His hand tightens on my own and his voice lowers a fraction when he speaks again. Despite how loud the screaming paparazzi is being and the chatter from everyone else taking pictures and walking up the steps is, I can hear him perfectly clear. “Behave, Juliet. If you wish for more freedoms, then you need to prove to me I can trust you to act as a lady should.”
Smiling through gritted teeth, I look up at Morpheus, taking in the swept-back hair, brushed and gelled to perfection, and his straight, pearly white teeth. “I’m no fucking lady.”
Before Morpheus’ expression can shift from the careful one he’s wearing now to one of anger, one of the ushers at the door steps forward. “Masks, please,” he announces, gesturing to the open doors.
I lift the black-and-gold mask hanging from my wrist and tie it to my face. The designer used the same fabric as my dress for the under layer that lies in a mesh covering over my eyes, but the rest of the mask was created under a 3D printed skeletal hand that stretches over the side of my face. Cool, bone-structuredfingers reach up towards my hairline, passing over my forehead, as the thumb caresses my cheekbone, and the otherwise plain covering conforms to my high cheekbones.
Morpheus simply slips a plain domino mask from his pocket and dons it. Once that’s done, the usher steps aside to allow us entry and we move into a world different from anything I’ve seen before.
I’ve been to charity balls. Masquerades. Elaborate parties with living art and catering from the world’s top chefs. This… is on a whole new level.
Long banners are hung from the ceilings at the entrance, depicting ancient Grecian warriors battling. Candelabras lit with electric candles line a walkway, at the end of which is a large gathering place where several of the attendees are already waiting.
I’m so transfixed by the beauty of the hotel that I forget Morpheus’ presence like a ghost clinging to my side until he jerks us to a stop. “I have been patient with you, Juliet,” he murmurs, still keeping his voice low so as not to be heard by anyone but me. “But I am growing increasingly frustrated by your lack of respect. Do I need to remind you of how upsetting me can impact the lives of your friends?”
My spine stiffens at his thinly veiled threat. The scream inside of me builds into a crescendo. I dig my nails into his arm as I turn to face him. “Blackmail will only get you so far,” I tell him. “I am doing as you’ve asked. I am living in your house. I have no one outside of who you allow. What more do you want from me?” The last question is spoken in a low growl, one that I cannot help.
Morpheus eyes me for a moment without responding. Then, he lifts his free hand and I freeze in place, wanting to pull away but curious as to what he’ll say next. The backs of his fingers trail down my cheek, over the mesh and jewel-encrusted mask to theskin below. Lower still, until he touches one tendril of blue hair that hovers over my collarbone.
“There is a way for you to prove your loyalty to me,” he says. “A way to ensure that I will always be pleased with you and your friends will no longer have anything to fear from me.”
A dreaded sensation creeps up the back of my neck, crawling over my shoulders and down my belly. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking. I really,reallydon’t want to fucking know.
As if he hears that thought, Morpheus’ lips twitch. “You’re officially an adult and there are no blood ties between us,” he continues.
No. My thoughts rebel at his insinuation.He can’t mean…
“It might be odd to marry so young.” Morpheus’ words confirm my suspicions. “There is the small age gap to consider?—”
“You’re old enough to be my father,” I remind him, disgust clear in every single word.
“Semantics,” he replies easily enough. “Should I wish it, we can move to one of my other properties without issue. You’ll no longer have to worry about whether or not I’m keeping an eye on your friends or their families, and no one will ever have to know of the past that would see us as uncle and niece in a new place. Perhaps, overseas? I think you would love France.”
Horror descends. “You’re… serious?” My throat closes up.
“Of course I am,” Morpheus says, his hand dropping away from my face. He offers me a smile, brighter than before, as if my dismay is amusing to him. “You should think on it. There’s only so much room I can give you in a place like Silverwood. You could have everything you’re used to. I could build you a veritable palace in the countryside of France if you wish. You could shop in Paris and London at your leisure.”
“You’d always have me under guard.” I hear the words come out of my lips, though I don’t recall giving them permission. AllI can see is the life he’s building for us in his head. Me—always under his thumb, always followed, constantly watched. Far away from my home, from anyone my own age, and in a place where I don’t know the language. Never seeing the guys again.
“Well, you’ll need someone to look after you when I’m away for work.” Morpheus chuckles. “I’m a very wealthy man, Juliet, especially now.”
Those last two words have me looking up at him sharply. “What do you mean ‘especially now’?”
Morpheus shrugs and turns away from me to consider the people milling about in fine gowns studded with jewels and tuxedos of every shade and color. “With your father’s embezzlement, despite the losses, I’ve managed to maintain control of the company and the stock has bounced back. It’s worth considerably more in a single man’s hands than in two.” His words are almost absently spoken, as if he doesn’t consider that I could be hearing them in a different light. “I’m sure your father never spoke to you about the business, though. You likely find it boring. Don’t you worry, you’ll be taken care of regardless.”
“And my mother?”
“What?” Morpheus blinks and glances back at me, confusion filling his expression and puckering his brow.
“What about my mother? Doesn’t she get Dad’s half? Or me? I’m my father’s heir, after all.”
Morpheus laughs, the sound so sudden that it makes me jump. He calms a moment later, shaking his head. “Darling.” The pat on my hand is condescending and it makes me want to punch him right in the throat. “Your father isn’t dead, there’s no need for an heir, but, of course, should you marry me and birth a child, they will get everything in the end. You should consider that.”
Never. I would rather die.The venomous words sit, perched on the tip of my tongue, ready to escape at a moment’s notice. But I can’t say them, not here.
Thankfully, before I can fully descend into the madness of Morpheus’ sudden proposal, we’re approached by a familiar head of auburn, red hair cut close to the scalp above a golden mask that stretches up to form a crown.
“Mr. Calloway!” Paris exclaims, and I nearly sigh in relief as Morpheus releases me to take Paris’ hand as he approaches. “I’m so glad you were able to come on such short notice.”
