His words just hung there. I'm the best lawyer in this city isn't it?

And just like that. Any tiny little scrap of victory I thought I'd clawed out for myself? Gone. Turned to dust. This wasn't him blocking my move. This was him flipping the whole damn chessboard over, telling me he owned the board, the pieces, and the idiot sitting across from him. My one, single, clever little loophole was completely useless. Why? Because he was the one who'd be hearing the case. Judge, jury, and definitely executioner. Checkmate. In one quiet, killer sentence.

I think a full minute passed where I just stared at him feeling defeated as I sank into the stupid expensive chair.

He was right. He knew he was right. I felt my face flush, hot with shame and then this bitter, useless anger. At him. And at myself for being so naive, for thinking I could ever actually land a punch.

He must've seen me deflate, because he pulled back. He has this way of moving, all smooth and unnerving. The ghost of a smirk he had—gone. His face went back to being just handsome and blank. And just like that, he was all business again. He straightened, gave me one last look before walking to his ridiculous desk as if we had been discussing a misplaced comma not my entire future.

“Anyways, your point is quite valid.” He murmured. “An undefined term is a major weakness and I do not entertain such.”

He picked up a ridiculous, heavy looking fountain pen and flipped the binder open straight to page fifty seven.Of course. He didn’t even need to look.

“Right,” he murmured, his voice dangerously smooth. “Let’s define our terms.”

I just watched, stunned silent, as he wrote this neat little note in the margin. The only sound was the scratch of the pen on the thick paper.

"You will have twenty hours of 'unscheduled personal time' per week," he said, his piercing blue eyes still on the page. "To be used as you see fit."

He looked up briefly.

"Provided you give my head of security twelve hours' notice You will, of course, accept a security detail at all times when outside the residence." He finally looked up at me. "Is that 'reasonable' enough for you, Ms. Moreno?"

My head was spinning. Twenty hours. I mean, let's be real, it wasn't freedom. Not even close. It was a dog's leash, just a few feet longer. It was a win, but a win he handed to me just to show me he could take it away anytime he wanted. But damn it. It was something. It was twenty hours I didn't have a minute ago. A tiny crack of light.

My throat closed up. I had to force the word out, and it came out strangled. "Yes." It felt like swallowing stones. The next words were even harder. "That's... reasonable.”

"Good." He closed the binder. A soft, final click. "Perfect, we have an understanding.” He flicked his hand as if dismissing a mute child. “Mrs. Albright will show you to your suite.”

I turned, and a woman was there. It was as if he had conjured her because I didn't hear her come in. She was tall, as thin as a rail and her mouth set in permanent pucker like her mouth had been twisted when she was a child and her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. I suddenly felt pity for her.

She looked more like the warden. Her pale eyes swept over me with this polite disgust that made my skin crawl.

"This is Yvette Moreno," Joachim said to her. "She will be staying with us. See to it that she has everything she needs."

“Of course, sir.”

Then she turned that gaze on me. "If you will follow me.”

I stood up, my knees feeling like over cooked ramen. I could feel Joachim's gaze following me.

We walked over what felt like an acre of marble.

The woman made no sound. Nothing. No swish of her dress, no tap of her shoes. She just glided. A silent, spooky ghost leading me to my cell.

"The East Wing is the guest residence," she said as we got to this insane staircase made of glass and steel. "Mr. Knight's chambers are in the West Wing. You are not to cross the central gallery after ten p.m."

A curfew. Fantastic. Just fantastic.

My "suite." She left me standing in what wasn't a room, but an entire apartment. It was stunning, but the kind of empty that feels unnatural.

A sitting room with a white sofa I was afraid to touch, a fireplace that turned on with a remote, a little kitchen I was pretty sure was just for decoration. The bed was the biggest I had ever seen. It could even contain six adults and there would be some space left. On one wall was just glass and I could see all of Manhattan sprawled below.

Then she opened another set of doors, and the air in my lungs turned to ice.

