Chapter 3: Reckoning
The kitchen was too bright after the dim, steam-cloaked bathroom. Rio stood at the island, her fingers curled too tightly around the cool stem of a wine glass she’d found and filled without thinking. The vanilla-scented candle on the counter did nothing to mask the smell of jasmine that seemed baked into her skin, her hair. Every time she moved, she felt the phantom pressure of Agatha’s hands, the throbbing ache of the bite on her shoulder, the deep, used ache between her legs.
She took a gulp of wine. It tasted like nothing.
The floorboards in the hall creaked, a heavy, familiar rhythm. Dave. Her stomach twisted. She instinctively tugged the collar of her blouse higher, but the silk was thin, and she was hyper-aware of the hidden mark. The door swung open.
“Babe! There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.” Dave shouldered his way in, smelling of cigar smoke, bourbon, and the sharp, expensive cologne he always wore too much of. His tie was loosened, his handsome face flushed with good humor. “You’ll never guess who just showed up. My stepmom. Agatha.”
Rio’s fingers whitened on the glass. She forced a smile. It felt like a crack in plaster. “Yeah? That’s a surprise.”
“Right? She never comes to these things. Says they’re ‘tedious.’” He did a poor impression of Agatha’s precise, cool tone as he moved to the fridge, pulling out a beer. “But she heard it was for my girlfriend—the new hotshot lawyer—and she insisted on meeting you.” He popped the cap off with a flick of his wrist. “Pretty cool, huh?”
Cool. The word echoed stupidly in Rio’s head. Her mouth was dry. “Very.”
He leaned against the counter opposite her, taking a long swig. “Where’d you disappear to, anyway? I was getting worried. Thought maybe you got bored with my friends.”
“No. Just… needed some air. Then I got turned around. This place is a maze.” The lies came out smoothly, practiced. A lawyer’s reflex. She took another sip of wine to wet her throat. “So, Agatha. She’s… what? Just waiting out there?”
“Nah, she’s doing her grand entrance thing in the living room. Holding court by the fireplace. You know how she is.” He didn’t, not really. He saw the designer clothes and the boardroom smile. He had no idea about the teeth beneath it. “C’mon, let’s go. Don’t want to keep her waiting. She’s got, like, a midnight helicopter to catch or something insane.”
He pushed off the counter and reached for her hand. Rio’s free hand flew up, pretending to fix her hair, avoiding his grip. “Just let me finish this,” she said, her voice a notch too high.
Dave’s affable smile faltered, just for a second. His eyes, a pleasant, empty blue, scanned her face. “You okay? You look… flushed.”
“It’s hot. Crowded.” She set the glass down on the marble with a sharp click. The wine sloshed, a blood-dark tide against the crystal. “I’m fine. Let’s go meet the legend.”
She walked ahead of him, feeling his gaze on her back. The hallway back to the main party seemed longer, the laughter and music growing louder with every step, a wall of sound she wasn’t ready to breach. She felt stripped, transparent. She imagined every guest could see it: the marks, the steam, the shame, the dizzying power of what had happened. She could still feel the hard marble bench under her, the relentless water, Agatha’s mouth—
Dave caught her elbow just before they reached the archway to the living room. “Hey. Seriously. You’re trembling.”
She looked at his hand, then up at him. The concern in his face was so genuine, so uncomplicated. It made her want to scream. Or laugh. This dumb, beautiful man, with his dumb, beautiful life, had no clue what was in his house, what was in his family.
“I’m just nervous,” she said, and it was the first true thing she’d said to him in an hour. “She’s important to you. I want to make a good impression.”
He grinned, his worry evaporating. “You’ll kill it. You always do.”
Then he guided her into the light and the noise.
The party had peaked. A cloud of smoke and perfume hung in the air. And there, by the grand stone fireplace, was Agatha.
She had changed. The black lingerie was gone, replaced by a sleeveless, ice-blue sheath dress that cut to her knees. Her hair was swept up, dry and perfect, not a strand out of place. She held a tumbler of something clear, her posture regal as she listened to some junior executive babble at her. She looked untouched. Unbreakable.
As if sensing them, Agatha’s gaze sliced across the room. It landed on Dave, then, with a slower, heavier weight, on Rio. Her lips, painted a deep, matte crimson, curved. Not a smile. A recognition.
Dave led Rio over, weaving through the crowd. “Agatha! Sorry to keep you. This is Rio.”
Agatha extended a hand, her movements fluid and deliberate. “Rio. David has told me so much about you. Congratulations. An impressive achievement.”
Rio took her hand. The grip was firm, cool, dry. The hand that had been inside her not thirty minutes before. A jolt, electric and terrifying, shot up Rio’s arm.
“Thank you,” Rio managed. Her voice held. Barely. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Dave talks about you all the time.”
“Does he?” Agatha’s eyes glinted. “I can only imagine the stories. Mostly exaggerations, I’m sure.” She released Rio’s hand, her fingertips trailing for a millisecond over Rio’s palm. A secret brush. A brand. “You must be quite something to have captivated him. He’s usually drawn to… simpler fare.”
Dave chuckled, missing the knife in the words. “She keeps me on my toes.”
“I bet she does,” Agatha said, her eyes never leaving Rio’s. They dropped, briefly, to the collar of Rio’s blouse. Rio felt the bite mark burn as if under a spotlight. “That’s a lovely color on you, Rio. It really brings out the… intensity in your eyes. You look quite… awake.”
The double meaning hung in the air between them, a thread only the two of them could see. Rio’s heart hammered against her ribs. She was standing in a room full of people, her boyfriend beaming beside her, having a perfectly banal conversation, while the woman across from her calmly discussed how she’d just made her come apart in a shower.
“It was a gift,” Rio said, her own sarcasm rising as a defense, sharp and automatic.
“I have excellent taste,” Dave said, slipping an arm around Rio’s waist.
Agatha’s smile deepened, becoming almost maternal. “You do, David. You really do.” She took a sip from her glass. “I’m afraid I have to steal away. My pilot is dreadfully impatient. But Rio,” she said, leaning in slightly, lowering her voice so only Rio could fully hear. “It was a genuine pleasure. We should have a proper talk sometime. About your career. The legal world is so very… intimate. It helps to have a guide who knows all the pressures.”
She straightened up, addressing Dave. “Take care of her, David. She seems like she needs very specific… attention.” She air-kissed Dave’s cheek, then turned to go. She paused, looking back at Rio over her shoulder, a final, slow glance that swept from her heels to her eyes.
“Do enjoy the rest of your celebration, Rio,” she said. And then she was gone, weaving through the crowd toward the penthouse door, leaving a vacuum of cool, jasmine-scented air in her wake.
Dave let out a low whistle. “See? She liked you! Told you.”
Rio stood perfectly still, watching the empty space where Agatha had been. The throbbing in her shoulder had settled into a persistent, possessive heat. The echo of Agatha’s final words—a proper talk, intimate, specific attention—reverberated in her skull, a clear, dangerous invitation.
She had passed some test, she realized. But the real examination, the one that mattered, was just being scheduled. And as the party noise swelled around her, all Rio could feel was the terrifying silence of that unspoken challenge, and the creeping certainty that she wanted nothing more than to fail it, spectacularly.