Page 49 of Emperor of Corruption
Which I haven’t. I haven’t taken a sip of my wine, and I don’t intend to. I don’t know that I’ll ever drink around Killian again.
I watch his expression from the corner of my eye as he continues scanning page after page.Does he like it?
I shouldn’t give a shit about his opinion, but I can’t help myself. I’d be nervous about anyone laying their eyes on a work in progress of mine—I’m nervous every time I send an article up the corporate ladder for review, and those always have a specific structure. This is a creative fictionbook, and it’s freeform—it’s my brainchild.
A charcuterie board is set on the table. Killian releases my leg and absentmindedly dips some focaccia into warm brie cheese and chews on it as he continues reading. He’s now halfway through my pages, and hestillhasn’t said a word. His hand returns to my leg, and his thumb starts sweeping over my skin.
The sensation is far too pleasant for my comfort, so I try to shift away. His hold tightens. He doesn’t say anything, but his authority is absolute. I can’t move until he lets me move—I’m completely under his control, as always. Even more so now.
“You’re not eating,” he comments absently, reaching for another page.
“Strangely, my appetite has fled over the last little while.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is some of the best food you’ll ever have the pleasure of tasting. I suggest you enjoy it.”
“I’ll file your suggestion away with the other things I couldn’t give a single fuck about.”
His hold on my leg turns from pleasant to painful. His eyes flick up to my face, and I can feel the irritation seeping from him.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
“That doesn’t sound like what my date would say,” he murmurs. The words are silky and mild, but the threat beneath them is unmistakable. I have to play ball.
“Taunting is my love language,” I blurt.
His lips curl into a slow smile. I’m staring at the wall, but I can see it. “In love with me already? Consider me flattered. Unfortunately, you’re a bit too middle class for my tastes.”
Something in my chest sinks at that, at the reminder of my inferiority. I might be inferior when it comes to taxes, but I’m not when it comes to character or personality. Unlike the animal sitting beside me, touching me, I respect people regardless of how much money they make.
“I’m about as in love with you as I would be a steaming pile of garbage.”
Instead of berating me, he chuckles, sounding genuinely amused. “I’ll remind you that I’m much better looking than a steaming pile of garbage, and I’m a far superior fuck.”
“Sure. You only have to drug someone to get them to think that.”
Killian’s hold on my knee loosens. I exhale a long breath of relief, and he returns to reading in silence.
The first and second courses are served. I play with my food, pushing it around on my plate to make itlooklike I’m eating, even though I’m not. I can barelybreathe, let alone eat. Killian, meanwhile, seems to have no issues with his appetite. He eatsashe reads, demonstrating admirable hand-eye coordination and multitasking abilities.
Dessert is served by the time he finishes the last page. He returns the manuscript to the folder, tidying the pages, and then turns his full attention on me. I can feel his stare on my face, my clothes, like countless insects crawling over my skin. His touch might be manageable, but his stare is something else altogether.
“You’re a talented author—that’s clear to see. The manuscript, however, is mediocre. The prose is good, but the plot is all over the place. You need to tighten the middle section, speed up the inciting incident, and jump to the first major beat of rising action faster. Edit the first 15k words by Monday and email them to me. On Wednesday, I expect another 15k.”
“I can’t do that,” I say, finally meeting his gaze. “I have a full-time job—”
“You had a full-time job on Friday, as well. You still managed to get this done. You have all of Sunday to make the edits, then Monday and Tuesday for the next batch. Get it done, or there will be non-enjoyable consequences. Do you understand?”
His tone is no-bullshit. Now isn’t the time to taunt or insult him. “Yes,” I grit out.
“Good. Drink your wine.”
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
“You haven’t eaten or drank a bite.” Killian’s words ring with a vague undertone of boredom. “Don’t let me affect you to the point of changing your routine or appetite. Don’t giveanyonethat power over you, or you’ll forever be powerless.”
I feel my cheeks burn. “I donotneed a lecture from you of all people.”
“You clearly do. You’re an ant right now, Lyra, living in a colony of billions of ants. You’re unimportant at best, completely irrelevant and obsolete at worst. If you want to become something more thana mindless, meaningless ant, you have to work for it. Cowing under pressure is not the way to go. Being too afraid to pursue your passions is not the way to go—”
