Imprisoned By The Greek's Ring

Lexi was the first to hear the footsteps in the hall. She sat a little straighter, her gaze on the door, but no one else seemed to hear anything. The footsteps drew closer. Then closer still, that same dark-sounding tread that announced Atlas like the drums of war. It wasn’t until he was right outside the door that all the Worths tensed, and Lexi couldn’t tell if they’d been pretending not to hear him earlier or if they’d truly been oblivious. Either way, the drawing room fell silent.

And this time, when Atlas pushed through the door, he was smiling.

“How delightful,” Atlas murmured, stopping in the doorway again, as if he knew exactly what kind of entrance he made and wanted to make sure they gazed at him there—not in handcuffs, not in a courtroom, not on a television screen from across the sea—for as long as possible. “All together again, just as I asked.”

“Welcome home, Atlas,” Uncle Richard said, after only the faintest pause. He even lifted his glass.

Atlas’s smile seemed to get darker. Sharper. He moved farther into the tidy little drawing room decked out in its Victorian finery, his black glare sweeping from one wall to the next, then back. Lexi found herself holding her breath while her pulse went wild—and hated herself for her own reaction.

It was the same reaction she’d always had to him. Only tonight it was worse.

“And what a home it is,” Atlas was saying in that same too-dark approximation of joviality. “Imagine my delirious joy to find that every single improvement I suggested during my tenure as CEO has been implemented. Every. Single. One. I took a long tour of the house and grounds today, and it warms my convict heart. It truly does. What a visionary I was. Feel free to applaud at will.”

“Listen, you—” Harry started, all red and snarly, but he subsided with a single harsh look from his father.

“There’s no need for all this menacing scenery-chewing, surely,” Uncle Richard said into the tense silence, his voice bland. Much blander than the cold gleam in his eyes. “We’re all quite aware of the role you played in...well, everything.”

“To clarify, do you mean the fantasy evil villain role you cast me in that landed me in jail?” Atlas asked with soft menace. “Or are you referring to the actual reality of what I did here that lacked any murderous intent but did manage to transform the place from a crumbling old mausoleum into...all this?”

Lexi saw the muscles leap in her uncle’s cheek and knew he was clenching his jaw. Just as she was clenching hers. She made herself relax. A little.

“No one can change the past,” Uncle Richard said in a gravelly sort of way, somber and serious. “We can only move forward, I’m afraid.”

Atlas accepted a drink from the wide-eyed footman, but Lexi noticed he didn’t take a sip of it. He only played with it in his hand, swirling the amber liquid this way, then that, as if he was enjoying a relaxing evening surrounded by loved ones.

“To the future,” he said in that same mild tone with its darker edge, then lifted his tumbler toward the light.

It was the most awkward toast in history. The room was silent, but filled with tension. So much tension Lexi was half-afraid it would choke them all where they stood.

But no. Dutifully, helplessly, everyone lifted their glasses. Even Harry, though he still wore that same dark scowl on his face.

Even Lexi, though she knew better.

Atlas didn’t say another word. He simply stood there a scant inch or two in front of the door—almost as if he was blocking it. It felt as if he was. He was dark and commanding and entirely too enigmatic, especially when all he did was swirl his drink around and let his black, fulminating gaze land on whomever he chose.

As if he was taking mental notes, none of them flattering, and committing them to memory where he stood.