Chapter 3: Dangerous Games

Hope

"Hope, you've barely touched your soup," Elizabeth noted, setting down her spoon. "Are you feeling unwell?"

I stirred the cooling liquid, trying to summon an appetite. "Just tired from studying."

"Your father's been inspecting the suburban development projects all week," Elizabeth sighed, a hint of worry in her voice. "He insists on personally overseeing everything, even the smallest details. The man works too hard—he could easily delegate these tasks."

"The residents trust him," James commented. "They know he'll ensure everything's done properly."

"Still, all these trips..." Elizabeth shook her head before brightening slightly. "Speaking of trust and reputation, James, have you given any more thought to the Harrisons? Or the Webers? These are families with generations of influence, exactly the kind of connection the board expects—"

"I've made my choice, Mother." James's voice was quiet but firm.

Elizabeth's silverware clinked sharply against her plate. "You're turning thirty soon, darling. The board expects a proper marriage, not some hasty arrangement with—"

The sharp scrape of James's chair cut through her words. "If you'll excuse me," he said, his voice clipped. "I have work to review."

The rest of dinner passed in tense silence. As soon as Elizabeth excused herself to make her evening calls, I retreated to my old bedroom.

The familiar space had always been my sanctuary, especially on nights like this. I turned on Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, letting the music wash over me as I curled up with my laptop to review tomorrow's class notes.

The battery warning popped up on my screen. Spotting my charging cable behind the nightstand, I leaned over the edge of the bed to reach it.

"Quite the view."

I nearly fell off the bed at James's voice. Heat rushed to my face as I realized my position, how my T-shirt must have ridden up.

"Found this in my car." He leaned against the doorframe, dangling a scrap of black lace between his fingers. "Careless of you to leave evidence, little sister."

"I—" The word caught in my throat as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The click of the latch seemed unnaturally loud.

"Show me your knee."

I blinked. "What?"

"Your knee," he repeated, his tone brooking no argument. "From the other night. Show me."

Slowly, I perched on the edge of the bed and rolled up my pant leg. The bruise had faded to a mottled purple, tender to the touch. James knelt before me, his breath warm against my skin as he examined the injury. From his pocket, he produced a small tube of prescription-strength arnica cream.

"You came prepared," I whispered.

His thumb spread the cool gel across my knee in slow circles. "I take care of what's mine."

The possessive note in his voice made me shiver. He was so close now, his face tilted up to mine as his hands worked the cream into my skin. The air between us grew thick with unspoken tension.

A sharp knock shattered the moment. "Hope? Are you decent, dear?"

James moved with liquid grace, hitting the light switch before pressing me back against the mattress. His body caged mine in the darkness, our faces mere inches apart.

"I—I'm not dressed, Mrs. Russell!" I called out, struggling to keep my voice steady as James's lips ghosted along my jaw.

"Oh! Well, I wanted to discuss something with you. There's a lovely young man I'd like you to meet. Brian Weber—you remember him? He's doing wonderfully at the FBI academy."

James's body tensed against mine. "Brian Weber?" he breathed, voice dangerously soft. "Does the idea appeal to you, Hope? A nice, respectable FBI agent?"

My heart raced at the edge in his voice. Before I could respond, his teeth grazed my earlobe. "Tell her you're too busy with internships," he whispered.

I repeated his words mechanically, hyper-aware of every point where our bodies touched. "I'm really focused on my internships right now. Maybe... maybe next year?"

Elizabeth paused, her voice softening with maternal concern. "You know, Hope, good men are like prime real estate—they don't stay on the market long. Brian comes from an excellent family, and these introductions don't come easily. Even in our circles, most eligible men are either taken or... well, let's say they have their complications. A girl needs to rely on family connections while she still has them."

She sighed. "Just think about it, dear. Rest well."

We stayed frozen until Elizabeth's footsteps faded. Only then did James pull back slightly, though his hands remained planted on either side of my head.

"Good girl," he murmured. The praise sent an unwanted thrill down my spine.

Morning brought fresh trials. Elizabeth had arranged my favorite breakfast—eggs Benedict with perfectly poached eggs and house-made hollandaise.

James appeared in the dining room in a dark cashmere sweater and tailored loungewear, his usual sharp suits nowhere in sight. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd just woken up.

He made a beeline for the coffee pot with half-lidded eyes, and for once, the intimidating heir to the Russell empire looked almost... approachable.

"Have you considered Brian's proposal, dear?" Elizabeth asked. "Though the Aldrichs in Boston have also been inquiring. Old Bradford connections, you know."

My fork clattered against the plate. The implications hit me like a physical blow—she was trying to get me out of the way. Had she noticed something? Suspected?

Elizabeth's eyes flickered to my designer handbag. "Dear, that's quite a statement piece you're carrying."

"Oh, this?" I touched the bag with a small laugh, "Claire's mother runs that luxury consignment store downtown. She lets us borrow pieces sometimes—great for networking events."

"Then perhaps it's time we restored your allowance," she said firmly. "A young lady in your position shouldn't need to borrow accessories. What would people think of how we're raising you?"

I swallowed hard, touched by her sincere worry even as guilt twisted in my stomach. "The internship pays enough, really."

"I'll drive Hope to campus," James interrupted smoothly, now impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, as he stepped into the doorway.

The ride back to campus was silent. James kept his eyes on the road.

"I know you don't like owing the family anything," he said suddenly, reaching into his jacket. The black card appeared between his fingers. "This is different. It's just between us."

"The Zoe Laurent meeting—" I started.

"Nothing's decided." His fingers drummed against the steering wheel. "She might not be suitable."

"And if she is?"

His smile held a predatory edge. "Then we'll make other arrangements."

The realization struck me with sickening clarity—marriage was for the perfect society wife in public, while the black card was for his foster sister in the shadows of his bed. I loved him, but that love meant nothing in the face of a black card! That scumbag! Why should I love him?

"No." The word came out sharper than I intended.

"Hope—"

"I said no." I reached for the door handle, but his hand shot out, gripping my thigh.

"Don't be difficult," he warned, his fingers digging into the exact spot he'd bruised days ago.

I wrenched away from him just as Ashley appeared at the passenger window, her perfectly shaped eyebrows rising at the sight of the luxury car.

"Hope Carter," she drawled. "My, my... what interesting company you keep."

I fled without answering, James's burning gaze following me across the campus lawn. My carefully constructed world was crumbling, and I had no idea how to stop it.

"Quite the luxury car," she calls out as I pass. "Who's that? Your cash cow?"