CHAPTER TWO - THE BLACK CARD
2464 Words
I didn't sleep. Not properly.
Whenever I closed my eyes, I imagined three things:
1) How Alexander had spoken,
"I don't chase women. I choose them."
2) The transfer notification.
3) The word "wife".
Wife.
It seemed cool when he said it.
Calm. Measured. Not romantic.
I remained lying in the oversized hotel bed while staring at the ceiling.
My phone was still sitting on the nightstand.
The transfer was probably still there.
Unchanged.
I picked up my phone and opened up my banking app to confirm.
Still there.
Real.
I checked the sender.
Kane Energy Holdings.
I searched his name on Google.
“Alexander Kane.”
Results were somewhat limited.
Oil magnate. Energy Acquisitions. Private Investor. Philanthropist. Some photos.
Older than I originally thought.
Forty-eight.
I swallowed.
Forty-eight and calculated.
I lay back in bed and stared at the ceiling of my Dubai suite.
What kind of man sends that kind of money after a single conversation?
What kind of man researches someone before introducing himself?
And what kind of woman doesn’t immediately run?
I closed the browser.
My ex's name immediately appeared on my screen.
“Incoming Call”
I stared at it.
It rang. Then stopped. Then rang again.
I didn't pick up.
For a second, I almost did.
Habit. Comfort. Familiarity.
However, the night before, a man that possessed infrastructure looked at me like I was a choice.
Not an Option.
My phone buzzed again.
Message from her ex.
“Let's talk, baby. I'm serious this time.”
I opened it.
Typed nothing.
Then blocked him.
Not dramatically. Quietly.
I continued to stare at the screen after blocking him.
My chest didn't ache.
This shocked me.
What shocked me even more?
I didn't feel liberated. I felt rerouted.
At 5:13 pm, my phone buzzed again.
This time, it was Alexander.
“Get Ready.”
My pulse sped up.
Three seconds later,
“The car will arrive in thirty.”
No Hello. No Question. No Explanation.
I remained stationary in the center of my suite.
He assumed compliance. He assumed I’d respond. And the worst part?
I already did.
“Okay.”
I selected a black leather dress from my suitcase.
The one I'd packed "just in case".
"Just in case" I met someone.
"Just in case" I needed to appear approachable.
This dress did not just clothe me. It was like a second skin. Slightly above my knee. Cinching my waist into a sharp silhouette. Not so revealing neckline, but you could still get a good view of my goods.
My hands were trembling as I applied red lipstick.
Fear.
Excitement.
I stopped at the mirror.
"You're not naive," I told my reflection.
"You know."
Awareness and resistance, however, are two different things.
My phone buzzed again.
“Don't Keep Me Waiting.”
My stomach dropped.
The car finally arrived.
A Rolls-Royce Phantom Gold.
Tinted.
Driver standing outside like a choreographed dance.
"Ms. Bella", the driver stated politely.
"How did you know it was me?"
He smiled.
"Mr. Kane is extremely detailed."
I got in the backseat.
Leather interior.
Soft Lighting.
"Where are we headed?" I asked.
"I've been instructed to not provide locations."
That should have freaked me out.
Instead, it made me feel chosen.
"Have you worked for him for long?"
"Long enough."
"And how is he?"
The driver quickly met my eyes in the rearview mirror.
"Decisive."
Another one of those "decisive" words.
City lights reflected off the glass window during the ride.
My heartbeat quickens with each turn.
We didn't go to dinner. We went shopping.
The store was close to the public.
However, it was open for him.
Alexander was by the door. Hands in pockets. Watching.
This 6’5 god. Jet black hair. White buttoned-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up halfway. His biceps look like it could rip the shirt any minute now.
"You're Late", he said matter-of-factly.
"It has been 12 minutes."
He looked at his watch.
"You could have completed it in 8."
My heart skipped a beat.
"Is this a test?"
"It's an observation."
He moved towards the rows.
"Choose something."
"For What?"
He didn’t respond. Just stared back at me.
I looked over the row of dresses.
He was watching me. Not the dresses.
I picked something elegant but conservative.
He shook his head.
"You still get dressed like you're looking for permission."
My back straightened. I instantly regretted the effort I put into getting dressed at the hotel.
"I get dressed for myself."
"No," he replied calmly.
"You get dressed so you do not present a threat."
Those words hurt.
He selected a structured red evening gown.
Simple. Clean. Strong.
