Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

SETH

S eth Newcomb, now to be known as Seth Conway, leaned against the ornate iron gate of the luxurious townhouse that was now supposed to be his home— their home. The Georgian fa?ade, with its tall windows and ivy climbing the brickwork, stood as a symbol of old-world charm and wealth. The neighborhood, nestled in the heart of London, was the epitome of elegance and privilege, the kind of place where secrets were kept behind closed doors. Seth glanced down at his watch, then up the street. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the cobblestones and washing the world in shades of gold. The peaceful, idyllic surroundings were a stark contrast to the tension knotting his stomach.

This was the role of a lifetime, a chance to finally take down one of the most dangerous criminal organizations in Europe. But the stakes were higher than ever, and it wasn't just the mission that had him on edge. It was the woman who would be walking up the steps any minute now.

Hope Pearson. His wife, Hope Conway.

At least, that was what the world was supposed to believe.

He caught sight of her at the end of the block, walking with purpose, every line of her body exuding confidence and control. She was dressed for the part—a stylish trench coat cinched at the waist, perfectly tailored slacks, and heels that added a few inches to her already imposing height. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek bun, exposing the delicate curve of her neck, which Seth had always found maddeningly distracting.

As she approached, her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, he saw something flash there—something between reluctance and resentment. But then her professional mask slipped back into place, and she was once again the cool, untouchable agent who had never let him get too close.

"Are you ready for this?" she asked, her tone crisp as she came to a stop in front of him.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Seth replied, pushing off the gate and opening the door for her. "Welcome home, Mrs. Conway."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stepped inside without acknowledging the endearment. He followed, letting the heavy door close behind them with a soft thud. The interior of the townhouse was as opulent as the exterior—dark wood paneling, high ceilings, and a grand staircase that curved up to the second floor. It was the kind of place designed to impress, to intimidate, and it suited their cover story perfectly.

The truth was, they had been handed a golden opportunity. The townhouse was located in one of London's most exclusive neighborhoods, where their target—a man named Basil Hargrove, who was rumored to be a high-ranking member of the Obsidian Cartel—lived just a few doors down. It was no coincidence that Hargrove was also known to frequent Baker Street, a BDSM club owned by Cerberus, the very organization he was trying to deceive. Seth had to wonder, if there was a mole at Cerberus, whether Baker Street was where the operative had been recruited by Hargrove and the cartel. The irony wasn't lost on Hargrove; he seemed to relish the idea that he was operating right under the nose of one of the world's most powerful covert ops organizations.

But for now, they had to settle in, and more importantly, they had to sell the lie. They were no longer just agents on a mission. They were Seth and Hope Conway, a happily married couple, madly in love, and recently moved to London to start the next chapter of their perfect life together.

"I took the liberty of having some essentials brought in," Seth said, nodding toward the stack of boxes that had been delivered earlier that day. "Clothes, personal items, things to make it look like we're planning to stay."

Hope glanced at the boxes, then turned her attention to the room, taking in the lavish furnishings and the meticulously chosen decor. "Good. We'll need to establish our presence quickly. I'm guessing Hargrove's already aware of his new neighbors."

"Undoubtedly," Seth agreed, watching her as she moved around the room. "Which means we need to be convincing. We can't afford any slip-ups."

"I know how to play the part, Seth," she replied, her voice tinged with impatience. "I'm not the one you need to worry about."

Seth let out a low chuckle, unable to resist the bait. "Is that so? Because from where I'm standing, you're the one who seems uncomfortable with the idea of getting a little… close."

Hope froze, her back to him, her hands clenched at her sides. He could almost see the tension radiating off her, could practically feel the wall she was building between them brick by brick. She turned slowly, her eyes locking onto his, cold and hard.

"This is a mission, Seth. Nothing more," she said, her voice like steel. "We do what we have to do, but don't expect me to play along with your games."

Seth stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. He could see the flicker of something in her eyes—fear, maybe, or desire. It was always hard to tell with Hope. She was a master at hiding her emotions and keeping people at arm's length, but he wasn't just anyone. He knew her better than most, and he knew when she was bluffing.

"No games, Hope," he said softly, taking another step until he was close enough to reach out and touch her. "This is about survival. We need to be convincing, and that means getting comfortable with each other. Right now, you're acting like I'm a threat."

"Aren't you?" she shot back, her voice trembling slightly, betraying the calm exterior she was trying to project.

Seth's jaw tightened. "I'm only a threat if you make me one," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "But if you keep flinching every time I get close, it's going to raise suspicion. Hargrove isn't stupid. He'll see through this if we're not careful."

