Chapter 141: A Drink

Cecilia

Relief hit me so hard I actually felt dizzy, my vision swimming for a second before I forced myself to breathe, to stay calm, to not do anything that would blow our cover now that we'd actually managed to buy Daniel's life.

Beside me, Sophia let out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh or a sob or both.

Harold stood smoothly, offering me his hand to help me up, and I took it, letting him pull me to my feet with Sophia rising beside me. We started making our way toward the platform where Daniel sat bound and masked, where two of the auction house's assistants were already moving to untie him.

We'd made it maybe three steps when a voice cut through the murmur of conversation, cold and cultured and carrying the kind of authority that made everyone in the room fall silent.

"A moment, if you please."

I turned, my stomach dropping, to find Lord Rhys Grey standing from his seat in the front row.

"That was quite the bidding war," Lord Rhys said, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "Two million pounds is no small sum, even for entertainment."

Every instinct I had was screaming at me to run, to grab Sophia and Daniel and get the hell out of there before this situation got any worse. But running would confirm his suspicions, would mark us as outsiders who didn't belong, and right now our only chance was to brazen this out.

So I lifted my chin and met his gaze head-on, channeling every ounce of Emmaline's icy confidence as I spoke. "The price seemed appropriate for the quality of the merchandise," I said, my voice cool and steady despite the fear racing through my veins. "Surely you understand the appeal of something that fights back."

Something flickered in Lord Rhys's eyes—amusement, maybe, or recognition, or something darker that I couldn't quite identify. "Indeed," he said softly.

"Though I wonder if you truly understand what you've purchased. This particular item has caused quite a bit of trouble for my family. It would be... unfortunate if that trouble were to continue."

"I'm sure we can handle any... complications that might arise," I said, forcing myself to sound bored rather than terrified. "After all, that's part of the fun, isn't it? The challenge?"

Lord Rhys studied me for a long moment, his pale eyes seeming to see right through my mask, through my careful facade, down to the terrified girl underneath who was absolutely certain she was about to die. Then, slowly, he smiled—a thin, cold expression that didn't reach his eyes.

"Perhaps you'd join us for a drink before you leave," he said, and it absolutely wasn't a suggestion. "I find myself quite intrigued by you and your companion. It's not often we encounter such... boldness at these events."

My mouth went dry. This was bad. This was really, really bad. But refusing would be worse, would confirm whatever suspicions were already forming in that calculating mind, so I found myself nodding even as every cell in my body screamed at me to run.

"We'd be delighted," I heard myself say, the words coming out steady and polite even though my hands were shaking inside my gloves. "Though we should collect our purchase first, if that's acceptable."

"Of course," Lord Rhys said smoothly, gesturing toward the platform where Daniel still sat bound to the chair, the assistants waiting for direction. "Please, see to your new acquisition. We'll be in the library—just through those doors. Do join us when you're ready."

It wasn't a request. It was a command, delivered with the absolute certainty of someone who'd never been refused anything in his life.

The assistants moved with practiced efficiency as they untied Daniel from the chair, their hands quick and impersonal as they worked the industrial-strength rope free from his wrists and ankles.

I watched each movement with forced calm, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs I was certain everyone in the room could hear it, my palms slick with sweat inside the silk gloves that suddenly felt like they were suffocating my hands.

Daniel slumped forward the moment his bonds were released, his body going limp like a puppet with cut strings, and one of the assistants had to catch him before he face-planted onto the platform.

"Careful with that one," the auctioneer said, his voice carrying that same clinical detachment he'd used throughout the entire auction. "He's a fighter. Tried to escape twice during transport."

Good for you, Daniel, I thought, watching as the assistants hauled him upright, each one gripping an arm to keep him from collapsing again. Keep fighting. We're getting you out of here.

Harold stepped forward, his posture shifting into something more authoritative as he addressed the assistants with the kind of voice that expected immediate obedience. "We'll take him from here. Where's the exit for merchandise pickup?"

One of the assistants gestured toward a side door partially hidden behind a heavy velvet curtain, his expression suggesting he was used to this question, used to wealthy buyers wanting to collect their purchases and leave as quickly as possible.

"Through there, sir. Your vehicle can pull around to the service entrance—just follow the signs."

"Excellent." Harold moved to take Daniel's weight, his hands steady and professional as he shifted the younger man's arm across his shoulders, supporting him in a way that looked casual but was clearly calculated to keep Daniel from bolting or collapsing. "Ladies, if you'll follow me—"

"Actually," I interrupted, my voice coming out steady despite the way my stomach was churning with dread, despite knowing exactly what I was about to do and how spectacularly it could go wrong, "we have that drink to attend first."

He knew as well as I did that accepting Lord Rhys's invitation was dangerous, that every second we spent in this house increased the chances of our cover being blown, of someone recognizing that we weren't who we claimed to be.

But he also knew we didn't have a choice. Refusing would be worse than accepting—would mark us as suspicious, as outsiders who didn't understand the unwritten rules of this fucked-up world we'd infiltrated.

"Of course, Miss Emmaline," he said finally, his voice carefully neutral even though I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his free hand had moved fractionally closer to wherever he kept his weapon. "I'll secure the merchandise and wait with the vehicle. Take your time."

He met my eyes one more time, and in that look I saw a silent promise—I'll be ready to extract you the second things go sideways. Just give me the signal.

I nodded slightly, acknowledging the promise, then turned to Sophia who'd been standing frozen beside me throughout this entire exchange, her hand still gripped tight in mine, her breathing shallow and rapid behind her mask.

"Ready?" I asked quietly, squeezing her fingers in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture even though I felt anything but reassured myself.

She nodded, though I could feel her trembling, could see the way her eyes kept darting toward the door where Harold was already helping Daniel through, toward the escape route we should be taking instead of walking deeper into the lion's den.

But we didn't have a choice. So I straightened my spine, lifted my chin in that particular way Emmaline would have done—cold and confident and utterly unafraid—and started walking toward the double doors Lord Rhys had indicated.