"This is how my woman should walk into a room."
My stomach tightened.
"My Woman?"
He did not correct himself.
The jewelry store was quieter.
More private. Glass Displays. Glare from Diamonds.
He stood right behind me as I was checking out a necklace.
"Too Delicate," he whispered.
His hand touched my shoulder.
"Strength looks better on you."
He picked out a Choker.
Diamonds. Thick. Forceful.
The attendant glanced back and forth between us.
“Is it some sort of special occasion?” she asked in a polite tone.
Alexander did not take his eyes off me.
“It is an investment.”
The card appeared.
It was black.
No pause.
Approved.
I swallowed hard.
“How many women do you do this for?” I whispered.
He looked at me.
“Only the ones I want to remember,” he replied.
At the third store, my mind was reeling with all the decisions I had made so far.
He never hurried. He never negotiated. He never compared prices.
He only commanded.
“These.”
“Don't get those.”
“Walk straight.”
“Turn around.”
I saw myself in the mirror.
I looked different.
More costly. More purposeful. More...claimed.
He moved closer.
“Better,” he said.
I swallowed hard.
“Better for whom?”
“For where you are headed.”
“And where exactly am I headed?”
He gave no response.
He just seemed content.
And I didn’t know the difference yet.
He didn't take me back to my hotel after the last boutique.
Instead, we drove into a more secluded part of the city.
No sign.
No public entrance.
Just tinted glass doors and a discreet security guard.
"This is not a restaurant," I said as he opened my door.
"It is," he said. "But it doesn't advertise."
Inside, the hallway was dark and quiet. No crowds. No host stand. No background noise.
"You're observing," he said as we walked in.
"I'm assessing," I said.
A slight smirk crossed his lips.
"Good."
He motioned to our seating area.
As the doors opened, I hesitated.
The room was set for two people.
View of the Dubai skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. Soft candlelight. Table perfectly laid out. No menus.
"They closed the restaurant for you?" I asked.
"No. They closed it for privacy," he corrected.
I moved slowly into the room.
This was not flashy.
It was deliberate.
There's a difference.
"You never asked if I was hungry," I said as I sat.
"You are," he replied calmly.
That response unnerved me far more than it should have.
A waiter came in quietly and started setting down plates.
No orders were taken.
No confirmation.
Just action.
"You made choices for me," I said.
"I observe preference," he replied.
I studied the dish in front of me.
Sea Bass. Light. Balanced.
It was exactly what I would have ordered.
"You're making some big assumptions," I whispered.
"I'm accurate," he corrected.
We ate in silence.
He didn't chat idly.
He didn't flirt.
He observed.
"You didn't thank me," he said finally.
"For what?"
"The transfer."
I met his gaze.
"I didn't request it."
"No."
"And I haven't agreed to anything."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Do you believe money obligates you?"
"I think money generally has conditions."
He reclined in his chair.
"It does."
"And yours?"
"I don't squander investments."
The word “investment" had been used again.
It didn't feel romantic.
It felt strategic.
"And what exactly am I?" I asked.
He didn't pause.
"An opportunity."
The candor surprised me.
"For what?"
"For development."
The air felt thicker now.
"Are you normally so... direct?"
"Yes. Only when something is significant."
I swallowed.
"And what do you think is significant about this?"
He studied me carefully.
"You traveled all those miles because someone diminished you."
My heart constricted.
"You can't possibly know that."
"I do."
"How?"
He didn't answer.
He simply raised his glass.
"To better positions."
The toast felt like an agreement I had not signed.
When dinner concluded, he stood and presented his hand.
Not as a polite gesture.
As a command.
"Come."
And I followed.
We got back to the hotel.
However, the driver veered off the main road and entered a private underground parking garage.
"Where are we?" I asked.
Alexander opened my door but didn't reply.
We stepped into the elevator lobby and before I could ask another question.
"You ask too many questions," he said calmly.
"That's because you don't provide answers."
He remained silent.
He simply extended his hand. Not as a romantic gesture.
As a command.
I took it.
The elevator required fingerprint recognition.
That fact did not go unnoticed.
The doors opened into a private loft.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. Minimalist furnishings. Black marble.
The city skyline radiated as though it belonged to him.
"This is not your hotel," I said softly.
"No."
"You live here?"
"I exist here."
I walked farther into the space.
"This is one of my properties," he mentioned nonchalantly.
"One of."
The term lingered.
