Of Fire and Loss

Chapter 4: The Golden Trap 2

Angèle

Time flies. The world around me fades away. There's nothing left but the screen, the numbers, and the cold determination driving me.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over my desk. I look up.

Rabis Valesco is there, leaning against the adjacent glass partition, arms crossed. He's wearing dark jeans and a black blazer, an outfit too casual for this environment, screaming that he's above the rules. His smile is a living provocation.

— So? Does the new recruit survive her baptism by fire?

His voice carries, drawing furtive glances from my new colleagues. He wants to make me uncomfortable, test my limits in public.

— Fire doesn't scare me, I reply without looking away from my screen. It's an old friend, actually.

He chuckles and approaches, circling my desk to stand behind me. I feel his presence like a source of intense, intrusive heat. He leans in, his chin nearly brushing my temple, to look at my screen. His scent, woody and spicy, envelops me, nauseating and intoxicating.

— Interesting, this approach to the junk bonds, he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. Father will love it. Or hate it. With him, it's often the same thing.

I stiffen. His intrusion is physical, sensory. It's a calculated violation.

— I thought you were more the type to… break the rules, not analyze them, I shoot back, hoping my voice doesn't tremble.

He places one hand on the back of my chair, the other leaning on my desk, completely trapping me.

— Oh, I break whatever I want, Angèle. May I call you Angèle? Codes, rules… and sometimes, people. It's much more fun.

His electric blue gaze captures mine in the reflection of the screen. There's a raw greed in his eyes, a desire for possession that has nothing to do with corporate strategy.

— Rabis.

The voice is a knife cut through the conditioned air. It doesn't carry, it doesn't shout. It slices.

Néron Valesco stands at the entrance to the open space. Motionless. He doesn't need to shout for silence to fall. The energy of the whole room converges on him. His steel-gray gaze is fixed on his son, and on his son's hand resting on my chair.

— My office. Now.

The order is absolute. Rabis straightens up with affected slowness, a smug smile on his lips. He leans one last time towards my ear.

— See you very soon, Angèle, he whispers. The game is starting to get interesting.

He walks away with a nonchalant stride, passing his father without a word. Néron doesn't even look at him. His eyes are riveted on me. He walks through the open space, every step measured, until he reaches my desk. Employees have lowered their heads, feigning sudden work.

He stops in front of me. He says nothing for a long moment, his eyes scanning my face, then the screen, then the open file on my desk.

— Your report? he asks finally, his voice neutral, professional again.

— It will be in your inbox by noon, sir.

He nods slowly. His gaze becomes more intense, more personal.

— Rabis has a… passionate temperament. He can be difficult to manage. If he ever bothers you, you come and tell me. Personally.

The offer is wrapped in steel. It's not protection, it's a claim. He's telling me I belong to him, that any conflict with his son must go through him. That I'm a stake in their private war.

— I'm capable of handling difficult situations, sir, I reply, holding his gaze. That's why you hired me, isn't it?

One of Néron Valesco's eyebrows lifts, almost imperceptibly. A glimmer, perhaps of approval, perhaps of amusement, crosses his steel gaze.

— Indeed, Mademoiselle Derval. That's exactly why.

He turns on his heel and leaves the open space, leaving a heavy silence behind him.

I turn back to my screen, my fingers trembling slightly over the keyboard. I take a breath. I've seen them both. The falcon and the vulture. One wants to tame me, the other wants to devour me.

I look out the bay window. The city sprawls at my feet, a giant chessboard. I've just placed my first pawn. But I suddenly realize, with terrifying clarity, that I'm not just a player in this game.

I'm also the prize.