Page 65 of Betray Me
Max is different.
He waits for me to nod. I can feel the tenderness in his patience, the trust.
A wave of pleasure grows until I can’t help moaning softly, bucking against him. It’s all happening so fast, moving faster, harder. Breathless, now, sweat between us, breath against each other’s face.
That’s when we come. For a moment, there’s nothing left, nothing in the world but us in this moment.
“Belle.” Max’s mouth is in my hair, his limbs tangled with mine.
His fingertips graze the exposed skin of my side, soft like we’re each made of glass. We stay that way for a while, lost in our own thoughts and the sensation of syncing heartbeats, breaths, everything.
Afterward, we move to the boat’s cushioned deck where we lie together, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow. The sun has climbed higher, warming our bare skin as gentle waves rock us in a rhythm that feels like the world’s most peaceful lullaby. For the first time in my life, I understand what people mean when they talk about feeling complete.
“I love you,” I whisper against his skin, the words coming easier than they ever have before.
His arms tighten around me. “I love you, too. More than I thought I was capable of.”
We get up slowly, reluctantly, both of us wishing we could stay a bit longer. But as I get on my feet, something catches my eye—a marking carved into the boat’s hull, just visible from where I’m now standing.
My blood turns to ice.
The symbol is small, easy to miss unless you know what to look for. But I’ve seen it before, burned into my memory during years of observing my parents’ associates. A stylized serpent wrapped around a crown, carved with precision into the weathered wood.
“Max,” I breathe, pointing with a trembling finger. “Look.”
He follows my gaze, and I see the exact moment recognition dawns. His face goes pale, the post-intimacy glow evaporating like morning mist.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “That’s—”
“The mark of the inner circle.” I’m already reaching for my phone, fingers shaking as I take a photo of the carving. “The same symbol my parents and the Queens had tattooed over their hearts.”
The implications crash over me like cold water. This boat doesn’t just belong to Jonah—it belongs to someone connected to the network. Someone who’s been watching us, letting us use it, possibly tracking our movements.
We sail back to shore in grim silence, both of us scanning the horizon for threats we can’t identify. When we dock, Jonah is waiting for us, his weathered face creased with what looks like genuine concern.
“Everything all right?” he asks as we secure the boat. “You both look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Jonah,” I say carefully, “that symbol carved into the hull—how long has it been there?”
His expression shifts, becoming guarded. “What symbol?”
“The serpent and crown. Small carving, starboard side.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, studying our faces with new intensity. “That marking’s been there as long as I can remember,” he says finally. “Since before I started working here, and that’s been… oh, twenty-seven years now.”
Twenty-seven years. Before Luna and I were even born. Before our parents’ crimes were exposed. This symbol, this connection to the network, has been here all along, hiding in plain sight on a boat used by university staff.
“Who owned the boat before you?” Max asks, his voice carefully neutral.
“University property,” Jonah replies, but there’s something in his tone that suggests he knows more than he’s saying. “Always has been. Part of the maintenance fleet.”
I thank him and we walk away, but I can feel his eyes following us long after we’re out of sight. As soon as we’re alone, I pull out my phone and send the photo to Detective Harper with a brief message:Found this carved into a boat at Shark Bay. Looks familiar.
His response comes within minutes, and it makes my hands shake so violently I nearly drop the phone:
That’s the mark of The Architect. Get to your dorm room immediately. Trust no one. I’m sending backup.
The Architect. The mysterious figure my parents mentioned during their interrogations, the one they claimed was really pulling the strings. The person who’s somehow remained hidden while everyone else fell.
