chapter 4: New Deal
1375 Words
Rhee – POV
Dinner is in a very large room.
The table is long. Too long. Dark wood, shiny and heavy. It looks like it can seat at least thirty people.
Sebastian sits at one end of the table.
I sit at the other end.
It feels like there are miles between us.
He is no longer wearing his suit. Now he has on a fitted black shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. I can see his strong forearms. He wears dark pants. He looks relaxed, but still powerful.
His hair is slightly wet, like he just took a shower.
He looks more dangerous like this. More real. Less like a mafia king. More like a man.
I hate that I notice.
A servant brings food. Pasta. Bread. Wine.
The smell makes my stomach twist with hunger, but I don’t touch anything.
Sebastian finally looks at me. Our eyes meet across the long table.
“You need to eat,” he says.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten all day.”
“How would you know?”
His eyes darken. “I know everything that happens to what’s mine.”
What’s mine.
The words hit me hard.
That’s the truth. I’m not a guest. I’m not a person to him. I’m property. Something my father gave away with a signature.
The question slips out before I can stop myself.
“Why didn’t you?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Why didn’t I what?”
“Take me upstairs,” I say quietly. “When I was ready.”
Silence fills the room.
“Is that what you expected?” he asks softly.
“It’s what always happens,” I say. “To women like me. Women used as payment.”
“I’m not them.”
“All mafia men are the same.”
He stands up suddenly. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor.
My heart races, but I don’t move. I don’t show fear.
He walks toward me slowly. Calm. Controlled. Like a predator.
Ten feet. Five. Three.
He stops beside my chair.
He’s close enough that I can smell him. Clean soap. Expensive cologne. Something dark beneath it.
He holds out his hand. Palm open.
Not an order. An offer.
I look at his hand. Then his face.
His eyes are fixed on me, waiting.
Slowly, I place my hand in his.
His fingers close around mine. Warm. Strong.
He helps me stand.
He steps closer until there is almost no space between us.
“You think you know what I’ll do,” he says quietly. His free hand lifts and touches my jaw. Gentle. Too gentle. “You think you know what I want.”
I can barely breathe.
He releases my hand and cups my face with both hands, tilting my head up.
“But you don’t know anything, Rhee.”
His thumb brushes my lower lip.
My heart pounds.
He leans in. His lips hover just above mine. I can feel his breath.
“Your body is right here,” he whispers. “So close to mine.”
His nose touches mine. His lips brush mine—but don’t kiss.
“I could take you right now,” he continues. “Right here on this table.”
Heat spreads through my body. I hate it. I fight it.
“I could kiss you until you forget your name,” he says. His lips brush the corner of my mouth. “I could make your body beg.”
His hand moves down, barely touching my collarbone.
My breath catches.
His body presses against mine. Hard. Hot. Controlled.
I can feel how badly he wants this. His breathing is uneven. His body tense.
Then he stops.
He pulls back slightly and looks at me closely.
“There,” he says softly.
“There what?” I whisper.
“Your soul.” His hands fall away. “Your body is reacting. Your heart is racing. But inside?” He shakes his head. “Inside, you’re saying no.”
I feel dizzy without his warmth.
“You prepared yourself to survive this,” he continues. “Your body knows how. But your soul still refuses.”
I can’t speak.
“And I don’t touch women whose souls refuse me,” he says firmly. “I don’t want a woman who endures. I want a woman who wants.”
“That’s not how mafia men work,” I whisper.
“I’m not like them.”
He guides me back to my chair. His hand rests on my shoulder for a moment, then he walks back to his seat.
The distance between us feels larger than before.
He eats. I don’t.
I move the pasta around my plate, my hunger gone.
After a while, he speaks again.
“Tell me about your life before.”
I look up. “Why?”
“Because you’re here now. And I want to know who you were.”
“Does it matter?”
“Everything about you matters, Rhee.”
The way he says my name makes my chest tighten.
“I wasn’t special,” I say. “I was just Marcel’s daughter. I went to university. Had friends. A normal life.”
“What did you study?”
“Literature.”
“You like books.”
“I used to,” I say. “Before my father decided I was worth more as payment than as a daughter.”
His expression darkens. “Your father—”
A loud knock interrupts him.
Three sharp knocks.
“Enter,” Sebastian says.
A man walks in. Tall. Serious. His name is Enzo. I recognize him from earlier.
“Sebastian,” Enzo says urgently. “We have a problem.”
Sebastian sets down his fork slowly. “It better be important.”
“It is.” Enzo glances at me, then back at Sebastian. “It’s about Marcel.”
My heart drops.
Sebastian leans back. “Go on.”
“He has a meeting tomorrow night,” Enzo says. He shows Sebastian his phone. “With Volkov.”
The room feels colder.
“Dimitri Volkov,” Sebastian says calmly. Too calmly. “Interesting.”
“There’s more,” Enzo adds. “It’s about a deal. Eastern import routes. Worth millions.”
I don’t understand all of it, but I feel the danger.
Sebastian stands and walks to the window.
“Marcel owes me three million,” he says quietly. “That’s why his daughter is here.” He turns and looks at me. “So how does a man drowning in debt make deals with Volkov?”
No one answers.
“I don’t know yet,” Enzo admits. “But something is wrong.”
Sebastian nods once. “Yes. It is.”
He walks back and stops beside me. His hand rests on my shoulder.
“Your father is playing a dangerous game, Rhee.”
Enzo speaks again. “Tomorrow night. Nine PM. Sapphire Room. Continental Hotel.”
Sebastian smiles. Cold. Sharp.
“Good,” he says.
He looks down at me.
“Tomorrow night, we’re going to that meeting.”
“We?” I whisper.
“Yes.” He lifts my chin. “You’re going to see your father’s face when he sees us together.” His voice drops. “Then we’ll know the truth.”
He leans closer.
“Whether your father gave you to me to buy time or this was never chance, and you were meant to be mine all along.” he smiles .. "definitely planned by someone else not me"
The thought crashes through me like ice water. My chest tightens and my hands turn cold. I remember every detail clearly. The bags. The numbers ...The moment I switched the real cash for fake notes . I remember thinking it was smart. I remember thinking it would kill my father. I believed I caused this. But now doubt creeps in, slow and terrifying. If this was planned, then my plan was only part of something larger. A trap already waiting. A path already chosen. If this was never chance, then my life was never mine to control at all. And that realization terrifies me more than Sebastian ever could.
- Writer