"How many are there?"
"Enough."
That was the only response I received.
He walked up to me at a slow pace while I stood facing the glass window. The view from up here was breathtaking.
"You seem so different," he said.
"Because you dressed me."
"No."
He came closer.
"Because you allowed yourself to rise to a higher level."
I looked back at him.
"You speak as if I were below you."
"You were less than your potential."
He put his hand around my waist.
Slowly. Calculated.
"You allow men to choose you," he added.
My breathing paused .
"That's how dating works."
"No," he said softly.
"That's how insecurity works."
His words hit harder than I anticipated.
"I'm not insecure."
A silence followed.
"You ran because you were betrayed," he continued calmly.
"I gave you direction."
My chest began to tighten.
"Is that what this is?"
"Yes."
His hand slid a little lower.
“You don't need chaos, Bella."
He leaned closer.
"You need structure."
My heartbeat was irregular now.
"And you give me that?"
"I decide when things should have permanence."
The air changed.
Permanence.
He was changing the narrative in real-time.
He leaned a little lower to match my height.
Then, he kissed me.
The kiss was slow.
It was not hurried. It was controlled.
He was setting the pace. He was establishing the rhythm.
He would stop to see how I reacted.
To test me. To read me.
My fingers dug into the front of his shirt. I wanted all of him.
He drew away slightly.
"Slow," he whispered.
He was not consumed.
He was deliberate.
That made things even worse.
The back of my head rested on the cold glass window.
His hand sketched across my jaw, then my collarbone and finally landed at the top of the new necklace he'd picked.
"This suits you," he said softly.
The dress. The jewelry. The position.
This whole evening was designed to be perfect.
And I allowed it to be.
When he slipped two fingers inside me, it seemed inevitable.
Not chaotic.
Not passionate in an out-of-control way.
Intentional.
I let out a moan and pushed further into him.
He pulled back slightly, fingers still inside me.
Even the intimacy felt like something he'd planned out.
He examined every one of my reactions.
He adjusted. He calculated. He controlled.
He didn’t devour me.
He choreographed me.
And somewhere between breath and tension, I stopped questioning.
That was the most dangerous moment of all.
I lay against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady.
Unfazed.
He was not emotionally shaken.
He was calm.
"You're quiet," I said.
"I don't waste my time with unnecessary conversation."
"You mentioned doing something yesterday," I said.
"What? Saying I wanted to make you my wife."
He didn't flinch.
"You remember."
"Yes. That was not a spontaneous decision."
My chest tightened.
"It sounded like it."
"I never say anything on impulse."
Silence.
"You hardly know me."
"I know enough."
"That's exactly what you said yesterday."
"And that still holds true."
I got up from his chest to look at him.
"Will you marry for love?"
He looked back at me as though the question was foolish.
"I will marry for alignment."
That answer unnerved me more than anything that happened that night.
"Am I some form of alignment?"
"Some form of potential alignment."
Potential.
Not commitment. Not love.
Potential.
When I woke up, the loft was quiet.
Cold.
Still.
For a second, I didn't recognize where I was.
Then I saw him.
Standing by the window.
Dressed already.
Holding his phone.
Probably responding to work emails.
He looked like a man who had just spent the night with someone.
He looked like a man who had obtained something.
"You're awake," he said, still looking at his phone.
"Yes."
He dropped the phone.
Walked over to me slowly.
"You spend too much time thinking."
"That's because nothing here has felt simple from the beginning."
"It isn't."
He sat on the edge of the bed.
"You want clarity."
"Yes."
"Clarity takes patience."
"I hate waiting."
He almost smiled.
"Good."
Again, my heart pounded faster.
"Good, why?"
"Because that means you'll learn self-control."
My stomach felt tight once more.
"Are you training me?"
"I'm fine-tuning you."
Those words should have upset me.
But they unsettled me.
“I have work to do. Stay here”, he said with finality while walking towards the door
“My things are back at the hotel”
“The driver will bring them to you”, he replied, then walked out the door.
Was I rising or just placed in a position?
My cell phone suddenly buzzed.
Alexander sent a message.
“Don't make any independent decisions for the rest of the week.”
My heart began to flutter in response to his message.
Then another message came through.
"I'll take care of everything."
Everything.
I stared at the screen.
It was the first time since we met that I experienced something strange.
It was neither fear nor excitement.
Nor did it validate my actions or thoughts.
It was possession.
- Writer