Hope glared at him, but he could see the wheels turning in her mind, weighing the risks, calculating the odds. She was always calculating, always trying to stay one step ahead. But this time, he wasn't going to let her keep him at a distance.

He reached out, his hand gently brushing against her arm. She tensed but didn't pull away. "This could be good between us, Hope," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't have to be a fight."

For a moment, she softened, her gaze dropping to where his hand rested on her arm. But then, just as quickly, the walls came back up, her eyes flashing with defiance.

"In private, you don't touch me," she said, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "When we're out in the world or at Baker Street, fine. Do what you have to do. But in here, we keep things professional."

Seth exhaled slowly, frustration tightening his chest. "Why, Hope? Why the hell are you so determined to keep me at arm's length? What are you so afraid of?"

She pulled away from him then, turning her back and walking toward the window, her arms wrapping around herself as if to hold herself together. He could see her reflection in the glass, the way her shoulders slumped, the way she bit her lip as if trying to keep her emotions in check.

He took a step toward her, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "Hope, talk to me. It doesn't have to be like this. We've worked together before. You've trusted me before. Why can't you trust me with this?"

Hope let out a shaky breath, her hands tightening on the windowsill. "It's not about trust, Seth," she said, her voice so quiet he almost didn't hear her. "It's about control. I need to be in control, and regardless of what you and Fitzwallace told Dailey, you aren't about to give that up to me. And where you're concerned, I can't afford to lose control—not now, not ever."

Seth frowned, taking in her words. He had always known Hope was a control freak—hell, it was part of what made her so damn good at her job and part of why she found such peace in submission. But this was different. This was personal.

"Royce wouldn't care, you know," he said carefully, testing the waters. "I've talked to him. He's stupidly happy with Camille. Besides, he's part of the upper management structure and knows what's at stake. He trusts us to do what's necessary and bring down the mole."

She stiffened at the mention of Royce, her former lover and one of the few people who knew the truth about what had happened at Baker Street. Seth watched her, waiting for her reaction, but she remained silent, her gaze fixed on the darkening sky outside.

"He's moved on, Hope," Seth continued, his voice gentle. "You don't have to keep punishing yourself for something that was never your fault."

Hope turned slowly, her eyes burning with a mix of anger and pain. "You don't know what you're talking about," she snapped, her voice laced with venom. "You don't know anything about what happened between me and Royce."

"I know enough," Seth replied, holding her gaze. "And I know that you're using it as an excuse to keep everyone at a distance. But it doesn't have to be like that. Not with me."

"Stop," she hissed, shaking her head as if trying to ward off his words. "Just stop."

Seth could see the battle raging within her, the war between her need for control and the part of her that wanted to let go, to give in to what they both knew was simmering just beneath the surface. But he also knew she wasn't ready to face it—not yet.

He took a step back, giving her the space she clearly needed, even though it went against every instinct he had. "Fine," he said, his voice resigned. "In private, I won't touch you unless you ask me to. But out there, we have to be convincing. We can't afford to let this mission fail."

Hope nodded, her expression hardening once more. "Agreed," she said, her voice emotionless. "We do what we have to do."

Seth watched her for a moment longer, his heart heavy with the weight of what they were about to face. This op was dangerous, and not just because of the criminals they were trying to bring down. The real danger lay in the fragile balance between them, in the delicate dance of trust and desire that could either bring them together or tear them apart.

"Let's start unpacking," he said finally, breaking the silence. "We have to make this place look like we're planning to be here for a long time."

"I don't suppose you'd agree to separate bedrooms…"

She was getting desperate. "Not a chance. I'm sure there are some, but I don't know any true married D/s couples that don't sleep together every night. By the way, Fitz said he'd have a collar, and rings delivered from Boodles."

"Seth Newcomb wearing a wedding ring. Who'd have thought it."

"Things have a way of changing. No matter how much we may fight it, things usually work out the way they're supposed to."

Hope rolled her eyes, turning away from him and moving toward the stack of boxes. As she began to unpack, Seth couldn't help but watch her, his mind still reeling from their conversation. He wanted to reach out, to pull her into his arms and tell her that everything would be okay, that they could do this together. But he knew better. Hope wasn't ready to let him in and pushing her would only make things worse.

So, he kept his distance, focusing on the task at hand, even as the tension between them crackled like a live wire, threatening to ignite at any moment.

