-Treasure.
"I don't know why you insist on testing me lately." Elias' voice cut through the calm clink of silverware. The dining room was drenched in morning light, pale shafts slipping through tall windows and scattering over porcelain dishes and crystal glasses. His napkin, white and crisp, dabbed once against the corner of his mouth before he folded it neatly and set it aside. His head tilted toward me, the movement deliberate, like a man surveying his creation. "You just want to bring out the worst in me."
I tore a piece of bread in half and shoved it whole into my mouth. The crust was dry, crumbling at the corners of my lips, the inside still faintly warm. I chewed noisily, letting the sound fill the silence he had left hanging. When I swallowed, my throat burned faintly, but I grinned anyway and mumbled around the last bite, "Do you think birds ever get sick of flying? Like, do they ever just wish for a car instead?"
His brow tightened, his lips holding still in the shape of disbelief. A pause settled over the table, heavy as the chandeliers above. His hand drifted to the stem of his glass, swirling water he had no intention of drinking.
"You're deranged," he said finally, though his tone carried no humor. He studied me as if my nonsense might hide a confession. "Or you're mocking me."
I reached for another slice, smearing butter across it without looking up. The knife scraped harshly on the plate. "Mocking requires effort. I'm just eating breakfast."
He leaned back in his chair, shoulders sharp against the tailored lines of his shirt. "You think it's amusing? To sit here, in my house, at my table, and throw nonsense at me when I ask you something directly?"
"I didn't throw it," I replied, biting into the bread, my voice muffled but steady. "I offered it. Free of charge. You're welcome."
The way his jaw clenched told me I had pressed too close to the line again. It was strange, how each morning had started to feel like walking a tightrope over glass. The food was rich, too carefully seasoned, but every bite turned to chalk in my mouth with him watching me like this.
His fingers drummed on the table. "What are you doing, Treasure?"
I shrugged, chewing slowly now, staring at the butter knife in my hand as though it held the answer. My reflection rippled faintly across the polished blade, a warped version of me with blurred edges. "Having breakfast. Trying not to choke. Wondering what birds dream about when they sleep. Ordinary things."
"Ordinary," he echoed, almost to himself. "You provoke me, then play the fool. Why?"
The word provoke lingered in the air, as if it had been pulled from a courtroom file. I set the knife down and pushed the plate away, appetite gone. My stomach knotted, heavy with something that wasn't food.
"Maybe I like seeing you ruffled," I said, leaning back in my chair. "You're too polished all the time. It's unnatural. Even mirrors crack if you stare long enough."
His eyes sharpened. "So you admit it. You enjoy provoking me."
I gave him a thin smile, though my chest tightened under the weight of his gaze. "Or maybe I just like bread. You ever think of that?"
The silence that followed was worse than his anger. It stretched, pulled taut like string ready to snap. He didn't move, didn't blink, only watched me with that unnerving calm, the calm that always came before something else.
I felt my pulse in my wrist where it rested on the tablecloth. I tapped my fingers, one by one, against the wood beneath, pretending I didn't notice him dissecting me with his eyes.
"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" His voice was quiet, almost tender, and that tone unsettled me more than a shout.
"No idea. A fool with crumbs on his shirt?" I brushed at my chest, though there were no crumbs.
"I see someone who doesn't know his own value," he said. "Someone who dares to test me because deep down he thinks there's nothing to lose. That's dangerous, Treasure. For both of us."
I laughed under my breath, short and sharp. "Dangerous? Sitting here talking about birds? That's what you call dangerous?"
"It isn't the words," Elias said, leaning forward now, elbows on the table. His hands laced together, the pose of a man in prayer, though his eyes burned with anything but grace. "It's the intent. You try to slip through my grasp with nonsense, as if I won't notice the defiance buried in it."
I swallowed, my throat dry despite the glass of water untouched by my hand. My gaze slid to the window. Outside, a crow perched on the stone wall, tilting its head at the glass as if listening in. I almost envied it.
"I just asked a question about birds," I muttered.
He smiled then, a thin curve of lips that carried no warmth. "And I answered mine. You want to bring out the worst in me."
The crow cawed once and flew off, a black streak against the pale sky. My chest ached watching it disappear, wings beating with a freedom I couldn't name.
Elias pushed back his chair and stood, slow and deliberate, as if rising were part of some ritual he had already rehearsed. His eyes were on me, heavy with their own script, and he said, "I won't let you win this time."
A laugh rose in my throat, hollow and sharp. I scoffed and chewed down the remnants of my bread. "When have I ever won anything with you?"
