between chess moves

chapter 4

The sound of my alarm woke me. Another day of endless possibilities. Possibilities I knew too well. My life was systematic, mechanical. No new experiences—nothing out of the usual ever happened.

I moved my laptop away from where I had thrown it in my sleep and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

I went through the groceries in store. The shelves were almost empty, meaning I needed to restock. I took some eggs and the last slice of bread to make a toast.

A quick breakfast was always the best option. I loved cooking—sometimes—but definitely not in the morning.

I started making the eggs.

Once done, I placed them between the bread and put it in the sandwich maker, letting it toast while I went back to my room to check my email for the day’s schedule.

I pulled my phone from the bag on my nightstand.

“s**t,” I cursed out loud. I had totally forgotten about the broken phone. One more store to visit.

I left it on the counter. I’d take it to the store to retrieve any important information, though I doubted there was much.

Important work files were properly documented, so I didn’t depend on my phone for them. I didn’t have any personal numbers of real importance either—besides, I was keeping the same number.

Pictures? Well, I didn’t have any real attachment to them. Still, I needed to check the phone properly.

I picked up my laptop instead. As expected, there was a new email from my assistant.

Nothing important was scheduled for today, so I decided to take the day off.

I remembered that Stephanie had gone on a date the previous night.

"I should ask her about it," I thought, a small, amused twitch of my lips betraying my curiosity.

I put on my tracksuit and made my way back to the kitchen.

The sandwich maker had already gone off, indicating the toast was ready.

I served it and paired it with a glass of milk and a little cocoa.

I finished the last bite of my breakfast, the warmth of the eggs and toast lingering in my stomach, giving me the energy I needed to start the day. I quickly wiped my mouth, set the plate aside, and grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair. The morning air was still crisp—a gentle reminder, evident in the slight crinkle of my eyes, that I needed to layer up for her run.

I adjusted my shoes, tying them tightly, before stepping outside. The neighborhood was still quiet, with only a few early risers taking their morning walks. I stretched my limbs, preparing for the run.

The rhythm of my footsteps echoed as I started down the familiar path, the cool breeze brushing against my skin. Each stride brought a sense of clarity, the kind that only came with the peaceful solitude of the morning. As I ran, my thoughts began to flow, and the chaos of the world faded into the background.

As I pushed myself further down the tarred road, the familiar burn in my legs started to feel less like a struggle. I focused on my breathing, the rhythm of each inhale and exhale matching the steady beat of my feet hitting the pavement. The cool morning air was refreshing, and the buildings around me, sleek and modern, seemed to stretch upward, making me feel small but strong at the same time.

The neighborhood was becoming more lively, but there were still a few other runners here and there. I always appreciated this time of morning, when the world felt peaceful and my thoughts were free to wander. Thoughts of meetings, research, and the usual chaos of my day weren’t allowed to creep in just yet.

As I neared the halfway point of my usual route, I decided to slow my pace, letting my legs rest a bit before the last stretch back home. The buildings started to blend together in the distance, their clean lines and glass windows reflecting the soft light of the morning.

I rounded the corner near the park, not really paying attention to the road ahead, when I suddenly collided with someone.

"Ah!" I stumbled back, my feet slipping on the smooth surface as I instinctively reached out to steady myself. Not again.

A voice, surprisingly soft, said, "Oh, I’m so sorry!"

I looked up to see a man, probably around my age, standing there with wide eyes and a look of concern. His hair was a bit tousled from his run, but even in that state, I could tell it was a low taper fade—the kind that’s neat yet still effortlessly cool. The fade started low, just above his ears, and the hair on top was just long enough to give him that clean, sharp look that defined his style. He was wearing a fitted athletic shirt and joggers, clearly in the middle of his own run.

"No harm done," I said, brushing off the moment as I regained my balance, a slight half-smile forming despite my irritation. "I wasn’t exactly looking either."

He chuckled, a soft sound accompanied by a brief crinkle of his brow. "Guess we both need to pay more attention." There was a fleeting warmth in his expression.

"Looks like it," I replied, now standing a little more firmly, my eyes narrowing just so in a silent acknowledgment of the mishap.

He extended a hand with a shy smile that softened his previously alert features. "I’m Joshua." His smile was tentative, the corners of his mouth lifting in quiet invitation.

"Light," I said, shaking his hand. The brief touch felt oddly warm, even with the cool morning air.

"It’s nice to meet you, Light," he said, his smile relaxing further as his eyes conveyed a sincere kindness. "Hope I didn’t throw you off your stride."

"Not at all," I replied. "I’m just heading back home, actually."

"Well, I’ll let you get to it," Joshua said, taking a small step back, his expression returning to the neutral focus of a runner. "Take care."

"Take care," I echoed, giving him a nod before I turned to continue on my way.

As I walked away, I couldn’t contain the irritation I felt towards myself for my clumsiness. Why had I been so careless? I wasn’t usually the type to stumble over nothing, but there I was, looking like a fool in front of yet another stranger. Funny how it was under the same circumstances. A slight grimace flickered across my face as I silently chastised myself.

I shook my head, mentally scolding myself. It was just a small mistake, but I hated feeling awkward.

I pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the rhythm of my breathing and the steady thud of my feet hitting the tarred road. There was no need to dwell on it. The irritation began to fade, and I felt my pace quicken as I properly picked up the race, moving with purpose, determined to leave the awkwardness behind.

The cool morning air was a welcome distraction as I rounded the final corner and saw my street up ahead. The quiet of the neighborhood felt comforting after the brief lapse in composure. By the time I reached home, the irritation was gone, replaced with the usual calm I found in the familiarity of my surroundings.

As I stepped inside, I was greeted by the sound of movement coming from the living room. My assistant, Stephanie, was there, standing near the couch with her phone in hand. I had given her a key in case of emergencies. Whatever she had to say was probably urgent.

I locked eyes with her, arching a brow in a silent query. Her expression was composed but expectant—she’d been waiting for me.

"You’ve been unreachable," she stated, her tone neutral but the slight tightening around her eyes hinted at her concern, though she kept it well-hidden.

"My phone is bad," I replied, setting my keys on the entry table. "What is it?"

She stepped forward and handed me a printed invitation. "You’ve been invited to the Echelon Prestige Gala, hosted by Sterling Vance on behalf of Vanguard Global." Her voice was steady, efficient. "It’s exclusive—high-level investors, fashion executives, industry leaders."

I skimmed the elegant lettering on the thick cardstock. Formal evening attire. Strict black and red dress code.

I exhaled slowly, already processing the significance. Vanguard Global wasn’t just another name; they controlled some of the largest investments in the industry. Attending wasn’t just about being seen—it was about positioning. This was the kind of event where presence alone sends a message, a well-positioned presence that is calculated and deliberate.

"You assumed I’d accept?" I asked, folding the invitation and looking up at her.

Stephanie’s mouth curved slightly—an almost imperceptible smile that hinted at amusement. "I assumed you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity."

She wasn’t wrong.

"I assume you’ve already adjusted my schedule."

"I held off until I confirmed with you," she replied. "But if you're attending, we need to move fast. Your team will need at least four days to execute a custom design." Her tone was brisk as she spoke and there was a slight tightening around the corners of her eyes

I took a seat on the sleek leather couch, tapping my fingers against the armrest. "All red. Simple but commanding. Clean structure, luxury fabric, sharp silhouette. No theatrics—just presence."

"You're going in a gown?" Stephanie asked, her brow lifting in a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

"You seem surprised," I countered, catching the fleeting lift at the corners of her mouth that hinted at her unspoken thoughts.

"It's just... unusual," she replied, her lips parting slightly almost like a resigned smile, spoke volumes.

I repeated, "Red gown, clean structure, luxury fabric, sharp silhouette," drawing each word out to stamp the point.

"Minimalist but striking," she echoed once my intention was made clear, typing notes into her phone. "Your team can have sketches ready by tonight. Jewelry and styling?"

"Minimal. The dress will do the work."

Stephanie sat down across from me, adjusting her position slightly. "I’ll handle the fittings schedule, confirm transportation, and coordinate security. Do you want press involvement?"

"Controlled coverage," I answered without hesitation. "Pre-approved shots only. No unnecessary media attention."

"Understood," she said, her tone professional but assured.

I studied her for a moment. She had a stern look on her face. Sometimes I wondered if she was always like this, or if she was just acting that way because she thought it was what I wanted for an assistant.

Ching Ning Chu, in her War of Art book, stated that we should treat any situations we found ourselves in as a battlefield, hence devise any means to survive. Was this her own means of survival?

I studied her a bit more.

"Is there anything else you'd like me to look into?" she asked.

I should probably ask her how her date went, make small talk —a little effort to be more open, to draw my employees closer, and generally to be a better person—but I didn't particularly feel like it, I thought instead.

"You should tell the designers to make a dress for you as well."

"Me?" she asked in surprise, her eyes widening briefly before a slight, incredulous smile tugged at her lips.

"Yes," I answered in a tone that suggested it was an obvious declaration, my gaze steady and a small, self-assured smirk appearing despite the bluntness of my words.

"Why, if I may ask?"

"I would feel better if I went with a partner," I answered, the admission softening my usual brusque manner.

"You'd suffice, as a partner or rather a companion," I stated.

She didn't say anything else after that, but she also made no indication of leaving.

"Anything else?" I asked her.

"Your sister called the office."

"How the–" I caught myself before I said anything improper. "Nevermind that, what did she say?" I managed a small, wry smile as I tried to mask my rising irritation.

"Just that she's been trying to reach you."

"Anything else she said that you aren't adding?" I asked.

"No," she replied, shaking her head, her expression composed but with a slight downturn of her lips that hinted at disappointment.

"Alright," I replied, feigning nonchalance. "I'd just call her once I replace my phone." I offered a dismissive shrug.

"Do you want me to get a new one immediately?"

"That would be unnecessary," I replied, picking up the magazine on the side table. "I plan on going there myself," I added.

"I'd be taking my leave now," she announced and made her way outside the house, her eyes lingering for a moment as if to say goodbye without words.

I dropped the magazine and went up to my room to shower. I knew it was almost Gala season; I wasn't expecting an invitation this early. As I closed the door behind me, a quiet reflection passed over my face—a mix of anticipation and the subtle anxiety of what was to come.