To Not Flinching
1069 Words
Just as Aanya prepared for the next round, the power flickered.
Then again. Once. Twice.
She frowned, fingers hovering over her keyboard.
Then darkness.
The gaming center’s lights shut off completely, leaving only the glow of backup emergency lighting casting strange shadows across the room.
A few groans went up, someone swore near the vending machine.
“Great,” someone muttered, “power grid’s been acting weird all week.”
But Aanya didn’t move.
She sat perfectly still in the dim light, eyes narrowed—because the power never went out here. Not here.
Her instincts screamed.
She slowly stood, slipping off her headset.
And somewhere in the dark, she felt eyes on her. Not from the other gamers. From someone else.
From someone who never played.
A soft click—like a door unlatching.
She turned sharply, but there was nothing.
Just shadows.
Aston had already gone, disappearing the moment the lights died. But he’d seen something on the system monitors right before it all crashed—
Someone had tried to trace her username.
And failed.
But barely.
********
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Rooftop Reset – Dora & Aanya
The sun hung low over the city skyline, gilding everything in soft amber. From the rooftop garden café, the world below felt far away — the power plays, family obligations, and men who couldn’t make up their minds whether they wanted you dead or in diamonds.
Aanya leaned back in her chair, oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes, one heel dangling lazily off her crossed leg. Across the table, Dora was stirring her iced coffee like it had personally offended her.
“I swear if Cassian Trent breathes near me one more time,” Dora said, voice flat, “I’ll glue his shoes to the ballroom floor.”
Aanya chuckled behind her glass. “That’s ambitious. I’d just pour wine on his white suit.”
“Oh, I’m saving that for the wedding.”
A beat passed.
“You’re really doing it?” Aanya asked, a little quieter now.
Dora sighed. “The marriage? Yeah. The family needs it. The business depends on it. And Cassian’s not—well, he’s not the devil. Just...infuriating.”
“Careful. That’s how love stories start.”
Dora shot her a look. “This isn’t a love story. It’s a hostile merger.”
They both laughed.
Aanya looked away then, her smile fading just slightly. “Speaking of mergers... I met Sebastian.”
The stirring stopped. Dora blinked. “Fugerson? Sebastian Fugerson?”
Aanya nodded, casual but too calm. “He didn’t try to kill me.”
“Oh, well that’s a great start.”
“He didn’t try to charm me either. Which, honestly, made him more dangerous. I think he expected me to be... a pawn.”
“Weren’t you supposed to be one?”
Aanya smirked. “He saw the edges. The sharp ones.”
“And?”
“And I offered him something else.” She turned to face Dora fully. “A temporary truce. A possible alliance. I didn’t promise anything. Just let him know I could be useful if he didn’t treat me like bait.”
Dora narrowed her eyes. “And he agreed?”
“He didn’t say no.”
Silence stretched for a beat. Then Dora muttered, “Why do all the terrifying men want to team up with you?”
“Because they think I’m dangerous,” Aanya said lightly. “And because I don’t flinch.”
Dora raised her coffee. “To not flinching.”
Aanya raised her mimosa. “To surviving men who think they’re the main event.”
They clinked glasses.
For a moment, it was easy to pretend they were just two women out for drinks — not heirs, not enemies of empires, not girls carrying the weight of mafia dynasties and family secrets.
Just Aanya and Dora. Friends. Alive.
But beneath the sunglasses, behind the laughter, both were calculating. Watching. Waiting.
Because the next move — whether it came from Sebastian, Cassian, or someone else entirely — was always just around the corner.
******
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Sebastian’s Reflection – Nightfall at the Estate
The file had arrived precisely at 3:07 a.m.
Sebastian didn’t flinch when he opened it.
No one else was awake in the manor — only the soft hum of the security grid and the distant click of an old grandfather clock echoing through the cold hall. He sat at his desk, tie undone, collar open, a glass of aged Scotch untouched at his side.
The image filled the screen.
Aanya. Sharp profile. Confident stance. Taken at the café—by someone with a better vantage point than his man had managed.
Beneath the image: a single line, typed clean, clinical.
Next time, send someone better. Or don’t bother at all.
No name. No threat. Just… clarity.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping the armrest slowly. Measured. Precise.
Not many people caught him off guard. She had. Not with guns or theatrics, but something far rarer: poise. Precision. Nerve.
And most dangerous of all… control.
He liked control. Needed it. Ruled by it.
She had hers in spades. Maybe more than he did. That unsettled him.
He replayed their conversation in his head — every inflection, every silence. She had offered no allegiance, but she hadn’t burned the bridge either. A truce hung in the air between them now. Not a handshake. Not a signature. But something close to an invitation.
And Sebastian knew invitations like that were never truly casual.
She wanted something. She always would.
So did he.
He pressed his fingers together in a quiet steeple, the city lights painting pale stripes across his suit from the open window. Somewhere beyond, deals were being made. Empires shifted. Enemies circled.
And Aanya, unpredictable and brilliant and maddening, had stepped directly into the game.
Not as a pawn.
Not even as a queen.
Maybe something else entirely.
He reached for the glass but didn’t drink. Instead, he spoke softly into the comm beside him.
“Pull the operative from her trail. If she wanted to vanish, she already would’ve.”
A beat of silence, then a crackle of confirmation.
“And watch Noel Miller instead. He talks too much and smiles even more.”
Click.
Sebastian leaned back, eyes on the stars through his window. His empire had no room for sentiment, but curiosity? That was harder to ignore.
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- Writer
