Page 119 of His Ruthless Match
“Thank you.”
He shrugged, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a small, genuine smile. “Anytime.”
For the first time, after opening that article, I felt like I could breathe again. The weight on my chest wasn’t gone, but it was lighter. And as I looked at Jareth, I realized something terrifying and wonderful: I trusted him. Completely.
We sat together in comfortable silence for a while, his arm draped around my shoulders, my head resting against his chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel alone in the chaos that had become my life.
Later that evening, I was curled up on the couch, knees tucked beneath me, staring at the live feed of Genevieve’s hotel suite. The footage displayed her sitting motionless in a chair by the window in the sitting room, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her guards, stationed at the door, stood as still as statues. Their expressions, usually alert but indifferent, seemed… vacant. The eerie stillness of the scene made my stomach churn.
“She’s just sitting there,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. “She hasn’t moved in almost twenty minutes.”
“It’s weird,” Jareth said. He lounged next to me, his body deceptively relaxed, but his sharp gaze fixed on the screen.“The guards don’t look right either. Too stiff. Too…” He paused, searching for the word. “Mechanical.” It’s like they were barely even conscious except for the fact that their eyes were open.
I tightened my grip on the laptop, an uneasy knot forming in my chest. Genevieve had been fragile lately, but this was something else entirely. I shuddered. She was sitting like her body wasn’t her own.
The feed flickered for a moment, then stabilized. My heart stopped as Genevieve suddenly stood, her movements slow and almost robotic. The guards, as if synchronized, turned toward the door at the exact same time.
“What the hell is going on?”
Jareth frowned. “That’s not normal.” His eyes narrowed. “They’re supposed to stay with her in the room. Why are they moving like that?”
I watched, my pulse quickening, as Genevieve and the guards left the room. The camera switched to the hallway feed, tracking their movements. At the end of the hall, the guards turned left while Genevieve turned right.
“Shit,” Jareth muttered, already sitting up straighter. “They’re not supposed to split up.”
Panic clawed at my throat as I grabbed my phone, dialing Genevieve’s number with trembling fingers. The line rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. I tried again. And again. No answer.
“She’s not picking up,” I said, my voice rising with each word. “Something’s really wrong.”
Jareth was already moving. He grabbed the go-bag of disguises we kept by the door and tossed a jacket toward me. “We’re going to the hotel.”
I yanked on a dark hoodie and pulled my hair into a bun before putting on my wig. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, my chest heavy with dread. By the time I’d pulled on mysneakers, Jareth was already waiting by the door, his expression grim.
The elevator ride felt excruciatingly slow. I clutched my phone in both hands, refreshing my social media feed in case something gave us a clue. My breath caught when a video popped up at the top of the feed. The caption read:Genevieve Witt out on the town in an unexpected locale—what happened to Hollywood’s golden girl?
I opened the video with a sense of foreboding. The grainy footage showed Genevieve walking into a seedy bar. Her movements were jerky, uncoordinated, and completely graceless. Men quickly surrounded her, leering and grabbing, touching where they had no right to.
“Shit.” My stomach churned. “She’s at some bar, and she looks like she’s about to make some unfortunate decisions.”
Jareth glanced at me, his jaw set in a hard line. “Where’s the bar?”
This video, unlike the others, had a location tag attached to the video, and I tapped on it as we climbed into my car. “The Velvet Room. It’s downtown.”
He hit the gas. The streets blurred past us as he weaved through traffic with practiced ease. My heart raced as I stared at the video. Genevieve was spiraling further into chaos. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t normal.
When we pulled up outside The Velvet Room, the thrum of bass from inside the club pounded deep within my chest. The line to get in stretched down the block, but Jareth strode straight toward the bouncers.
The bouncers took one look at Jareth and stepped aside, their gazes dropping as he passed. I didn’t even stop to ask him why. His presence was magnetic, dangerous, and impossible to ignore, and I assumed the bouncers noticed that right away. If it were me, I wouldn’t have dared to stand in his way.
The inside of the club was a sensory assault. Flashing lights, pounding music, and the smell of sweat and alcohol filled the air. I looked around the dance floor for Genevieve. It didn’t take long to find her.
She was in the center, her nearly naked body glistening under the strobe lights as she moved to the music. What bothered me most was her distant, blank expression. The men around her were predatory, their hands grabbing at her as if she were a prize to be claimed.
“Fuck,” I breathed, horror knotting in my chest.
I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests of those I bumped into. Jareth was right behind me.
I grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away from the men. “Genevieve, it’s me. We need to go.”
