Chapter 411
Chapter 411:
Play the game, she told herself. Survive.
She put on the dress. It floated around her frame, offering no warmth and even less protection. She fastened the choker around her neck. The diamonds felt like ice against her feverish skin.
When she stepped out, Lucian was waiting. He leaned against the doorframe, freshly showered and dressed in a linen suit. His gaze traveled slowly from her bare feet to the hollow of her throat.
“Much better,” he murmured. “You look like a ghost. A beautiful, tragic ghost p>
“I did what you asked,” Skye said, keeping her voice low, submissive. “Now, can I please have some fresh air? The room… it’s suffocating p>
Lucian hesitated. He studied her face, searching for the defiance he knew was there. But Skye met his gaze with wide, watery eyes. She let her shoulders slump.
“Please,” she added, a whisper of desperation.
“Fine,” Lucian decided. “The aft deck. But I will be right beside you p>
He offered his arm. Skye took it. His skin was warm and dry. Hers was clammy.
They walked up to the main deck. The sun was setting, painting the sky in bruises of purple and red. The wind was fierce, whipping Skye’s hair across her face and billowing the sheer fabric of her dress.
They reached the railing. The ocean stretched out in every direction—endless, indifferent gray.
Skye walked to the edge and gripped the teak rail. She looked down at the wake, white foam churning violently.
“It’s a long way down,” Lucian said, standing just behind her, close enough that she could smell his cologne.
“It looks peaceful,” Skye said, strangely.
She leaned forward. Further.
Lucian tensed. “Skye p>
She lifted one foot off the deck. She tipped her upper body over the rail.
“What are you doing?” Lucian’s voice spiked with genuine alarm.
𝖨𝘯ѕ𝘁a𝗻t 𝗮с𝗰es𝗌 oո b𝘦.с𝘰m
“I can’t go back to that cell, Lucian!” she cried, her words snatched by the wind. “I won’t be your pet p>
She threw her weight forward.
“No!” Lucian lunged. He grabbed her waist, hauling her back with savage force.
They crashed onto the deck, Lucian landing on top of her, pinning her down. He was breathing hard, eyes wide with shock and fury.
“Are you insane?” he shouted, shaking her. “You would throw your life away p>
Skye lay beneath him, sobbing hysterically. “Let me die! Just let me die p>
It was a performance worthy of an Oscar, but it was fueled by real terror. She needed him to believe she was unstable. A suicidal hostage was a liability. A suicidal hostage needed to be watched, yes—but also placated.
Lucian stared at her. He saw the tears, the raw desperation. His grip on her arms loosened slightly. He didn’t want a corpse. He wanted a conquest. If she died, he lost.
“Get up,” he hissed, yanking her to her feet.
He brushed the dust from his suit, regaining his composure. “You are not going to die, Skye. And you are not going back to the brig p>
He grabbed her arm, dragging her away from the rail.
“Drake!” he bellowed.