between chess moves

chapter 1

It is another morning in this miserable world—a world drained of color, reduced to shades of black, white, and maybe grey. It has always been like this. Monotonous. And if not, then my heart is broken, my soul beyond repair.

A heart devoid of passion. No joy. No love. Just an endless void—a black hole that drains the life from everything around me. It tries to pull me in, too, but I fight. I have always fought.

For everything I have, I fight.

To feel human, I fight.

To feel normal, I fight.

To live, I fought.

Until I couldn’t anymore. I let the void win—if only it would leave me with a purpose. For every man needs something to be intoxicated by, something that makes life worth living. Mine was the insatiable need to become the beacon of success. Maybe I was once happy. Maybe I was once filled with so much love that I had plenty to give back. But now, all I knew was work, power, influence, and wealth.

I had funneled all my pain, anger, and suffering into chasing the bag. That was all I had known for as long as I could remember.

Opening my eyes, I took a deep breath, reeling in the moment.

When was the last time I had been truly happy? The last time I smiled with genuine joy? When was the last time I felt love—or knew how to give it back?

My heart might have once ached for how I’d become, but now, it felt nothing at all.

I stood at the foot of the building, its glass façade reflecting my ambitions, my hopes, my purpose. It wasn’t perfect yet, but it was mine. My creation. A lifestyle store—one of three—that wasn’t just about clothes; it was about making a statement. It was about me.

The name above the door wasn’t merely a label; it was a legacy in the making. Inspire.

I knew I was dead in the heart, but long before that, there was one thing I had always wanted—to inspire people. Men. Children. But most importantly, women.

My life might be dull, but I had a business to run. A legacy to build.

Walking inside, I was greeted by the heavenly aroma of freshly brewed coffee, warm croissants, and an inviting sense of comfort.

The ground floor was a luxury café. It wasn’t typically what my business entailed, but—like the spa above it—it was an extra feature to treat customers who came to browse outfits. Even if they weren’t buying, it felt like a good way to make use of the extra space, and it added to the store’s aesthetic. The fact that I loved coffee was just a bonus.

At the counter, I ordered my usual: plain coffee paired with a sandwich. I took my tray and made my way to an open seat by the window.

Though my shoes clicked against the tiles as I walked, I barely stood out in a place like this. Everyone was polished—fitted suits, luxurious shoes, quiet sophistication. No one paid me any mind, and I intended to keep it that way. The staff wouldn’t recognize me as their employer yet; this location was still new.

I pulled out a book—Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë—my all-time favorite. I was a lover of love stories. Or perhaps someone who read about love only to scoff at it.

I had read every book on love I could get my hands on: Pride and Prejudice, After, Kissing Tolstoy, Assassin's Blade by Sarah J. Maas—too many to count. My favorites, though, were paranormal romances. More for the supernatural elements than for the romance itself. Still, there was something about love that intrigued me.

I had even been foolish enough to try it once—when I thought love was all I needed to be happy. But he had been just another shallow man, skimming the surface of the earth.

There was something about Wuthering Heights that felt real. The love was strong, passionate, but also corrupt, dark, and terrifying. And yet... possible.

I still believed in love, in my little naive mind.

I dared not say it out loud, fearing it might never come true. But I secretly wished for it.

For now, I was content being alone.

People spoke of loneliness—the kind that crept in during your thirties as you watched friends marry and have children. I lacked that kind of longing.

Such was the price of having a dead heart.

Besides, I had promised myself never to settle for someone who wasn’t made for me. I wouldn’t be happy with just anyone. I knew that deep in my heart—even as I knew it was lifeless—that I didn’t want merely to be married.

I wanted to be in love. A love so intense it would overwhelm my blackened heart, save me—like Rowan and Aelin did for each other, like Elide did for Lorcan, like Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.

But I dared not say it out loud. For now, I was content being on my own.

I took a sip of my coffee. Perfect, just the way I liked it. I took a bite of my sandwich. It did not disappoint.

The café had an air of exclusivity. Well-dressed professionals, some alone, others in quiet conversation, with laughter slipping through the hum of voices—a hallmark of a business with happy customers.

My eyes scanned the staff, watching their seamless movements. Everything was running smoothly, just as I had designed. I allowed myself a small, fleeting smile.

Satisfied, I moved on. There was more to inspect—perfection required effort.

I discreetly checked the spa section on the first floor, then moved to the third floor, which housed my corporate fashion line. The showroom was grand—three floors combined into one open space. The engineers had done well.

Garment after garment, jewelry upon jewelry—I inspected everything, making sure it was in order.

It was.

Finally, my work here was done.

I returned to the café. Leaving the building without drawing attention was my next task. Just as I reached the door, my phone vibrated.

I ignored it. Probably my assistant.

It vibrated again.

A second call? That wasn’t like her. It had to be urgent. Maybe family. I dug into my bag for the phone, glancing at the screen. Family. Great. My least favorite kind of call.

I hesitated. Should I answer it now? Or put it off until later?

Just then—a sudden jolt.

A solid force slammed into me, knocking me off balance. My fingers jerked open, and my phone slipped free, flipping through the air before landing with a gut-wrenching crack.

Great. Just great.

At least that was a good excuse to postpone the call. Fate had decided for me.

A pair of warm hands steadied me, and I snapped back to reality, preparing to offer the best apology I could manage—one that wouldn’t diminish me.

"I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience—I was momentarily distrac—"

The words caught in my throat as my eyes locked onto him.

Gorgeous? Handsome? No, neither word felt adequate. Captivating. That was the only way to describe him.

His eyes—dark, endless—pulled me in like the very black hole I had spent my life resisting. In that moment, the rest of the world disappeared, leaving only an endless dark sea, oddly intriguing.

Black was known to be corrupt, but this corruption was one I wouldn’t mind rotting my already blackened soul.

I let my gaze fall, planning to take in the depth of his face, but before I could fully absorb it, I felt his expression shift.

Annoyance?

With a firm push, he put distance between us.

"You should watch where you're going," he said, his voice calm yet laced with a quiet irritation.

Then, just like that, he walked past me—leaving me with my apology unfinished.