Page 73 of Tricked By Jack
“Her father?” a man asks.
His wife slaps his arm and scoffs. “Yes, dear. Her father was the great Charles Mortis.”
My gaze darts to Eve, but she doesn’t even flinch at the mention of her dad. Instead, she turns to the woman who first addressed her. “Yes, it was my dad that got me into that line of business.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You could even say he had the head for it—”
“Oh!” Carolina exclaims, her lips splitting in a knowing grin. “I think I get it now.”
Eve ignores her and continues. “I’m currently on an extended sabbatical, though.” Her tone is measured, thoughtful, and engaging. “All thanks to my husband.” She doesn’t even look my way.
When the conversation shifts to me, her demeanor changes instantly. Her answers become clipped, her body language closed. She speaks to me without looking at me, addressing her glass or the space just over my shoulder.
Each time I ask her a direct question, she finds a way to redirect, to include someone else in her response. It’s surgical—the precision with which she cuts me out.
“Willow’s Foundation has exceeded all projections,” Nick announces completely out of the blue. “But we’re still hoping that the Sanctuary of Shadows will bring in at least an additional two million in donations and sales.”
I should care about this. The Foundation is a family business, Knight legacy. But all I can focus on is the curve of Eve’sneck as she leans slightly toward Carolina, whispering something that makes my sister-in-law’s lips twitch with suppressed amusement.
“Jack,” Nick says sharply, drawing my attention. “Do you have anything to add?”
“Whatever you recommend.”
Nick’s eyebrow arches slightly. Beside him, Carolina exchanges a knowing glance with Eve. The silent communication between them sets my teeth on edge. When did they become so familiar? When did my wife and sister-in-law develop a language that excludes me?
“Dr. Mortis,” calls a board member from the far end of the table. “Perhaps you could offer some insight into the psychological impact of our immersive experiences?”
Eve straightens, her expression shifting into what I’ve come to think of as her doctor face. “Fear as entertainment works because it activates the same neural pathways as actual danger, but within a controlled context. The Sanctuary’s tiered system is particularly effective because it creates the illusion of choice within a framework that’s actually highly manipulated.”
The table nods appreciatively at her analysis. I stare at her, hungry for even a glance in my direction, but her gaze sweeps over me as if I’m furniture.
Nick catches my eye across the table and smirks, clearly amused by my transparent frustration. He leans back in his chair, one arm draped casually around Carolina’s shoulders, the picture of satisfied ownership.
My brother has always enjoyed watching me struggle—it’s our dynamic, and has been since we were children.
“The… what did you call it?” The woman who’s speaking pauses, looking at her husband for help, and he quickly leans in and whispers something to her that makes her blush. “Oh yeah, the fear-kink element has been particularly successful, especially in the Sacrifice only zones.”
“Dark eroticism taps into primal instincts,” Eve replies smoothly. “The brain doesn’t always distinguish between different types of arousal. Fear, anger, sexual desire. They share neurochemical signatures.”
My cock stirs at her clinical dissection of exactly what happens between us when I have her pinned beneath me. She knows this,mustknow this, yet she discusses it like an academic observation rather than lived experience.
“Of course, the most effective fear comes from genuine risk,” she continues, finally—finally—glancing in my direction. Her eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, then slide away dismissively. “When the body truly believes it might not survive.”
The next course arrives, and before I know it, we’re on the fourth. Eve speaks intelligently on every topic raised, charming the board with insights that blend psychology and business acumen.
She’s magnificent, and watching her work the room stirs something like pride in me, buried beneath layers of frustration. This brilliant, beautiful woman belongs to me, yet acts like I’m a stranger she’s tolerating at a dinner party.
By the time dessert arrives, my patience has evaporated entirely. Carolina catches my eye as I drain my water, her expression a mixture of amusement and warning. She leans over to whisper something to Eve, who doesn’t even try to hide her eye roll in response.
“Something funny,wife?” I ask, my voice cutting through the general conversation.
The table quiets, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Eve looks at me directly for the first time all evening, her gray eyes cool and unimpressed. “Nothing that would interest you,husband.”
Nick chuckles under his breath, not bothering to disguise his enjoyment of the tension. Carolina’s knowing smirk isn’t much better. They’ve seen this building all night—my mounting frustration, Eve’s deliberate provocations.
“Jack,” Nick warns, but there’s laughter in his voice. “This isn’t the time.”
“When is it the time?” I snap. “When my wife decides I’m worth acknowledging?”
Eve doesn’t flinch. She simply takes a delicate bite of her dessert, the movement of her throat as she swallows drawing my eyes like a magnet.