The following evening, they made their first appearance at Baker Street, the club that was as infamous as it was exclusive. Owned and operated by Robert Fitzwallace and his wife, JJ, it was a place where power and desire collided, where the elite came to indulge their darkest fantasies. The entrance was discreet; the only signage was the actual address 221-A Baker Street, and beneath that, a small brass plaque that read, ‘Cerberus.' Once inside, however, the decadence was undeniable.

The Victorian steampunk-inspired club had a massive foyer that, if someone slipped inside, would reveal nothing about what went on there. There was an enormous, curved staircase that led up to a mezzanine level. The walls had rich wood wainscoting about three-quarters of the way up with vintage wallpaper above reaching to the coffered ceilings. There was a discrete reception desk where you would either be directed to the elevator or stairs, taking you to Cerberus, or buzzed through the locked doors to the opulent lifestyle dungeon, changing areas, and lounge that lay beyond.

Fitzwallace had been as good as his word. Earlier in the day, a private messenger had delivered the most exquisite amethyst and pale pink diamond choker with a stunning amethyst pendant dropping from the center. Seth had shaken his head. One thing about Fitz, he knew how to pick out a collar any submissive would be proud to wear.

As they entered Baker Street, Seth felt Hope stiffen beside him as they walked in, her hand gripping his arm a little too tightly. She was nervous, though she would never admit it. This was a world they both knew well, but it was different this time. This time they weren't just observers or participants—they were players in a deadly game, and one wrong move could cost them everything.

They were greeted by a tall, imposing man who introduced himself as Adam, the club's managing Dom, although both he and Hope were well-acquainted with him. He eyed them both with a calculating gaze, clearly sizing them up, before breaking into a broad smile.

"Mr. and Mrs. Conway, welcome to Baker Street," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with charm. "It's good to see you again."

"Good to see you, as well," Seth replied, slipping into his role with ease.

He wrapped an arm around Hope's waist, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her temple, feeling her tense under his touch. She was doing her best to play along, but he could sense her discomfort and the unease that roiled in her gut. Hargrove had been their target for months, but now that they were finally close enough to touch him, the stakes felt higher than ever.

"Your playing privileges are in order, so I'll have you buzzed in. Do you need an escort?" Adam asked, his smile widening.

"No. It's been a while since we've been here, but I'm sure we'll be fine."

Adam nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to Hope before returning to Seth. "We're delighted to have you with us again. Please enjoy yourselves, and if we can be of assistance, just let someone on the staff know."

Seth thanked him, and Adam disappeared as the receptionist activated the locking mechanism that would allow them into the bowels of the club. Seth glanced down at Hope, who was scanning the room with a critical eye, her body still rigid against his.

"Relax," he murmured, leaning in close so only she could hear. "We're supposed to be in love and having a good time, remember?"

Hope shot him a glare, but forced herself to soften, leaning into his embrace as they moved deeper into the club. They needed to be seen, to be noticed, and more importantly, to be convincing. They separated, with Hope going into the submissives' salon and Seth entering the men's changing room. When they emerged, Seth was wearing dark, chocolate-brown leathers—pants and an open vest—and Hope was dressed in a corset and thong made of vintage copper and bronze silk brocade which had been designed to coordinate with Seth's leathers.

"You look stunning," he murmured against her temple before placing a light kiss there.

"You know how I hate thongs."

"Careful, Hope, or you'll find yourself without anything on but the corset and my collar. Be thankful I didn't want to have you wear stilettos."

"The only stiletto I want is one to stab you in the heart with," she seethed.

Seth's hand connected with her ass in a slap that was designed to get her thinking straight, which included reminding her who was the Dom and who was the sub. Hope stifled a gasp, but something seemed to settle within her. Maybe that was the problem; maybe Hope needed a Dom for this assignment more than a partner willing to follow her lead.

As they made their way through the crowd, Seth kept one arm around Hope, his hand resting on her hip in a gesture that was meant to look possessive. He could feel the tension in her body, the way she resisted every time he touched her, and it only fueled his determination to break through her defenses.

They found a spot near the back of the lounge, close enough to be seen but far enough away to maintain a semblance of privacy. Seth ordered drinks, keeping one hand on Hope's waist as they waited.

"You need to loosen up," he said quietly, his voice gentle but firm. "People are watching. If you act like you're uncomfortable with me, they'll notice."

Hope took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, but he could see the struggle in her eyes. "I'm fine," she insisted, though the tremor in her voice said otherwise.

Seth leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. "You're not fine. You're wound so tight you're going to snap. You need to let go, Hope. Just for tonight. Trust me."

