CHAPTER 1
1140 Words
CHAPTER ONE: THE FIRST MOVE
The scent of bergamot and danger filled the air.
Pagbukas pa lang ng elevator doors, alam ko na. This was no ordinary place. The marble floors shone like polished bone. The lighting? Dim—strategic. Shadows fell exactly where they should. Every hallway screamed money and blood.
And this... this was Logan Scrivener’s world.
“Miss Sakuhachi?” tanong ng lalaking naka-itim na suit sa harapan ko. His voice was clipped, accent refined. Bodyguard vibes, pero alam mong hindi lang basta bantay. This man has killed before.
“Yes,” I said with a faint smile. “I’m here for Mr. Scrivener. Regarding the Caravaggio piece.”
His gaze flicked with interest. Alam ko na kilala nila ang pyesa. It was a rare, allegedly stolen Caravaggio painting—isa sa mga nawawala sa black market. A piece na ginamit ng Division Black para sa cover ko bilang isang art broker. My mission was to infiltrate Logan’s circle using a front he couldn’t ignore: art, wealth, and secrets.
He eyed me up and down. Not in a pervy way. More like... he was analyzing me. Calculating threat level. Measuring intent.
Then he stepped aside.
“Follow me.”
I did.
My heels clicked against the marble, slow and purposeful. My dress was black. Tight. Classic. Slit on the side that revealed just enough thigh to make a statement—but not enough to look desperate.
Weapon hidden at the base of my spine. Lipstick with sedative inside my clutch.
Heart rate? Steady.
Breath? Controlled.
Smile? Loaded.
And yet... underneath the calm, may kumikirot.
Because this was the part I hated most.
The waiting.
The pretending.
The building of the mask, layer by layer, knowing full well one wrong move could cost me more than just the mission.
It could cost me myself.
Pagdating namin sa pinakadulo ng hallway, the man opened a set of large black doors.
And there he was.
Logan Scrivener.
Sitting behind a desk made of dark glass, like a king ruling from his throne of shadows.
His eyes flicked to me. Just once.
Then back to his papers.
He didn’t even speak.
Hindi ko alam kung offended ako o na-challenge.
I stepped forward anyway, every movement measured, like I was on a stage.
“Miss Sakuhachi,” he said at last, not looking up.
His voice?
Low. Smooth. Cold.
Parang velvet wrapped around a knife.
“You’re early.”
“I like to make an impression,” I replied.
Finally, he looked at me.
And holy hell.
Photos didn’t do him justice.
In person, he was even more dangerous.
His face was carved from precision—masyadong maganda para maging totoo, pero masyadong nakakatakot para gustuhin mo siyang Capitan.
“Impression?” he echoed, one brow rising. “You wore that dress just to impress me?”
“I wore this dress,” I said, stepping closer, “so you’d remember me when you close your eyes tonight.”
Silence.
Then—he smiled.
It wasn’t warm.
It wasn’t kind.
It was a warning.
“You assume I close my eyes,” he said simply, “and that I remember women.”
Touché.
I let out a small laugh, tilting my head.
“Well,” I whispered, “that just makes the challenge more interesting.”
The silence stretched between us like a wire pulled tight.
Logan Scrivener didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Parang hindi ako babae sa harap niya, kundi isa lang sa libo-libong bagay na kailangan niyang i-analyze.
He gestured to the chair across from him.
“Sit.”
Umupo ako—relaxed pero alert. My every movement smooth, deliberate. The air around him was cold, parang room na walang bintana. Pero sanay na ako sa ganito. Sa mga lalaking mas malamig pa sa yelo.
“Tell me about the Caravaggio,” sabi niya, finally.
I crossed my legs, light smile on my lips. “Late 16th century. Nawala ang painting, rumored to be stolen from a private collector sa Tuscany. Only three people know where it is. Ako ang pang-apat.”
Tumahimik siya for a second. Then, “And you think I care?”
“You don’t collect art for show,” sagot ko. “You collect power. That painting? It’s a piece of history no one else has. Owning it would mean owning the story.”
Nagkaroon ng slight flicker sa expression niya. Subtle, pero I caught it.
“Who do you work for?” tanong niya.
“Independent,” sagot ko, steady ang boses. “May mga koneksyon sa Milan, Paris, Hong Kong. Pero wala akong boss.”
Obvious na hindi siya convinced. But that was the point—ang mission ko was to bait him, not to earn trust right away.
He leaned back, arms crossed.
“I don’t trust people who appear without warning.”
“Pero pinapasok mo pa rin ako,” I said, leaning forward slightly.
He studied me. “Sometimes, I like watching liars try their best.”
Napangiti ako. “Then I hope I’m giving a good performance.”
“Not yet,” he said.
Tumayo siya bigla.
“Walk with me.”
Wala siyang hint na susundin ko siya. He just turned and walked through a side door. I followed.
My heels echoed sa marble floor habang sinusundan ko siya sa hallway. The place was colder, dimmer, more private. May mga paintings sa walls—mga obra na mukhang hindi mo makikita sa kahit anong museo.
“You live like a ghost,” I murmured habang naglalakad kami.
Logan didn’t look back. “I prefer the term ‘unbothered.’”
Pumasok kami sa isang malaking room—private gallery. Dim ang ilaw, sobrang tahimik, parang lumulubog ang buong mundo.
“You came with an offer,” sabi niya. “Make it.”
Lumapit ako sa isang pedestal, hinaplos ang edge ng marble gently. “The Caravaggio is real. I can get it to you in a week. Pero may kapalit.”
Tumaas ang kilay niya. “You’re negotiating?”
“I’m offering value,” I said. “In exchange for access.”
“To what?”
“Your time. Your inner circle. Your trust.”
Lumapit siya ng konti. “Those things aren’t free.”
“Hindi rin ako,” sagot ko.
Nagtagpo ang mga mata namin. Tense, intense. Parang mental chess game na puro risks ang pusta.
Tahimik siya for a long moment.
Then finally, he said, “May party bukas ng gabi. My people will be there. Let’s see kung kaya mong tumagal.”
“Tumagal?” I asked, amused.
“Survive the wolves, Miss Sakuhachi,” he said, paalis na. “Then we’ll see if you’re worth the lion.”
Iniwan niya akong mag-isa sa gallery. Surrounded by darkness, beauty, and one hell of a challenge.
Game on.
- Writer
