The Devil's Dividend

5 Elevator

The party began to wane as the night stretched on. Sera felt the exhaustion creeping into her bones, a familiar weight that settled behind her eyes and made her limbs feel heavy. She'd spent hours smiling, nodding, making small talk with people whose names she'd already forgotten. Her feet ached in the elegant heels. Her face hurt from the constant, forced expression of pleasantry.

It was time to go.

She slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, offering polite nods and murmured goodnights to anyone who caught her eye. No one stopped her. No one questioned her departure. She was just another guest, another face in the sea of wealth and privilege, disappearing into the night.

The elevator doors slid open, and Sera stepped inside, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She leaned against the polished wall, closed her eyes, and let the tension drain from her shoulders.

Finally. Finally, she could go home. Finally, she could—

The elevator chimed.

Sera's eyes snapped open.

The doors slid apart, revealing the figure standing in the corridor beyond. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a suit that probably cost more than her apartment. His dark hair was swept back from his angular face, and his pale gray eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her blood run cold.

Dorian Blackwood.

Sera's heart stopped. Then restarted at twice its normal speed, pounding against her ribs like a trapped animal desperate to escape.

"Leaving so soon?" His voice was smooth, cultured, the kind of voice that belonged in boardrooms and ballrooms. He stepped into the elevator, and the doors slid shut behind him.

Sera swallowed hard, forcing her expression into something that resembled composure. "My eyes were starting to droop. I figured I'd better call it a night before I pass out on the floors of your house, Mr. Blackwood."

Dorian's lips curved into a faint smile. It didn't reach his eyes.

"How about you, Mr. Blackwood?" Sera continued, her voice steady despite the frantic pounding of her heart. "Where are you running off to? Last I checked, this was—or rather, is—your penthouse."

She added the last part with an embarrassed laugh, hoping it would sound natural. Hoping it would deflect his attention.

Dorian's smile widened, just slightly. "A host isn't just meant to be present at the party," he said. "A host has to make sure everything is working smoothly from all aspects. I was just checking on the catering staff. Ensuring the champagne was flowing."

"How... thorough of you."

"I take my responsibilities seriously, Miss Vance."

The name hit Sera like a physical blow. Miss Vance. He'd called her Miss Vance. Not "you" or "guest" or any of the other generic terms he might have used for a stranger.

He knew who she was.

He'd recognized her.

Sera's blood, which had just started to cool, spiked again. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "Have we met?"

Dorian's eyes gleamed with something that might have been amusement. "We've met several times. You present to the board quite regularly. Your work is... impressive."

"Thank you, Mr. Blackwood." Sera's throat was dry. "I appreciate that."

"I don't remember inviting you to this gala, Miss Vance."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Sera's mind raced, scrambling for an answer, any answer that would sound plausible.

She could tell him she'd gotten an invite from one of the shareholders. That they'd liked her presentation and thought it nice to let her be present. But the questions flooded her mind immediately. Do you work for me or the shareholder, Miss Vance? What's the name of this shareholder? She didn't really know their names, and even if she did, what if he went to verify with them?

What if they told him they didn't know who she was?

What then?

Sera opened her mouth, praying that the right words would come out. "I got a digital invite from the company. I was shocked, but I didn't think it necessary to confirm. I figured there was no way such a mistake would be made."

She held her breath, hoping against hope that he wouldn't ask to see the invite. Hoping that her lie would hold.

Dorian studied her for a long moment, his pale gray eyes unreadable. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Okay," he said. "I'm certain it wasn't a mix-up. Someone thought you deserved to be there." He tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. "Did you enjoy the party, Miss Vance?"

Sera nodded, her throat too tight to speak. What did he mean by that? Someone thought you deserved to be there. Was he talking about Marcus? Did he know about the Order? About her mission?

Dorian seemed to sense her unease, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he leaned against the wall opposite her, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable.

"You know," he said, his voice conversational, "it's interesting how people move through the world. They think they're hidden. Invisible. But predators have a way of seeing what others miss."

Sera's blood chilled. "Predators?"

"I've always been fascinated by the nature of predators," Dorian continued, as if he hadn't heard her. "They don't hunt because they're hungry. They hunt because it's in their nature. Because the world is divided into hunters and prey, and the hunters have a responsibility to maintain that balance."

Sera's heart was pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it. "That's... an interesting perspective, Mr. Blackwood."

"Is it?" He smiled, and there was something sharp in his expression. Something that made her feel like a mouse caught in the gaze of a snake. "I've always thought it was simple. The strong protect the weak. The hunters ensure the prey don't overpopulate. It's nature's way."

Sera forced herself to breathe. "I'm not sure I agree with that."

"No?" His eyes gleamed. "Then what do you believe, Miss Vance? What drives the Order?"

The word hit Sera like a physical blow. Order. He'd said Order. Not "the company" or "the industry" or any of the other terms that might have been appropriate.

He knew.

He knew exactly who she was. What she was.

Sera opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Her mind was a blank, her thoughts scattering like leaves in a hurricane. She was trapped in an elevator with a man who might very well be a monster, and he knew her secret. He knew everything.

The elevator chimed again, and the doors slid open.

Dorian stepped out into the corridor, pausing to glance back at her. His smile was still in place, but there was something else in his expression now. Something that looked almost like satisfaction.

"Goodnight, Miss Vance. I hope you found what you were looking for tonight."

The doors slid shut, and Sera was alone.

She stood there for a long moment, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her hands were trembling. Her legs felt like they might give out at any moment.

He knew.

Dorian Blackwood knew about the Order. Knew about her. Knew exactly what she was doing in his penthouse tonight.

But was he referring to the Order? Or was it simply a passing comment, a coincidence, a word that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things?

A quiet voice in Sera's head whispered the truth.

Dorian doesn't do simple.

He never did anything by accident. Every word he spoke was calculated. Every glance, every gesture, every seemingly casual comment was part of a larger design. He was playing a game, and Sera was just one of the pieces.

She pressed her back against the elevator wall, closed her eyes, and tried to slow her racing heart.

Observe, Marcus had said. Don't engage.

But it was too late for that. She'd engaged. She'd been seen. And now Dorian Blackwood knew exactly who she was.

The question was: what was he going to do about it?