A walk-in closet. And it was full. Racks and racks of clothes. Designer dresses, cashmere sweaters, silk blouses, all, somehow, in my size.There was a marble island in the center, piled with stuff—jewelry, sunglasses, purses that each cost more than my tuition. It was obscene. I don’t know why I did it, but I reached out and let my fingers drift across the sleeve of a blue dress. The silk was so smooth it barely felt real.

"What is all this?" I whispered.

"Mr. Knight had a stylist curate a wardrobe for you," Mrs. Albright said, her tone making it sound as normal as ordering a pizza. "Based on your measurements on file. They are intended to complement your figure."

My figure. The way she said it. Like it was a problem to be solved. I'm used to hiding my curves in jeans and baggy jackets. These clothes, they were meant to be seen. The old Yvette was gone now.

I was his doll now. He'd dress me however he wanted. I felt a wave of nausea, mixed with this tiny, shameful spark of wow.

"Dinner is at eight," she said from the doorway, her job done. "Formal." And then she was gone. Just as silently as she appeared. Leaving me alone in my beautiful new cage.

The house was so massive that I wandered around in a daze for a complete hour and ended up in a bathrobe—which was bigger than my previous apartment. I stared at my reflection.

My hair was a mess. My same old glasses. This was me. The person in that closet was somebody else.

I picked the simplest thing I could find: a black dress. Short, glare black dress with large bell shaped sleeves.

A soft chime echoed through the suite. Eight o'clock. Showtime.

Dinner was just as weird. A dining room that could seat thirty people, and it was just the two of us. Me at one end of a table so long it could have had its own weather system, him at the other. Mrs. Albright served us without saying a word.

There were scallops on the plate in front of me, arranged perfectly. I put one in my mouth and chewed.

"We have an engagement tomorrow evening.” He said quietly and I almost jumped out of my seat.

I glared at him but he ignored me and continued.

“A fundraising gala for the city museum. It will be our first public appearance as a couple."

gave a tight little nod, keeping my eyes fixed on my plate as I nudged an asparagus spear with my fork. Anything to not look at him.

“Our story,” he continued, as if dictating a memo, “is that we were introduced a few months ago. Mutual acquaintance.”

I raised my brows.

“We have been dating, quietly, for the last eight weeks. I am captivated by your passion for your art, and you are charmed by my intellect. We are taking things slow, but are deeply committed. Do you have that?"

A script. He was giving me a script for my own life. "'Charmed by your intellect,'" I repeated, my voice flat. "Right. Is there a script?” I asked, the question sharp with a bitterness I didn't try to hide. “Or do I just wing it?”

He raised his head slowly, his blue eyes pinning me and I felt like sinking into the ground.

No humor in them at all. "You will not 'wing it.' The press will be there. My enemies will be there. They will ask questions. You will defer to me. You will smile, look adoringly at me, and say as little as possible. Your job is to be beautiful and enigmatic. Can you do that?"

“Sure. No probs.”

For the first time ever I saw something flicker in his eyes.

Not control, not amusement. It was an assessment. Like he was actually seeing me. "I am beginning to believe you can," he said, and his voice was weirdly quiet.

After that, we ate in silence. The second we were done, I excused myself and practically ran back to my wing. Back to my cage.

I stood at that huge window, wrapping my arms around myself, just looking down at the city. All those millions of lights. Down there, people were living. Yelling at cabs, kissing, fighting, laughing. Real life. Up here, it was just silence. And him.

He won today. He won completely. He'd backed me into a corner, erased me, dressed me up, and handed me my lines.

But as I stood there, I thought about the look in his eyes when I found that tiny flaw in his perfect contract. I thought about the twenty hours. That little crack of light. He wasn't made of stone. There were chinks in his armor.

I had no idea who, or what, Joachim Knight really was. I had a million questions. Not about the gala or anything else.

Why does he pretend to eat even though he wasn't eating and why was he so pale?

But I was going to find out.