Page 35 of Glutton for Punishment

Doors slide open onto the executive level before I can respond.

It’s quiet and empty in this hallway. The polished golden floors glitter in the soft light above. Greed doesn’t do subtlety when it comes to wealth. Everything here is designed to remind people who holds the power.

My father’s office sits at the end of the corridor behind massive glass doors etched with the Blaise crest.

He pushes them open and steps inside. I follow—and stop when I see who’s already there.

My older brother sits across from the desk, composed as always. Darius Blaise looks like the kind of man who never spills a drink or loses a negotiation, dressed in an immaculate suit with a glass of whiskey resting in his hand.

Of course, he’s already here.

For a moment, irritation flares in my chest. My brothers and I have spent our entire lives competing for the same thing—our father’s favor, the future seat on the council. Being the oldest makes Darius think he deserves it automatically.

I drop into the empty chair beside him, stretching my legs out. I may not look the part of future Councilor right now, but the last thing I’ll do is show it bothers me.

“Didn’t realize this was a family meeting,” I say.

Darius glances at me with a faint smile. “Father said this was important.”

Which means he showed up early.

Our father moves behind the massive obsidian desk and studies the two of us for a moment before pouring himself a drink.

“Ryker,” he says finally, his voice warm with approval. “I wanted to tell you in person how proud I am of the work you did at the academy.”

I raise an eyebrow. “The work?”

“With the girl.”

Ah.

That girl.

My expression doesn’t change, though something uncomfortable curls in my chest as I’m reminded of Arwen again.

“There was no way to know she was entangled with Atticus because of a bond,” my father continues, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “But you handled the situation as I hoped you would. You got under her skin, kept her defenses down, and created enough distrust that she didn’t complete the bond. That would have been a disaster.”

Beside me, Darius shifts in his chair. That’s a tell of his.

He’s jealous.

Good.

Father doesn’t need to know Atticus did a fine job of sewing her distrust himself.

“If she had been left unchecked,” my father says, sighing, “she could have become a powerful tool for Pride.”

He swirls his glass of amber liquid, staring at it, lost in thought.

I tap my fingers against the arm of the chair and keep my voice casual. The knowledge that Atticus is her true bond still sends a violent rage through me. I have to keep myself in control.

“So what happened to her, anyway?”

The question is simple enough. Strategic curiosity.

Nothing more.

My father looks up slowly, and for just a moment something darker passes behind his smile before it settles back into something pleasant.