Her breath hitched, and he could feel her wavering, caught between the urge to pull away and the desire to do exactly what he was asking. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering her strength, before finally nodding.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music. "I'll try."

Seth's heart clenched at the vulnerability in her voice, and he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her even closer. "That's all I'm asking," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

The drinks arrived, and they spent the next hour mingling with the other club members, making small talk and subtly gathering information. Seth kept his arm around Hope the entire time, not just because it was expected, but because he wanted to. He needed to feel her close, needed to remind himself that they were in this together, even if she wasn't ready to admit it.

As the night wore on, they finally caught sight of Hargrove, who was holding court in a private alcove with a group of well-dressed men and women. He spotted them almost immediately and waved them over, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"It's Seth and Hope Conway, right? We're just a few doors down from one another. I've been meaning to pay a visit," Hargrove exclaimed, rising to his feet as they approached. He greeted them both with a warm handshake, his eyes flicking between them with interest. "How are you settling in?"

"Fine," Seth replied with a smile. "We've been busy, but we missed visiting Baker Street. It was one of the reasons we opted to move to London."

"And I'm sure Baker Street has missed you," Hargrove said, his gaze lingering on Hope for a moment longer than necessary. "Your sub is lovely, Seth. All those luscious curves."

Hope returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Thank you, Basil. I'm very lucky to be married to her, as well."

They spent the next hour in Hargrove's company, chatting and laughing as if they were old friends. Seth played his part perfectly, keeping the conversation light while subtly probing for information. Hope, to her credit, was equally skilled, though he could sense the strain it was putting on her.

Finally, as the night began to wind down, Hargrove stood and clapped Seth on the back. "We should do this again soon," he said with a grin. "It's been too long since I've had the pleasure of like-minded individuals who lived so close to home." He leaned in so only Seth could hear him. "I don't suppose you let others play with your sub, do you?"

Seth could feel Hope shiver. "I'm afraid not. While I've been known to show her off, especially when I have her bound in a pretty pattern, I'd cut off the hand of anyone who dared to touch what's mine."

There was a pregnant pause where strained tension hung in the air before Hargrove laughed heartily.

"I daresay I'd feel the same in your shoes. If I have offended or insulted either of you, let me offer to buy you lunch by way of apology."

"None is needed," said Hope, playing the peacemaker.

"Absolutely," Seth agreed, "but lunch would be lovely."

"We'll find a mutually agreeable date," said Hargrove, standing to take his leave. He gave an abbreviated bow to Hope. "Again, Mrs. Conway, I meant no insult. I was merely overcome by your beauty."

Seth and Hope watched him leave and then retreated to the back of the lounge. Hope looked as though she might come undone at any moment. As she went to sit beside him, Seth spread his legs and tossed a pillow down on the floor. "Why don't you sit at my feet, sweetheart? I know how relaxing you find that."

Hope gave him her patented death stare. He'd seen more than one man wither up and crawl away when she turned it on him. Seth merely smiled and waited for her to comply. If he couldn't touch her at home, it might be best if they spent as much time at the club or in the public eye as possible. Instead of arguing, Hope sank gracefully onto her hip and leaned her head against his inner thigh.

His cock jumped behind the fly of his leathers and was harder than it had been all night. He wanted to be angry, but he couldn't be. He was certain she'd done it on purpose, but then he had to admit turnabout was fair play.

Later as they said their goodbyes and made their way out of the club, stepping into the cool night air, Hope let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

"You did good," Seth said, his voice soft as they waited for their car to be brought around. "Better than good, actually. Hargrove bought it."

Hope nodded, though she didn't look at him. "Thanks," she said quietly. "But this isn't over yet."

"No," Seth agreed, stopping in front of the car and turning to face her. "But it's a start."

She looked up at him then, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions he couldn't quite decipher. For a moment, he thought she might say something, might finally open up to him, might suggest they go back into the club. But then she shook her head, her expression hardening once more.

"Let's just get home," she said, her voice flat.

Seth nodded; the moment lost. As they drove back to the townhouse, the silence between them was heavy, filled with all the things they weren't saying. Seth knew better than to push her, knew that he needed to wait until she was either ready to come to him of her own volition or was at least ready to be given a nudge in the right direction. As the tension between them continued to simmer, he couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out.

They had a mission to complete, but the real battle, the one that could determine their success or failure, was the one they were fighting within themselves.

And Seth wasn't sure how much longer they could keep it up.