the gazelle state

Chapter 12: The Phantom’s Trap

Ethan’s features hardened, as if her words were a thunderbolt that silenced him in his place. His eyes remained locked onto hers, searching for any trace of the Rachel he knew—that shy, trembling, broken girl—but he found only a strong, confident, and rebellious woman in every fiber of her being.

​Gazelle did not back down; instead, she increased the pressure of her fingers on his hair, tilted her head slightly, and a mocking smile never left her crimson lips. She whispered in a tone that challenged every ounce of his pride:

— Weren't you looking for me, Ethan? Here I am before you. No longer the fearful Rachel, nor the obedient employee. I am the one who burned your heart without even touching it.

​Ethan felt the blood boiling in his veins. He increased his containment of her until his face was so close to hers that their breaths mingled. He said in a low, husky voice, dripping with danger and inquiry:

— Gazelle? So the game is over, isn't it? You thought you could manipulate me as you pleased?

​Gazelle let out a low laugh, then ran her other hand over his cheek with deliberate slowness, and said with unparalleled boldness:

— The game hasn't even begun, my dear. You haven't seen anything yet.

​Ethan pushed her away slightly, but he did not let go of her arms. His eyes were burning with a mysterious desire mingled with anger, as if he saw in her a riddle he could not resist the urge to solve... or drown in.

— Why? Why now? Why this persona?

​Gazelle looked him straight in the eyes, losing her smile for a moment, replaced by a sharp, cold look as she said:

— Because I am tired of being a victim in a play written by others. And now... it is my time.

​Before Ethan could find a response to gather his scattered thoughts in the face of Gazelle’s shocking challenge, his phone vibrated violently in his jacket pocket. He looked at the screen; it was his father.

​He answered with annoyance, expecting a barrage of reprimands, only to be hit by his father’s shouting through the line, filling the corners of the crowded, music-filled space:

— How dare you treat your brother like that? Let him come to the company immediately; he must learn the principles of work and knowledge, just as you did!

​Ethan’s breath hitched for a moment, while Gazelle watched the scene with cold, confident composure, a victorious smile playing on her lips. Ethan clenched his fist, and in a tone as rigid as ice, carrying nothing but cruelty and a final decision, he said:

— The company... is mine... alone.

​And before he could hear the rest of his father’s furious shouting, he cut the call off in his face with utter coldness. He turned quickly, attempting to return to his confrontation with Gazelle and challenge her, but a shock awaited him: she was gone.

​She had vanished like smoke amidst the crowd, leaving behind nothing but her deadly perfume that still lingered in the air, and the echo of her voice that continued to resonate in his ears: "Now... it is my time."

​Ethan looked around frantically, as if chasing a phantom, realizing for the first time that Gazelle had not been running away from him—rather, she had been mapping out a new path for him... a path that might lead him to his own downfall.

​Ethan entered the bar, his eyes scanning the place frantically in search of Gazelle. His heart raced with every corner he passed, but bitter disappointment gnawed at his soul; she had disappeared completely. As his hope of finding her faded, he surrendered to his despair, sitting at a table and ordering one drink after another, trying to drown the images of her that would not leave him, until his body collapsed under the weight of the alcohol, and he lost control of his senses.

​He did not feel who approached him, nor did he realize it was her who had picked him up and taken him to the company, until he began to smell her signature scent—that fragrance that blended mysterious femininity with the chill of defiance.

​Ethan awoke to find himself in his private office at the company, lying on the luxurious leather sofa. His body felt heavy, but he sensed soft touches, like a feather brushing against his face and hair; Gazelle was there, approaching him with the caution of a hunter teasing its prey.

​Gazelle leaned over him, her hair strands brushing against his face, while her fingers traced imaginary lines across his exhaustion-stricken features. She moved closer until their breaths mingled, and she whispered into his ear in a velvety tone that sent shivers down his spine:

— Didn’t I tell you that I am the one who controls the game?

​Ethan did not resist; instead, his hand reached out to grip her waist, pulling her closer to his body, drowning in this forbidden proximity. They were moments of incomplete whispers and rapid breaths, telling a story of conflict and passion. Her touches were like sweet poison, moving from his neck to his shoulders, while her eyes examined his features with cold triumph. That night was a blend of possession and loss, where everything faded—the company, the power, and even his pride—leaving behind only their overwhelming presence in the darkened room.

​However, with the first light of dawn creeping through the office's massive glass walls, the fog of euphoria cleared. Ethan’s eyes opened with difficulty. He reached out to where she had been, only to find nothing but emptiness and the coldness of the leather.

​Ethan rose, his body drained, and looked around wildly. The office was completely empty, as if nothing had happened, as if Gazelle were merely a phantom that had visited his dreams and then vanished. The only thing confirming her presence was the lingering scent of her perfume filling the room, and a small note left on the desk, written in an elegant, confident hand:

​"The company is yours alone, Ethan... but your heart? That is another story."