Page 28 of Her Royal Master
With her heart intact.
While I was fucking gutted.
This wasn’t the same as Madison.It was so much worse.Madison had been a play partner, no more.Not particularly bright, not particularly stable, but a very willing and eager submissive.We always met at a hotel room, we scened together, nothing more.I always left her with spending cash, although she wasn’t a prostitute.She had a kid at home and I wanted to help out.But after six months, the situation grew stale for me.My mistake had been breaking it off after a scene, because she’d taken her marks and run straight to the police.I guess she figured if she couldn’t get money out of me one way, she’d try another.It had worked for her.
Chelsea was so much more.Smart, well-educated, sexy.Her submission wasn’t feigned; she fought it, which made it all the more beautiful when I won her surrender.She hadn’t been out to land a duke.She had been perfect for me.I’d finally met the kind of girl I would offer everything.But she’d wanted something else.
I thought it’d be easy enough to keep her in my room for three days, protect her from Kaspar and the boys, protect them from her.I even knew she’d be digging for information.I just didn’t know how badly it would hurt.
I rolled out of the bed and went to the shower.I wanted to rinse off the scent of her.How would I survive with it fucking reminding me of my worst failure yet?I stripped and stepped under the warm spray.
Yes, I had failed.Only now, at the end of the game, did I realize what the object had been.It hadn’t been to keep her from writing her story.It had been to win her.To make her forget her scoop and fall in love.To earn her affection and trust.
I needed more than her fucking first name!I punched the wall of the shower, shattering one of the tiles.
The pain lanced through my knuckles and into my wrist.It satisfied some dark urge in me, the same way sex, drugs, and alcohol had in my younger years.I punched the wall again.And again.The fractured tile cut my knuckles, making them bleed, turning the water at my feet into a swirl of pink.
I stayed in the shower until the water turned cold.Even then, I stayed until someone pounded on my bedroom door.
“Stop hogging all the water, asshole!”Kaspar shouted in Austrinian.
I shut off the water and surged out of the shower, not because I gave a shit about Kaspar, but because I didn’t want him walking in on Chelsea.
“Go fuck yourself!”I wrapped a towel around my waist and strode out into the room, spoiling for a fight, if Kaspar wanted to test me.But when I threw open the door, he’d already disappeared.
I cast a backward glance at Chelsea, who huddled on the bed, looking so much like a scolded child that every part of me yearned to go to her and offer my arms.
But the time for that was over.This was goodbye.
“I’ll get your things,” I said stiffly, shutting the door behind me.
In Kaspar’s dungeon, I located the bag she’d boarded with, the one I’d kept from her, to prevent her from recording or transmitting anything.
The boys and their playthings were hanging out with the listlessness that comes from too many uppers and alcohol.They had hollows under their eyes, a sallowness to their skin.Yes, three days was definitely enough for these parties.
Kaspar was absent—he must be in the shower now.Too bad I’d used all the hot water.
I left without a word of greeting to any of them.Back to my prisoner.
~.~
Chelsea
Icouldn’t take the weight of Darius’ disappointment.If I didn’t care so much about vindicating him, I’d sign his stupid NDA, promise to never write or disclose anything I’d learned here.And maybe, as it was, I still wouldn’t.ButRolling Stonewould never run the article if I signed my rights away.Their legal department would go nuts over it and the story would get cut.
It was important I preserve my rights to write about Darius Halsburg.
He returned to the room and tossed me the dress I’d been wearing when I boarded.“Get dressed.”
I noticed he had my bag, but didn’t offer it.Of course not, because he didn’t trust me.
How could I blame him?I was beginning to question my own decision.Was I really doing this for Darius?Or was it for me?To further my career?
Or did it matter if it helped us both?
If it was the right thing to do, why in the hell did I feel so terrible?
God, I didn’t want to walk off this yacht and return to the cramped apartment I shared with Allegra.I didn’t want to stay in Ibiza even for one more day.