He wagged his head, a measured gesture, not amused. "No. No more of this bullshit." His voice cut through the air like a knife dragging across stone. Then, almost too smoothly, his tone softened. "I do have a surprise for you. A VIP ticket. Very important event. I think you'll appreciate it."
I tilted my head, suspicion lacing my voice. "And I'm going as what, Elias?"
He smiled faintly, as if I had asked the most naïve question. "Of course, as my personal bodyguard. What do you think?"
I leaned back, letting my eyes sweep over the table, over the untouched fruit bowl and the sheen of morning light dulling against the silverware. "Do I look fit for the job?"
His gaze flickered to my shoulders, my posture, the way I sat. He chuckled, low in his chest. "I didn't break you. I'm pretty sure you look fit for the job."
I shrugged, forcing my voice into something flat and careless. "Alright. Whatever you ask for."
He turned toward the door, his steps echoing faintly across the polished floor. Before leaving, he paused, hand on the gilded handle, and looked back at me. His eyes had sharpened again, reminding me of how quick his moods bent and twisted. "I didn't forget about you leaving without notifying me. Don't think you got away with it, Treasure. I'm just letting it slide this time."
I raised my hand in a weak salute, two fingers to my temple, mock-soldier. "Yeah, noted."
He gave no response, just pushed open the door and left me with the silence of the room. The door closed with a soft but final thud.
For a while, I stared at the crumbs on my plate, pressing them into a smear of butter with the edge of my thumb. My mind, though, had already drifted back to the other day when I slipped out to Crescent Street. The memory clung to me like the smell of fried oil, impossible to wash off. I had walked into that tiny bodega with its buzzing fridge and greasy counter, ordered a bacon, egg, and cheese roll, nothing fancy. The first bite was heavy with salt and grease, cheap bread soaking in yolk, a sandwich made without pride. But it wasn't the taste that hit me—it was the sudden realization, sharp as a needle pricking through numb skin. What the hell am I doing?
That bite told me more than any of Elias' polished speeches ever had. I had been sinking, letting him press down until I could barely recognize myself. Somewhere along the way, I started believing I was fragile, believing I had to yield. And for what? For some gilded cage, for meals laid out in porcelain bowls, for silks and polished shoes that weren't mine. I chewed that sandwich and thought, maybe I just need to stop taking him so seriously. Maybe that was the trick. Stop bowing in my head even when I don't bow with my body. Get back to my old self—the kid who bent rules before they bent him. Be flexible to the mess, roll with it, and not let him turn me into one of his carved statues.
When I came back from that small trip, the whole staff wore faces like storm clouds. Worried looks traded in silence, their mouths tight, their eyes darting toward the walls as though even they had ears. It hit me then, sharp as the aftertaste of stale coffee. They weren't here because they loved the work or believed in him. No one could. They were tethered to him by something unseen—debts, favors, secrets he held against them, or perhaps fear sharpened to obedience. That kind of silence doesn't grow from loyalty.
And I realized, in the middle of their worried stares, that everyone already knew the truth. This man was not right in the head. They stayed because leaving was worse, because he had tied them up in invisible chains, each link different but just as binding.
As for me—oh well. I already knew he wasn't right in the head. I'd been living it.
But I can't keep playing his game the way he wants me to. The plan is simple, even if it sounds ridiculous when I whisper it to myself: stop taking him seriously. That's all. Let him fume, let him posture, let him call me his possession. If I don't give weight to his words, maybe they'll shrink, lose their edge. Maybe I'll remember who I was before this.
I sat there in the dining room with the morning sun shifting higher in the sky, the scent of coffee cooling in the air, and I repeated it in my head like a vow. Stop taking him seriously. Start taking myself back.
The ride to the venue felt longer than it was. Elias had told me nothing beyond "a very important event," and left the rest hanging like bait. When the car finally rolled to a stop before a grand stone façade lit in gold, I realized what kind of gathering this was. A masquerade charity ball, the kind only the richest tiers of Valmont and beyond attended. The kind of night where fortunes were paraded as easily as sequins, where reputation was measured by whose name appeared on the donation list.
I followed Elias up the steps lined with torches and velvet ropes, the air already thick with perfume and cigar smoke. Cameras snapped from a distance, flashes sparking against the night like sudden lightning. His mask was a sculpted thing, black trimmed with gold, sharp as his tailored suit. Mine was plainer, given to me at the door—matte black with cutouts around the eyes. I looked more like the help than a guest, which I supposed was the point.
