Page 16 of Deadly Rival

Ophelia’s image moves in crystal clear high definition as she thumps on my door. I’ve hardly moved from this spot for the last few hours, captivated by the figure on the screen. When she crumbled, I had a moment where I almost felt bad for her. But then I remembered my sister sobbing over a toilet in much the same way, and the guilt evaporated, turned to vapor by the burning memory.

Jacob didn’t even try to be polite when he insisted on working out a plan to tame Ophelia. “You’ll fuck this up, and she’ll eat you alive. I’m helping.”

Together, we came up with something much nastier than I’d have managed on my own.

She hammers on the door again, yelling so loud it echoes through my apartment. Jacob, seated on my swivel chair at my desk like a security officer while I pace the room, shakes his head. “Nope. Don’t let her think you run on her schedule. You’ll communicate with her when you’re good and fucking ready. Another couple of hours at least.”

Jesus. I’m already about to claw my own skin off to let the nervous energy out. Two more hours will be worse for me than for Ophelia.

Two hours later, Ophelia has given up shouting and sits on the bed, shoulders slumped. She investigated my room more thoroughly, pulling out all my clothes and throwing them on the floor. Jacob snorted when I winced. “Count yourself lucky. Quinn would probably have pissed on them by now out of spite.”

Yuck.

It didn’t take long, though, before she gave up and sat on the bed, staring at her hands. She’s been there for over an hour.

“Do it now.” I jump when Jacob speaks. He’s so good at sitting statue-still; he blends into the furniture. “She looks like she’s about to pass out. You want the idea in her head before she does.”

Right. The first small step toward turning her into what I need her to be.

I open the folded piece of paper one last time.

Ophelia,

If you want to leave the bedroom, you have a task to perform. The second drawer down in the closet contains your new clothing. Choose any outfit from the selection—underwear too—and I’ll open the bedroom door. We’ll have dinner together. You have one hour.

If you refuse, you’ll get another chance tomorrow at breakfast.

Sebastian

The note feels heavier than it has any right to. I walk to the bedroom door, pause outside, stare at the smooth wood, and imagine Ophelia inside. She has to be starving by now and bored as all hell. I picture her staring morosely at her knees and slidethe note under the door. I give a short, loud knock and race back to my desk and its monitors.

“That made her jump.” Jacob glances at me then back to the monitor. She’s on her feet, staring at the piece of paper but making no move toward it. Does she think it’s poisoned? Or going to explode?

Minutes drag on as she watches the paper, then inches closer. She’s so patient. I’d have grabbed it the moment it came under the door, just to relieve the tedium. Finally, she picks it up. I lick my lips, surprised to find my mouth dry. Why am I so anxious? She’ll do as she’s told sooner or later. No rush.

She frowns as she reads it, then carries it back to her spot on the bed and sits. I let out a long breath. It’s anticlimactic, though I’m not sure what I’d been expecting. My apartment is too quiet, all of a sudden. I have to break the silence.

“What’s the bet?” I whisper, though there’s zero chance she’ll hear.

Jacob turns away from the screen, pure incredulity etched into his face. “You want to bet? On this?”

Is it inappropriate? Yes. But talking helps the tightly coiled tension in my muscles as I stare at the woman on the screen. The woman I own. The woman I’m in charge of. The gravity of the situation is choking the life out of me.

“Yes. I think she’ll do it.”

“You're a disgrace.” Jacob shakes his head, and I regret ever saying it in the first place, but then he adds, “You're so wrong, mate. How can you not read her well enough to know she's tougher than that?”

Not inappropriate, then. He just thinks I’m wrong. Par for the course.

Jacob returns his attention to the screen, studying Ophelia. “She’ll hold out until tomorrow, but I'll take your bet. Once thisis settled, you have to let Quinn pick an outfit for you and wear it for a whole day.”

Oh, hell no. No way I'm wearing what Quinn picks out, but it doesn't matter. Jacob's wrong. I know Ophelia better than he thinks. “She'll do it. You watch. You'll have to come with me on a night out to the country club and not complain once.”

Jacob snorts. “Deal.”

Ophelia crumbles the note into a ball, throws it across the room, pulls the covers back, and climbs into bed.

Shit.

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