Page 32 of Royal Deception
As I sit across from Callie—this confident, poised woman who seems like she’s got it all together—my mind can’t stop wandering back to Clary. I can’t help but wonder if my feelings for her run deeper than I’ve admitted or if it’s just my own damn need to fix something broken inside her.
With a deep breath, I pull myself back to the present, dismissing all thoughts of Clary from my mind. “Do you have any idea who might be stalking you?” I ask. “Anyone who might stand out in your mind?”
Callie shrugs. “I’m not sure. It could be anyone. As far as I know, there’s only been a few incidents. It’s not worth bothering about too much, I think.”
My jaw tightens. “Callie, I need you to take this more seriously. You could be putting people’s lives at risk now. It’s no longer just about you. There are other people in your circle who could be hurt too.”
“It’s part of the job,” Callie protests. “People get obsessed, and it comes with the territory. I’ve dealt with worse. I have faith that you can take care of this.”
My patience snaps. “Ms. Fitzgerald, with all due respect, this could be the beginning of something dangerous and you’reacting like it’s just a minor inconvenience. Do you truly want to wait until this escalates to take it seriously?” I’m half-standing when I hear the door open behind us and Finn steps inside from where he’s been standing guard.
His presence fills the room, quiet and solid, like an immovable force. The silver in his hair glints in the light, and the cool confidence he carries with him makes me stiffen slightly in my chair.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on her, Rory,” Finn says in his low, gravelly voice. He’s looking directly at me now, no hint of apology in his tone. “We can handle this. You don’t need to worry about Callie. You’ve got enough on your plate with the event. Focus on that.”
I bite back a retort. Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to put someone in their place and remind them who’s in charge, but Finn’s different. There’s something about him that commands respect, even from me.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to relax and give a curt nod. “Fine. But don’t think I’m just going to forget about this.”
Callie’s expression softens just a fraction, and I can tell she’s relieved by Finn’s intervention. My mind is still churning with thoughts of danger and what might happen if we don’t stay vigilant. Something about this whole situation doesn’t sit right with me, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re only seeing the tip of the iceberg.
We spend a few more minutes going over the finer details of the event’s security—guest list protocols, emergency exit routes, surveillance points—before the meeting wraps up. Callie gathers her things and stands, ready to head to another appointment. "Thanks again, Rory," she says, offering me a quick, professional smile before she exits.
I don’t watch her leave, my mind already turning back to the mess that is my life. As the door clicks shut behind her, I turnto Clary. “Clear the rest of the schedule for today. I’m done for now.”
She gives me a questioning look, but I don’t explain. “Just clear it.”
I need space. To breathe. To think.
I don’t have a destination in mind as I wander aimlessly through the city. My feet take me wherever they please, my mind too full of clutter to focus. Thoughts of the event, of Callie’s dangerous situation, and—unfortunately—of Clary float around in a chaotic mess. Everything is a jumbled blur.
After some time, I find myself standing in front of a familiar store, a place I’ve been dozens of times before. It’s tucked just across the street, offering discreet pleasure items behind its unassuming windows.
Without thinking, I push open the door, the chime above it announcing my arrival. My steps are purposeful as I walk inside, the soft lighting and inviting scents a welcome break from everything swirling around in my head. The store is quiet, almost soothing in its own strange way. There’s something about being in a space with no ties to my life, no connections to my usual chaos, that feels oddly comforting.
My thoughts drift back to the upcoming appointment with Clary. The first in our arrangement. I’ve been planning this for a while, and I could use a few things to set the right scene, to guide the tone of our time together. Grabbing a basket, I begin to browse.
Clary seems to enjoy pain, so I gather a few items to push her limits—a set of nipple clamps, electrical stimulation devices, a flogger. I place them in the basket without a second thought.
But I don’t want it all to be about pain. I’m curious about exploring other kinks with her, things that don’t involve pushing boundaries quite so hard. I pick up some silk ropes, and a blindfold too.
As I move past the counter, my eyes fall on a display of collars. There are simple ones, ornate ones, even one with diamonds spelling outMaster’s Pet. I pause, my fingers brushing over the leather. A thick navy blue one catches my eye. Nothing flashy, no diamonds or engravings, just a heavy, gold O-ring attached to the front.
It seems to call to me in a way I can’t quite explain. I ask the clerk to bring it out. When she does, I feel the weight of it in my hands. The inside is lined with a soft, furry material, designed to keep the wearer from chafing. It’s practical, functional—but also undeniably intimate.
I don’t hesitate long before deciding it’s perfect. Clary will look incredible in this.
Part of me feels a flicker of amusement. Collaring is a significant gesture in the community, the underlying symbol of a deeper commitment. It’s not something I’ve ever been interested in—at least, not outside the context of a romantic relationship. But now, as I stand here, something shifts inside me.
Have I let myself get too close to Clary? Is it clouding my judgment, making me do things I’d usually avoid?
I don’t have answers. But as I walk out of the store with the collar in my bag, I can’t help but think that I’m teetering on the edge of something I’m not prepared for here.
14
CLARY
As I sit at the small table in The Regency Room, my sketchbook open in front of me, my pencil glides across the page. I get lost in the design taking shape, barely noticing the hum of conversation around me, the clatter of silverware, the echo of footsteps across the marble floor.
