Page 78 of The Arbiter
"I don't belong there," I whisper, my voice cracking.
I look out the window at the blurred lights.
"I belong in a lab with dead people who can't talk back. These people... they’ll see right through me."
"They’ll see exactly what I want them to see," he counters as he slows the car.
We approach the district where the old money lives, the buildings turning from glass and steel to heavy, ornate stone.
"Listen to me carefully. There are rules tonight. Break them, and the consequences won't just be yours to bear. Remember Lucy."
I flinch at her name, my jaw tightening.
"Tell me what you want from me."
"The Grand Met is crawling with the Elite. These are the men who think they are gods because they sign the checks that run this city. But they have a weakness: they are obsessed with their own mortality. They’re paranoid, Madeline. They’ve spent their lives poisoning others, and now they’re terrified of being poisoned themselves."
He turns the wheel, his movements fluid.
"I’m introducing you as Dr. Madeline Emerson, not just my companion, but my consultant. You aren't a 'simple' pathologist tonight. You are the expert who keeps me safe. You are the woman who knows a thousand ways to kill a man and, more importantly, how to spot when someone is trying to do the same to us."
"You want me to use my degree to gain their trust?"
I ask, a sick feeling rising in my throat.
"I want you to be the bridge. When I introduce you to Councilman Thorne or the Director of the Port, you will look them in the eye. You will speak with the authority of someone who has seen what’s inside a human heart. They trust science because they don't trust people. Having a world-class pathologist on my arm makes me look prepared. It makes me look like someone they can't surprise."
He pulls the car to a stop a block away from the red carpet, the glowing entrance of the Grand Met visible in the distance. He finally turns to look at me. His eyes are dark, predatory, yet there’s that obsessive flicker in them, that look that says he’s memorized every inch of me.
"You will stay by my side. You will not drink anything I haven't checked. You will smile, you will be brilliant, and you will play the part of the woman who belongs to the most dangerous man in the room. Do you understand?"
I stare at him, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against the shimmering net of my dress. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a scalpel.
"And if I can't do it?"
Deimos reaches over, his gloved thumb tracing the line of my jaw, pressing just hard enough to remind me of the bruises beneath the silk.
"You will," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my lips.
"Because you’re curious, Mali. You want to see the rot behind the gold as much as I do. Now, take a breath. The curtains are going up."
The car crawls the final few yards toward the limestone arches of the Grand Met. There are no flashing bulbs, no shouting reporters, and no public spectacle.
The street has been cleared of anyone who doesn't carry a black-and-gold invitation. Instead of a roar, there is only the heavy, rhythmic thud of my own heart. The sedan comes to a smooth, final halt.
"Wait," Deimos says.
The word is low, carrying the weight of a physical restraint.
He turns in the driver’s seat again, his silhouette cutting a sharp, dark edge against the dim amber glow of the streetlamps outside.
He reaches out again, his hand moving toward my face. I flinch, but he doesn't pull back. Instead, he hooks his fingers under my chin, tilting my head up until I have no choice but to meet those bottomless, obsidian eyes.
"The fear makes your eyes brighter, Madeline," he murmurs, his thumb grazing my lower lip just long enough to make it tremble.
"Keep that fire. But remember. Out there, you aren't my captive. You are my partner. You are the only person in that building that I trust, and that makes you the most powerful woman in the room. Act like it."
He lets go, and the cold air of the cabin feels like an insult where his hand just was.
