The master suite had become a universe of silk and silence. Three days had passed since David was taken to the sub-levels. In that time, Elara had become a ghost in Julian's bed. She played the part he demanded—the compliant queen, the beautiful shadow—but behind her eyes, she was counting his heartbeats, looking for the rhythm of a man she could still manipulate.
Julian was never more dangerous than when he was "happy." He showered her with gifts—black diamonds that looked like frozen tears, gowns that cost more than a Bureau agent's yearly salary. Every gift was a new bar on the cage.
"You're quiet tonight," Julian murmured, his hands sliding up her arms as she stood on the balcony. He was always touching her now, as if he feared she might dissolve if he let go.
"I'm thinking about the dark, Julian," she whispered. "Is it cold down there for him?"
Julian's jaw tightened. The jealousy never left; it just changed shape. He hated that even in his arms, her mind was with David. "He is fed. He is warm. He is alive because you are here. Don't ruin the night with ghosts, Elara."
He turned her around, his mouth finding hers with a possessive hunger that was starting to feel like an interrogation. Elara kissed him back, pouring a desperate, fake passion into it. She had to keep him close. She had to make him believe she was broken so that when she finally struck, he would never see it coming.