Inside, the noise hit first, a low roar of voices softened only by the steady pull of strings. The ballroom was carved out of some old-world dream, domed ceiling painted in twilight shades, chandeliers like frozen constellations dripping light onto the marble floor. Music swelled from the ensemble tucked near the dais, their bows carving the air with strokes that reminded me of a sea current, steady yet unpredictable. Masks everywhere—plumed, jeweled, lacquered, porcelain-white with eyes cut into crescents. The guests moved like shifting colors on a painter's palette, fabric whispering against fabric, sequins catching light like tiny bursts of flame.
I stood beside Elias, dressed in a suit tailored to perfection, the mask he wore black and gold, fitting his face like it was molded there. I was his shadow in black, plain mask hiding half my features. He walked with the sort of grace that demanded space clear for him. People leaned in to greet him, their masks flashing teeth, their hands heavy with jewelry. He gave smiles that looked carved from marble.
I didn't really look at him. Not the way I had before. My eyes wandered over the painted faces, the servers carrying trays of champagne, the weight of chandeliers pressing their golden light down. My hand brushed the cool edge of the column I leaned on. The room smelled of perfume and wine, a heavy sweetness that clung to my throat.
Elias spoke, conversed, traded phrases that sounded like veiled barbs wrapped in compliments. I half-listened, catching pieces: investments, patents, whispers of future ventures. None of it stuck. My attention drifted instead to the way a man in a silver fox mask adjusted his cufflinks as if he were tightening armor, the way a woman in emerald silk whispered too closely into another's ear. The small motions of people trying to look grand.
I felt eyes on me once or twice, the staff stationed near the edges, but no threat. Only curiosity.
"You aren't attentive enough," Elias murmured suddenly, low so that only I could hear. His head didn't turn, his lips barely moved, but his words landed like the flick of a whip.
I let out a small breath, almost a laugh, eyes still roaming over the crowd. "Chill, Elias. No one here is trying to kill you."
His gaze cut sideways, sharp as glass. "That's not the point."
I met his look, the mask hiding half my face but not my grin. "It's a charity ball, not a warfront. If someone wanted you dead tonight, they'd wait until after dessert."
The music swelled then, a sweep of violins carrying across the hall, and a ripple of applause rose as a new couple in glittering masks took the dance floor. I tilted my head to watch them. Elias, for once, didn't answer. His silence pressed against me harder than his words did, but I kept my posture loose, my hands folded behind my back like I hadn't a care.
He leaned closer, breath brushing against my ear, his tone silkier now. "Do not mistake this for safety, Treasure. People can wear masks for more than their faces."
I straightened, keeping my eyes on the dancers, the skirts spinning like flowers caught in wind. "Maybe. But for tonight, all I see are rich people pretending they still know how to have fun."
The chandelier light struck my glass when a server passed me a flute of champagne. I took it without looking at Elias for permission, the bubbles rising like tiny sparks. I sipped, savoring the burn on my tongue. He gave me a look that suggested I'd broken some silent rule, but I ignored it.
For once, I decided not to take him seriously.
I let the crowd wash over me, the music sink into me, the anonymity of masks blur every face into a painting with no frame. Somewhere beyond the glitter and chatter, Elias kept speaking, shaking hands, delivering lines. I stayed by his side because it was my job, but my mind, my attention, my pulse—they drifted elsewhere, to the strange freedom of not caring.
Elias' hand brushed the air, a subtle wave that dismissed the cluster of admirers pressing toward him. He murmured something polite, a farewell laced with false warmth, and guided me away from the center of the room. His grip on my elbow was not harsh, but it was firm enough that my steps fell in line with his. We moved past the edge of the dance floor, past velvet curtains that muffled the orchestra, into a corridor lit only by sconces that breathed shadows onto the walls.
I opened my mouth, half to ask what the hell he was doing, but his hand shot up, plucking his own mask from his face. He held it like a discarded shell, tossed it onto a table without care, and then his fingers caught the edge of mine. He tore it off with one sharp pull. The sudden rush of cool air on my skin made me blink. My mask clattered beside his, faceless and exposed.
His eyes were burning, not with rage alone but something deeper, something that looked like disbelief that I had slipped from his script. "What game are you playing?" His voice was low, but it was tight enough to strangle air. "Do you think this is amusing? Standing at my side like some bored child while I stand in the lion's mouth?"
I steadied my breath and met his stare. "You're not in a lion's mouth, Elias. You're at a party. People in feathers and sequins aren't here to kill you."
