21. Scarlett

The training matsqueaks beneath our grappling forms as Ariadne and I exchange blows, our skin glistening with sweat. My muscles scream in protest, but I push through the burn, determined to match her relentless pace.

Ariadne’s fist grazes my cheek, and I counter with a sweeping kick that she narrowly avoids. We break apart, circling each other like predators assessing weaknesses.

“Not bad,” she pants, a hint of grudging respect in her tone.

This is the first time we’ve met since I…well, kicked her ass in the bathroom, and then she water-boarded me. I felt like that was fair play at the time, tit for tat. But now, even though she’s still bearing the visual reminders of our bathroom encounter while I recovered pretty fast from the waterboarding, I’m not feeling the same kind of sympathy.

Not now that I suspect she might have had something to do with Adam’s murder.

I shake my head, banishing the thought. I can’t afford to be distracted, not in the middle of a training session with her. Ariadne has been my tormentor since I arrived, her hatred for me a constant, gnawing ache.

But today, something is different. The anger in her eyes still burns bright, but the disdain is…tempered, somehow.

With a series of rapid strikes, I finally catch her off guard, landing a solid kick to her midsection. Ariadne grunts, staggering back, eyes widening momentarily before narrowing again with grim determination.

We continue sparring until, finally, she raises her hand and, to my surprise, says “That’s enough for today.”

“Too much for you?” I challenge.

She doesn’t reply, turning to walk to where we put our towels.

I follow, and as I wipe the sheen of sweat from my brow, I study her face, searching for that familiar edge of hatred I’ve grown accustomed to. But it’s muted now, softened by an emotion I can’t quite read. Pity? Resignation?

The curiosity proves too much. “What’s gotten into you?”

Another long pause before she replies. “Just figured you’ve suffered enough from me for one day.”

I scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. I could go all night.”

“I’m sure you could.” Her gaze flicks over me appraisingly. “But even you need a break sometimes, Scarlett.”

“Since when do you care about my wellbeing?”

Ariadne shrugs, grabbing a towel to dab at her flushed skin. “Call it a moment of uncharacteristic empathy.”

“Well, that’s a first,” I mutter, reaching for my water bottle.

An uncomfortable silence stretches between us as we towel off. I steal another sidelong glance at her. Is there some way I can ask her about Adam? Some way I could…make her spill?

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Ariadne’s head snaps up at my question. For a long moment, she says nothing, and I start to regret asking.

“I don’t hate you,” she says at last. “I feel sorry for you.”

Sorry for me? “Why?” I press.

Ariadne’s expression hardens, the softness fleeing as swiftly as it appeared. She turns away, gathering her towel and water bottle. “Grandmother told me to send you up to her after training. She has…a gift for you.”

“What?”

On her way to the changing rooms, Ariadne brushes very close to me.

“She knows,” she murmurs, and is gone almost before I decipher what she said.

A chill lances down my back.

Grandmother knows? Knows…what?

And what is this gift she has for me? The implications are as disturbing as they are unclear. Another game, another manipulation?—because that’s all my life has become under her merciless rule.

But if I want answers, I’ll have to seek them out directly.

I gather my things and make my way out of the training facility, heading for the penthouse suite.