The Master Of Deception's Richest Game

Kellen carried Antoinette to the bathroom. She was semi-conscious, mumbling incoherent strings of numbers and insults. He set her down gently on the closed lid of the toilet.

He wet a washcloth with warm water. He wrung it out, his movements efficient and clinical. He knelt in front of her and began to wipe the smeared makeup from her face. The black mascara came away, revealing pale skin and dark circles under her eyes.

"No one stays," she slurred, her head lolling to the side. "I'm too much. I'm always too much."

Kellen paused. He checked his watch. It was a cheap digital Casio. He pressed a button on the side. Beep.

"Contract Clause 4B," he murmured to himself. "Ten-Minute Affirmation of Love."

He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a second, flipping a switch in his brain. When he opened them, the cold indifference was gone. His eyes were soft, pooling with a warm, liquid adoration. His jaw relaxed. He leaned in, his presence becoming a protective blanket.

He took her cold, limp hands in his.

"Antoinette," he said. His voice dropped an octave. It was husky, intimate. "Look at me."

She opened her eyes, struggling to focus. She saw him. She saw the way he was looking at her-like she was the only source of light in the universe.

"You are the most breathtaking woman I have ever seen," he lied. The words flowed like honey.

She shook her head weakly. "No..."

"Yes," Kellen insisted. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheekbone. "He was a fool to leave you. He was blind. You are brilliant. You are fire."

Antoinette leaned into his touch. She was starving for this. She drank his words like water in a desert.

He continued. He improvised a monologue about her intelligence, her strength, the way her mind worked. He used generic romantic tropes, but he delivered them with the conviction of a Shakespearean actor.

Antoinette started to cry, but it wasn't the ugly, angry crying of before. It was soft. It was a release.

"Do you mean it?" she whispered.

Kellen looked her dead in the eye. "With all my heart."

He held her gaze. He counted the seconds in his head. Five hundred eighty... five hundred ninety...

The timer on his watch vibrated silently against his wrist.

Kellen stood up immediately. The warmth vanished from his face as if a light switch had been flicked off. His posture straightened. His voice returned to its flat, professional tenor.

"Session complete, Ms. Lowe. I will help you to bed."

Antoinette blinked, confused. The sudden withdrawal of affection was like a physical slap. She reached for him, but he was already moving, pulling her up by the arm.

He guided her to the bedroom. He pulled back the silk duvet and helped her in. He placed a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand-liability protection. If she woke up with a headache, she couldn't sue him for negligence.

Antoinette grabbed his hand as he turned to leave.

"Stay?" she pleaded.

"Overnight fees were not discussed in the contract," Kellen stated coldly.

He pulled his hand away. He turned off the light.

He walked out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He wiped his hand on his pants, scrubbing the skin as if trying to clean off the lie he had just sold her.

He exited the apartment. The cool night air hit his face. He took a deep breath, expelling the scent of her perfume from his lungs.

"Psychopaths, all of them," he muttered.

He walked to the bus stop, checking his banking app again. The money from the Parker termination had cleared. The money from Antoinette was pending. He was safe. For now.