I knock the white queen with the black king.
Hmm.
It feels good to knock down queens.
I lift her up, let her stand proudly in the middle of the board, then I knock her down again.
It doesn’t feel as good as the first time.
This is how addicts feel. It’s almost impossible to recreate the first high, but they keep chasing it anyway.
I should’ve known better than to run after an imaginary high.
The light goes on in the lounge area, and I blink.
Jonathan stops at the entrance. He’s wearing black trousers and a button-down. A mug of coffee hangs from his hand. He’s probably pulling an all-nighter. I’m surprised he didn’t stay at his company’s office.
His eyes narrow on me.
He doesn’t like it when I stay in the dark. Usually, I’d avoid triggering his red alarms.
But I don’t give a fuck today.
I just left Elsa in her bed after I wrenched an orgasm out of her.
I unbound her hands and left without fucking some sense into her.
Not because I wanted to stop. Fuck no. But because I knew I would freak her out more than I already did.
I would push her to the road of no return.
She was right there, bound, and spread for me. She glanced up at me with tears, anger and fear in her eyes, and it took all my self-restraint to leave.
Because at that moment? I was tempted to make her cry more.
Hurt more.
Break more.
I tell myself that I don’t really want to hurt her. That, deep down, Elsa is special.
But the harder she engraves herself under my skin, the more persistent I become about ruining her.
Since I left her room, I’ve been ‘blowing off steam’ — Jonathan’s words, not mine — by working out and playing chess. I had to stop myself from climbing back into her room and showing her the true blackness inside me.
She thinks she knows.
She thinks she has an idea of who I am.
Truth is, she’s so fucking clueless I’d pity her if I knew how to pity people.
Elsa Steel won’t truly see me until the truth hits her in the face.
“Do you want to play?” Jonathan motions at the board.
It’s four in the morning.
Jonathan tries to blame his lack of sleep on being a workaholic.
Lifting a shoulder, I rearrange the board so the black glass pieces are in front of me. Jonathan always plays in white because he’s a control freak who likes to make the first move.
He pushes his first pawn forward. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
“I’ve been thinking about Alicia,” I say with fake care.
“Cut it, Aiden.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Cut what?”
“You haven’t been thinking about Alicia.”
“I was trying to remember what Alicia looked like. She’s becoming a blur.”
“That’s because she’s been dead for a decade.” He pushes another pawn forward.
He lives by the belief that a king can’t rule without sacrificing a few pawns — or all of them.
I watch him closely. He’s speaking about his dead wife, but he shows no emotions whatsoever.
Not that he does most days.
I don’t remember the last time I saw Jonathan smile. The showtime laughs for business don’t count.
He doesn’t show emotions either. Not even when he talks about Alicia.
It’s like she’s an inconvenience.
A nothingness.
But would he have started all of this if he really didn’t care?
I tilt my head to the side. It’s still impossible to figure out his exact angle.
The challenge of going against Jonathan used to excite me.
Now, it’s a nuisance.
Now, it’s dangerous.
“Where were you tonight?” he asks with a low tenor.
I push my knight forward. “Out.”
“With Elsa?”
My left eye twitches at the sound of her name out of his mouth, but I quickly school my expression. “Not exactly.”
“I don’t care what you do with her as long as you keep your eyes on the endgame.”
“Yes, Sir,” I say with boredom.
“Silver mentioned that you’re getting a little too cosy?”
“Queens mentions a lot of shit.” I stare at him with eyes so similar to his, it’s kind of creepy. “Do you want me to remind you that your little chat with her the other day when Elsa was within hearing distance is ruining my plan?”
He knocks my knight and raises an eyebrow. “You mean our plan?”
“It’s ruining every plan. She won’t trust me anymore.”
“If anyone can convince her, then it’s you.” He holds the queen piece between his index and middle finger. “You did it the first time, no?”
“Elsa isn’t a simple pawn.”
“A pawn is a pawn.” Using the queen, he knocks my bishop down and threatens both my rook and king. “If you can’t handle it, I will.”
On the outside, I’m half-leaning against my palm, appearing bored. On the inside, a fire erupts out of nowhere.
It takes everything not to let the flames climb to the surface and ruin fucking everything.
Jonathan didn’t push Elsa into the pool. I know because he doesn’t want her dead.
Not yet.
According to the car park’s surveillance camera, Queens left without going back to the school that day, so she’s out, too.
Not that she’d do something so stupid.
My chat with the janitor produced shit.
He only saw a girl go into the pool area; Elsa. Which leaves the whole incident with two possible theories.
A- The culprit was already waiting for her by the pool.
B- She fell on her own.
I hope to fuck it’s not the second one.
“You gave me your word to let me handle it,” I tell Jonathan with a neutral tone.
He’s big on his words, and I hit him where he doesn’t want to be criticised.
“Only if I see results. If not, it’ll be my way.” He pulls his queen again and this time, he corners me with no way out. “You’re distracted, King. Checkmate.”
Fuck.
“I don’t give second chances.” He stands up and glares down at me. “Try to sleep.”
The moment he disappears down the hall, I knock all the chess pieces on the board.
My way or Jonathan’s way.
Elsa is well and truly fucked now.
Being mine isn’t a choice or a push and pull game anymore.
It’s her only hope of survival.