His hand shot out again, fingers curling under my chin, tilting my face upward as though I were something to be inspected under a brighter light. "You don't get to tell me what danger looks like." His grip pressed until my jaw ached. "You are here because I wanted you near. You are here because you're supposed to see what others don't."
I let out a laugh that tasted bitter. "All I saw was you parading. I figured that was enough of a job in itself."
His jaw tightened, the words striking him harder than I expected. He released me with a shove that sent my back against the cool plaster of the wall. "You think you can mock me here, in front of all this?" His eyes flickered to the curtain, as if he feared the orchestra itself might overhear. "You've grown careless. Reckless."
I straightened, smoothing the front of my suit with deliberate slowness, forcing my heartbeat to quiet. "Maybe I've grown tired of being your decoration. Maybe I'm just here to do what the title says—guard, not worship."
His mouth twisted, the control he wrapped himself in slipping at the edges. "You're supposed to be mine." His voice cracked, not in weakness but in fury. "Do you understand that? Mine. Not theirs. Not the crowd's. Not anyone's."
I stepped closer, the space between us tightening like a rope pulled taut. "I hear you, Elias. I hear every word you say. But you need to understand something too." I leaned in until I could see the tremor just under his skin. "I'm bored of all this seriousness."
His breath stilled. For a moment he just stared at me, as though the language had failed him, as though he couldn't believe I had said it. Then his palm slammed against the wall beside my head, the sound cracking like a whip. The sconces trembled with it.
"You will regret that," he whispered. "You will regret thinking you can play with me."
I tilted my head, let the corner of my mouth lift into something sharper than a smile, and said, "Maybe. But right now, I'd rather keep looking at you."
The words hung in the narrow corridor like smoke, curling between us. Elias' hand was still pressed flat against the wall beside my head, his knuckles pale with the force of restraint. His eyes narrowed, but not in the way of a man ready to strike—more like someone caught off guard, dragged into a current he hadn't expected.
"You think this is a game?" His voice was rougher now, the smoothness gone, every syllable pressed through his teeth.
I leaned into the space he'd left open, close enough that I could see the faintest tremor in the corner of his mouth. "If it is, you're not losing as badly as you think. You've got my attention, don't you?"
His breath caught, sharp, shallow. For a moment his composure wavered, the same way a glass set on the edge of a table teeters before it falls. His fingers twitched against the wall, as if tempted to close the gap between us, to take what I had dangled.
But control was the skin he lived in, and I saw him fight to pull it back on. His hand shifted from the wall to my chest, palm flat, not tender but not entirely forceful either. "You don't get to toy with me."
I let the silence stretch, let his palm linger against me as though he were claiming ground, and I smiled wider. "Maybe I do. Maybe that's the only way to survive you—flirt with the fire until it forgets to burn."
For the first time, Elias faltered. He looked at me, really looked, and I saw the mask of certainty slip an inch lower. His lips parted as though he wanted to say something—threat, promise, confession—but he closed them instead, jaw tightening. He snatched his hand back, turned on his heel, and strode toward the ballroom as though he hadn't heard a thing.
His coat flared as he turned, stride cutting away from me, and for a heartbeat I thought he was gone, retreating into the safety of chandeliers and masks. But he stopped halfway, shoulders rigid, breath visible in the faint light of the sconces. Slowly, he pivoted back, eyes narrowed in something between fury and hunger.
Before I could read his intent, he closed the space in two swift steps. His hand caught the side of my neck, not gentle, thumb pressed hard under my jaw, and his mouth crushed against mine. The kiss was rough. Unapologetically so. Not some fumbling attempt at gentleness, this was precision, frustration folded into heat. His lips hit mine like he couldn't stop himself, but wouldn't let it show. They crushed, dragged, caught, bruising and immediate, nothing withheld. His teeth grazed, not biting but close, like the threat of it was enough. Like he wanted me to feel it later, in silence, alone.
I let out a sound—low, unguarded—as my back struck the wall. The cold caught the edge of my breath, but he was already there, hand spreading over my chest, holding me still. He wasn't letting me retreat. Wasn't giving himself space to think. His breath poured hot into my mouth between kisses, and I tasted everything we hadn't said tonight—wine and bitterness, restraint cracked open just far enough to let the heat bleed through.
I didn't pull away. Didn't push him off. My hands stayed clenched at my sides, not in protest, but because if I touched him now, I wouldn't stop. I'd pull him down with me.
