Eyes In The Smoke
1047 Words
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An upscale hotel rooftop lounge, lit low with golden lamps. Smooth jazz hums beneath the city noise. They’ve chosen a private booth with a panoramic view. The kind of meeting that happens when no one is supposed to know it’s happening.
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Dara Morvain arrived first. Of course she did. Punctuality was a form of dominance.
She sipped from a narrow flute of champagne, her gaze flicking over the skyline like it owed her something. She wore black — sleek and clean — her lipstick the color of dried blood.
Jeffrey Darlington arrived late, as usual, but she didn’t mind. He reeked of arrogance and desperation. And tonight, he needed her.
He slid into the booth across from her, his cufflinks gleaming. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
Dara smiled, slow and sharp. “I wasn’t counting the minutes. Only the silence.”
He blinked, caught off guard by her venom. “Still as charming as ever.”
“You didn’t call me here for charm.” She leaned forward, her eyes glittering. “So tell me. Why am I having drinks with a bastard trying to steal an empire?”
Jeffrey’s jaw twitched.
Dara leaned back again, satisfied. “Oh good. I struck a nerve.”
He exhaled, then folded his hands on the table. “Your family wants stability. The Morvain board needs your marriage to go through. But Dora is… difficult.”
“She’s not the obedient twin,” Dara said dryly.
“She’s a liability.”
Dara raised a brow. “And you’re not?”
“I’m a solution,” he said, voice low now. “To your family. To mine. I’m already being groomed to take over the Darlington assets. But your sister’s presence—her birthright—is a problem I believe we both want erased.”
Dara studied him. He was more dangerous than he looked. But also more desperate. And desperation made people easy to control.
“You want Dora out of the way?”
“I want her discredited. She’s digging into things she shouldn't. And with Aanya still breathing? That’s two thorns in my side I can’t afford.”
Dara ran a manicured finger around the rim of her glass. “And what do I get?”
He smiled. “A seat beside me. The future of both our families… under our rule.”
She pretended to consider, then tilted her glass in mock toast. “To power.”
They didn’t drink.
Just stared.
Two sharks circling the same blood.
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Eyes in the Smoke — Aston Watches the Serpents
The same rooftop lounge. A few tables over from Dara and Jeffrey. Separated by a screen of golden light and thick cigar smoke. Aston never attends meetings. But tonight, he watches one.
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Aston preferred shadows.
He sat with his back to the wall, sleeves rolled up, a glass of aged whisky untouched in front of him. His fingers drummed against the leather armrest, slow and quiet.
Across the rooftop, framed by flickering candlelight, sat two people who didn’t know they were being watched.
Dara Morvain. Jeffrey Darlington.
Two names that should never share the same booth unless something unholy was being cooked.
Aston’s eyes narrowed. He caught every movement — Dara’s smug glances, Jeffrey’s barely concealed frustration, the exact moment they stopped pretending to be polite and started speaking like wolves.
So that’s what you’re planning, he thought. Interesting.
A soft chime buzzed in his ear — a discreet tap from the earpiece under his collar. One of his men was on standby in the lobby.
“Do we interrupt?” the voice crackled softly.
Aston didn’t blink. “No. Let them finish poisoning each other.”
He leaned forward slightly, angling his head just enough to read Jeffrey’s lips through the haze.
‘Dora is a liability… Aanya is still breathing…’
Aston smiled. A flicker. Cold and slow.
They were playing with fire, and they didn’t even know which pyromaniac was seated across the room.
You want Aanya gone? he mused. Then I want to know why. And if you plan to touch her…
His fingers curled around the base of the glass.
You’ll find out just how dangerous a man with nothing to lose can be.
Across the room, Dara laughed at something Jeffrey said.
Aston didn’t hear it.
He was already rewriting the end of their story.
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*******
Late Night at the Dora and Aanya's apartment.
Their shared apartment. Midnight. Rain tapping softly on the windows. No schemes. No whispers. Just two girls in hoodies and mismatched socks.
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Aanya stared blankly at the flickering light from the TV, the screen stuck on some old black-and-white film neither of them had been watching. Her legs were curled under her, a half-empty bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap.
On the other end of the couch, Dora flipped through a fashion magazine with little interest, her damp hair in a twisted bun, a mug of sleepytime tea forgotten on the table.
“Do you ever think about disappearing?” Aanya asked suddenly.
Dora blinked, then closed the magazine. “Disappearing?”
“Not permanently. Just… unplugging. No phone. No names. No secrets. Just… clean air and shitty instant noodles.”
Dora smiled faintly. “You’d last five minutes without a plan.”
Aanya huffed a quiet laugh. “Rude. But true.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the rain soft like background music.
“You’re scared,” Dora said, not looking at her.
Aanya didn’t answer right away.
“I’m angry,” she replied instead. “And tired. Tired of pretending I’m not angry.”
Dora finally looked over. Her eyes weren’t full of pity. Just… understanding.
“Then don’t pretend. Be angry.”
“You sound like Noel.”
“He sounds like me.”
Aanya smirked and reached for the remote. “Wanna watch a murder documentary and pretend it’s a self-help video?”
Dora grinned. “Only if you make popcorn again. You burn it better than I do.”
As the rain thickened and the apartment dimmed, the war outside fell away. Just for a little while.
Two girls. One apartment. One fragile peace.
And a hundred battles waiting at the door.
- Writer
