushing the thin silk, anchoring her in place.

“Your pulse,” he whispered. “It’s screaming. But you haven’t moved. That makes you interesting.”

Deynn’s lips parted, desperate to breathe, to speak, to do something—but the dare still bound her. She stayed still, even as every nerve in her body burned.

Finally, Atlas pulled back just slightly, enough to let her inhale. His hand lingered on her waist a moment longer before he released her.

“Not bad,” he said, reclaiming his glass of whiskey. He drank slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. “You lasted longer than I thought.”

The bottle still sat between them, waiting for another spin. But the game was already lost—because Deynn wasn’t sure anymore if she was resisting him… or if part of her wanted to fail.