When he finally pulled back, his lips lingered close, breaths fast, eyes burning into mine like he was daring me to laugh. To mock. To act like this didn't mean something.
"You don't get to play with me," he said, voice low, still too close. I could feel the heat of it in the space between our mouths. "Not without consequence."
I drew a breath, chest rising slow against his palm. My lips curved—sharp, knowing.
"Then kiss me like you mean it, Elias," I said. "Not like you're trying to prove a point."
The words hit home. I saw it immediately—the subtle shift in him. Not breaking. But unraveling, thread by thread. His fingers at my throat tightened, just a breath's worth of pressure, and his forehead touched mine. He stayed like that a second longer than he should have. Close enough I could feel the war still going on in him.
And for the first time, I knew I'd won something. Not the fight. Not him.
Just… that moment. And that was enough.
He didn't speak. Just stepped back and grabbed my wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but with enough pressure to remind me exactly who thought he still had the upper hand. His other hand swept the masks off the table and shoved them into mine. Then he turned, dragging me with him, the crowd falling away behind us.
I let him lead. My pulse had already shifted, tuning itself to the pace of his grip.
We moved past velvet alcoves and down a service hallway not meant for anyone dressed like us. The music thinned behind us, softened by the layers of wallpaper and insulation. These walls were bare, shadowy. The tiles beneath our feet clacked under his fast steps, and his fingers never let go of mine. They felt hotter than they should have, like he was branding me with how hard he was trying to hold on.
At the end of the hall, a narrow door opened to the outside world. He shoved it open with his shoulder, and the wind slapped us instantly. It rushed down my collar, sent the tail of his coat whipping behind him. The air smelled of wet stone and something sharp, almost metallic.
The courtyard was shadowed and still, the tall stone walls hemming us in like a confession waiting to happen.
Elias turned around, jaw clenched, and before I could say a word, he pressed me back against the wall, this time with more than just a warning. My spine hit the stone with a thud, his hand splayed hard across my chest, and then he was kissing me—again, but different now.
This kiss wasn't clean. It wasn't controlled. It came from something low and burning, something that had frayed past elegance and snapped into something wild.
His mouth crushed into mine, stealing breath, demanding space. He kissed like a man trying to shut me up, trying to erase the taste of defiance from my tongue and replace it with his own. His teeth grazed the corner of my lip, deliberate. Punishing. I felt the sting before I tasted the copper.
His hands came to my face again, thumbs rough at my jaw, fingers curling hard enough to anchor me to this moment. He tasted like wine and tension and fury. I kissed him back. Not out of surrender, but because I wanted him to feel what it was like to want something and not be able to fully take it.
His hips pressed against mine, pinning me harder to the wall. My breath caught in my throat, and I let it. I tilted my head and met the pressure with my own. My fingers gripped the lapel of his coat, not to pull him closer, not entirely—but just enough to let him know I wasn't flinching.
His hand slid down the side of my neck, down my torso, fingers lingering at my waist, possessive, like he meant to keep me pinned there until I said I was his.
His mouth was still close, breath heavy and uneven. The wind swept around us like it knew better than to interrupt. I felt the weight of his hand tighten at my waist, not violently, but with a pressure that held more in it than he was willing to name.
His voice came rough, low, the words cracked along the edges. "Don't make me wonder where your head is when you look at me like that."
I blinked, slow, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Then stop needing me to look at you a certain way."
He exhaled sharply, frustration building behind his eyes, the kind he tried to swallow down before it made him soft. His thumb dragged along the side of my neck. "I'm not used to this."
I tilted my head just enough to feel his knuckles brush along my jaw. "To what? Someone not folding for you the moment you snap your fingers?"
His laugh was quiet, bitter. "No. To wanting someone like this and not knowing what the hell they'll do next."
There it was. Not an order. Not a claim. Just that bare flicker of admission, bitter in his throat.
I let the silence stretch between us, let it tighten like a rope pulled just short of snapping. My pulse hadn't slowed. Neither had his.
"You should've thought of that," I murmured, "before you kissed me like you couldn't help it."
His lips parted, like he had something to fire back. But nothing came. Nothing useful, anyway.
So I leaned forward again, just enough to let my mouth brush the edge of his cheek as I whispered, "Next time you grab me like that in public, make sure you know what you're really reaching for."
Then I slipped out from under his hand, just enough space to breathe on my own again. My body still burned from the heat he poured into me, but I carried it with me like armor.
He stood there, staring after me in the dark, the mask still clutched in his hand.
And I didn't even look back.