Chapter 92
'Is Mr. Smith inside?'
Samantha's bravado deflated like a pricked balloon.
Was Jacob here? And he had booked the entire second floor?
How could she not have known?
If he found out she had brought Elizabeth to a place like this, let alone tried to set her up.
The color drained from Samantha's face, and her immediate instinct was to retreat.
For Elizabeth, however, the mention of Mr. Smith sent a violent, uncontrolled jolt through her heart.
Jacob? The person who had left that taunting message on the dark web, summoning Noel to this very location, was Jacob?
Did he know? Did he know she was Noel, the leader of Nightfall?
Or was this merely a suspicion, a calculated test to smoke her out?
A thousand thoughts flooded her mind, a cold chill creeping up her spine, yet her expression remained a mask of calm.
If it truly was Jacob, then this evening was far more complex, far more dangerous, than she had ever anticipated.
Just then, the heavy, closed door to the private room swung open from within.
A man in a waiter's uniform, with an unremarkable face, stood in the doorway. His gaze swept past Samantha, lingered on Elizabeth, and then he bowed slightly, gesturing for them to enter.
"Ms. Windsor, Ms. Smith. Mr. Smith invites you to join him."
The light from within was dim, obscuring the details, though she could vaguely make out the silhouettes of several people seated inside.
Samantha, terrified, waved her hands dismissively. "Oh, no, that's not necessary! We were just passing by! We wouldn't want to interrupt Jacob's business!"
She grabbed at Elizabeth's arm, desperate to pull her away.
But Elizabeth stood her ground, unmoving.
She stared at the open doorway as if it were the mouth of an unknown abyss.
If Jacob was inside, escape was not an option.
And if it was the mysterious messenger, then she had to face him regardless.
Taking a deep breath to quell the storm of emotions inside her, she lifted her chin and stepped through the threshold.
Samantha, watching her go, bit her lip and, with a surge of reluctant dread, followed her in.
The atmosphere inside was even darker and more intimate than the hallway, the air thick with the richaroma of high-end cigars.
An invisible tension, the kind born from high-stakes power plays, seemed to hang in the space.
The moment Elizabeth stepped inside, her eyes were drawn not to Jacob, but to the man seated on the sofa directly across from him.
He was strikingly handsome, with sharp, well-defined features that hinted at a mixed heritage and skin the color of warm honey.
He lounged with a languid grace, a slender cigar held between his fingers. His gray eyes, shrouded in the dim light, held a cool, appraising quality—as placid and inscrutable as a moonlit sea.
His build was not as powerfully muscular as Jacob's, leaner and more slender, yet he radiated an equally potent aura of command. It was the quiet confidence of a man who had weathered storms, wielded authority, and was accustomed to being in absolute control.
Sawyer.
Almost instantly, Elizabeth's intuition locked onto him.
Not Jacob. This stranger was the one. The man who had posted that arrogant message on the dark web, luring her here.
Her gaze met Sawyer's across the room, and a flicker of something close to amusement, of genuine interest, crossed his features, as if he had just discovered a fascinating new specimen.
This focused, intense stare, however, was interpreted very differently by another man in the room.
Jacob, who had been occupying the armchair at the head of the arrangement, was already in a foul mood from his difficult negotiations with Sawyer. When Elizabeth entered, he immediately caught the way her gaze bypassed him completely, landing squarely on the other man.
A surge of nameless fire, mingled with a sharp displeasure he couldn't quite decipher, ignited in his chest.
His fiancée, right in front of him, was openly staring at another man?
Just as Elizabeth moved to approach him, Jacob made his move. His arm shot out, his fingers clamping around her wrist in a vice-like grip. He yanked.
Caught off guard, Elizabeth stumbled, her balance lost. The next instant, she was pulled forcibly onto his solid lap, his arm snaking around her waist to lock her in place, rendering her immobile.
She let out a muffled grunt, instinctively trying to struggle, but his hold only tightened.
Jacob lowered his head, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. His voice was a low, possessive murmur, a tone that feigned intimacy but was laced with warning and control. His hot breath fanned across the sensitive skin of her neck. "Little troublemaker. Can't I leave you alone for a minute without you wandering off?"
The words sounded like a lover's playful chiding, but the unyielding strength of his arm and the glacial chill in his eyes told her everything she needed to know: he was not pleased.
This sudden, aggressive display of intimacy and possession sent a charge through the room, making the air crackle.
Samantha gasped, covering her mouth and scarcely daring to breathe.
Across from them, Sawyer's eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly, the look of amusement in his eyes deepening.
He took a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling a faint ring of smoke as his gaze fell upon Elizabeth, now held captive in Jacob's embrace.
A faint blush had risen on her cheeks from the abruptness of the manhandling and her current, compromising position. A flash of annoyance crossed her eyes before it was swiftly suppressed by a practiced calm.
Even in this disadvantageous situation, her spine remained ramrod straight, betraying no hint of fear or panic.
"Mr. Smith's fiancée," Sawyer began, his voice a smooth, magnetic baritone that was both elegant and detached, "is every bit as beautiful as the rumors say."
His compliment seemed genuine enough on the surface.
Jacob's arm tightened again, pulling her more securely into his frame, as if to brand her with his scent and presence alone.
He lifted his gaze to Sawyer, his tone unapologetically cold and territorial. "You flatter her, Mr. Scott. But I'd advise you to stop staring at another man's wife. It's rude."
He truly despised this man. And he didn't trust Elizabeth. She was promiscuous, wanton, and utterly uninhibited in her sexuality.
If he didn't keep a close watch on her, he was certain he'd one day have to drag her out of another man's bed.
And for now, he had no desire to lose such a compatible sexual partner over something he could prevent.
At Jacob's words, Sawyer showed no offense. Instead, he shot Jacob a meaningful look, his eyes flicking to the slightly rigid woman in his arms. "You seem to be getting ahead of yourself, Mr. Smith," he said slowly, drawing out the last word with deliberate, naked implication. "As I understand it, Ms. Windsor is, for now, only your fiancée."
The unspoken challenge hung in the air: she wasn't married yet. She was still anyone's for the taking.
Jacob's eyes narrowed, the muscles in his arm flexing into steel bands.
Trapped between the silent, clashing swords of the two men, Elizabeth was pressed so tightly against Jacob's searing chest that she could feel the immediate tension in his muscles and the sudden surge of his volatile temper.