RULES OF THE GAME
1153 Words
Ava waited.
Five minutes. Then ten. Long enough for the gilded masks and whispers to blur into background noise. Her heartbeat had steadied, but her senses remained on edge; every laugh, every shift in candlelight made her flinch. She was used to power plays, but not like this.
This wasn’t a conference room. This was theatre.
She sipped the champagne someone had handed her. It was crisp, dry, expensive. And laced with something she couldn’t name: the taste of danger.
Was Damien testing her? Was this all part of the pitch?
Her fingers tightened around the glass.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t corporate.
Not in the traditional sense.
Ava turned slowly, letting her gaze sweep the room. There were no brand banners. No product demos. Just murmured conversations, masked stares, and high-stakes tension humming in the air like a live wire.
Then she saw it.
A painting.
Massive. Monochrome. Hanging above a velvet-draped archway. A black canvas streaked with crimson; one word scratched into the surface like a scar.
Obey.
She shivered.
Her father would’ve hated this place.
But he would’ve been drawn to it too. Like a moth to flame.
He always did love secrets.
That thought lodged in her chest like splintered glass. Her father; the man who vanished without a word two years ago, had left behind nothing but debts and a gutted reputation. She was still cleaning up the mess.
And still searching for answers.
She hadn’t thought of him much tonight, but now, in the glow of this place that pulsed with secrecy, she couldn’t help but wonder:
What if he’d been here?
Her father had once worked with companies like Damien’s. Government contracts, black box tech, classified programs. What if Velvet wasn’t just a business? What if it was connected to everything he’d buried—and everything he disappeared to avoid?
“Ava.”
She turned.
Damien had returned. No mask. No pretense. Just that cool, unreadable expression and the low, commanding voice that did things to her spine.
“You’re still here,” he said, like he wasn’t surprised.
“You invited me. I assumed leaving early would be… rude.”
He stepped closer, his presence eating up the space between them. “And are you always polite, Miss Blake?”
“When it’s strategic.”
He chuckled. “Good. You’ll need that instinct here.”
“Where exactly is here?” She tilted her head. “Still waiting for that part of the pitch.”
He didn’t answer. Not directly.
Instead, he held out his hand.
“Come.”
She hesitated, her gaze flicking to the others in the room. No one seemed to notice them. Or maybe they were all watching too closely to be obvious.
Damien’s hand remained suspended in the space between them.
“I’m not in the habit of being led blindly,” she said.
“I’m not in the habit of offering twice.”
God, he was infuriating.
But magnetic.
Ava set her glass down and took his hand.
His palm was warm, his grip firm but not possessive. Still, the moment their skin touched, something shifted between them, something that felt like gravity bending.
He led her through a narrow hallway veiled in black silk and into a smaller chamber bathed in amber light. No music. No masks. Just silence and one long mahogany table in the center, surrounded by high-backed chairs.
At the head sat an older man in a grey suit, flanked by a woman with silver hair and a younger man tapping rhythmically on a tablet. They all turned when Ava entered.
“Gentlemen,” Damien said smoothly, “this is Ava Blake. She’s the one I mentioned.”
Mentioned?
Ava masked her reaction.
She straightened her posture and met their gazes one by one, like a soldier walking into a war room. She wasn’t sure what game this was, but she would not be the girl who flinched.
The silver-haired woman spoke first.
“You’re younger than I expected.”
Ava smiled, tight. “And you’re older than your voice. Shall we dispense with first impressions?”
The man on the tablet chuckled. Damien’s lips twitched.
“She’s perfect,” Damien said.
Perfect for what?
Before she could ask, Damien gestured for her to sit beside him.
The woman leaned forward. “Tell me, Ava, what do you know about systems of influence?”
“Enough to recognize when I’m inside one.”
“And Velvet?”
“I know it’s not just a brand. Or a party. Or a product.”
“Then what is it?” the man with the tablet asked.
“A test,” Ava said quietly. “One I haven’t agreed to take. Yet.”
Silence stretched across the table like a crack forming beneath ice.
Then Damien placed a slim black folder in front of her.
She opened it.
A contract.
Confidentiality. Integration. One-year non-compete. One million dollars in retainer for undisclosed services.
No title. No project name. Just two initials stamped at the top:
V. B.
Her breath caught.
That was her father’s signature format. The way he signed every internal memo she’d found after his disappearance.
She looked up at Damien.
“What is this?”
“A bridge,” he said. “Between who you were and who you’ll become.”
Her voice sharpened. “You knew my father.”
Damien’s expression didn’t change. “I know what he left unfinished.”
A cold thread wound through her chest.
Was this coincidence… or the very thing she’d been chasing for two years?
“What do you want from me?” she whispered.
“Your mind. Your instincts. Your hunger.”
“And in return?”
“Access. Power. Answers.”
She closed the folder slowly.
Then stood.
“I don’t make decisions without reading the fine print.”
Damien stood too, voice low. “You’ll find this contract has no fine print. Only consequences.”
Their eyes locked.
“You think that scares me?” she said.
“I think it excites you.”
A dangerous smile curved his lips. Not cruel, but intimate. Like he already knew what she’d choose.
And the worst part?
A part of her wanted him to be right.
She turned away before he could see it.
“I’ll call you.”
“No,” Damien said. “You’ll come back. Midnight. Same door.”
“And if I don’t?”
His gaze darkened. “Then someone else will.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
By the time she turned back, the room was empty. The others had vanished.
Ava clutched the folder to her chest, heart pounding, breath shaky.
She had a choice to make.
One she couldn’t unmake.
And whether she accepted the offer or not… she was already in deeper than she could admit.
Not just with Damien.
But with whatever secret her father had died protecting.
- Writer
