The game begins
2044 Words
Sophie’s POV
The ballroom pulsed with music and laughter, but beneath the glittering lights, every movement felt calculated. This was no mere party—it was a battlefield dressed in silk and champagne.
And I was done hiding my weapons.
Adrian stood near the bar, that scarred stranger at his side, both men speaking in low tones that carried weight I couldn’t yet decipher. When Adrian’s gaze locked on me, my stomach tightened, but I forced myself to glide forward, smile painted like armor.
If he thought he could rattle me with whispered half-truths, he would learn otherwise.
I didn’t go to him. Not yet. That would be surrender. Instead, I veered left, toward a group of investors I vaguely recognized from the old days—men who had once courted my father’s approval, before turning their backs when Hart Couture crumbled.
“Miss Hart.” One of them blinked in surprise as I joined their circle. “We thought you had… left the city for good.”
“Some stories refuse to stay buried,” I said smoothly, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “And I’m not a woman who disappears so easily.”
Their chuckles were polite, interested. One man, tall and broad with a sharp suit and sharper eyes, leaned in. “And what brings you back now?”
My gaze flicked, just briefly, over his shoulder—toward Adrian. He was watching. Always watching. Good. Let him.
I tilted my head, letting a slow smile curve my lips. “Opportunity,” I purred, my eyes lingering on the man before me. “And perhaps… the company of the right people.”
The man’s grin widened, taking the bait.
Adrian’s glass shattered against the bar.
The sound cut through the music, sharp as a gunshot. Every head turned. I didn’t flinch. My smile didn’t falter. But inside, satisfaction bloomed like fire.
So. The untouchable Adrian Blackwood wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended.
He wanted me close? He wanted to play with fire? Fine. I’d make him burn.
But as I held the stranger’s gaze, pretending to be enthralled, I felt the heat of another stare—colder, sharper.
The scarred man.
He wasn’t watching me with desire, nor with disdain. No, his eyes carried something else entirely—calculation, like he was peeling back my skin layer by layer, searching for the truth beneath.
And for the first time that night, unease slid down my spine.
I barely had time to finish my sip of champagne before a hand closed around my wrist. Firm. Possessive.
Adrian.
The investors fell silent, their polite curiosity vanishing as the air thickened. Adrian didn’t even glance at them. His eyes—cold, burning, furious—were pinned solely on me.
“Excuse us,” he said, voice velvet wrapped over steel. No one dared to object.
I should have resisted. I should have pulled away, laughed in his face, made a scene. But something in his grip—unyielding yet careful, as though he refused to bruise me—rooted me to the spot.
He dragged me through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares, ignoring the scarred man’s watchful gaze. Through a side hallway, past hushed conversations, until the noise of the ballroom dimmed to a hum behind us.
Only when he pushed open the door to a private study, closing it sharply behind us, did he finally let go.
I snatched my wrist back, lifting my chin. “What are you doing? Planning to drag me around every time I talk to someone you don’t approve of?”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t play games you don’t understand, Sophia.”
“Games?” I laughed, sharp and bitter. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
He stepped closer, the room shrinking with every deliberate pace. “Do you even know who that man was?”
I blinked. “An investor. A guest. What does it matter?”
“He’s Daniel Voss.” Adrian’s voice dropped, lethal. “A vulture who makes his fortune picking apart bankrupt companies and selling them for scraps. He’s been circling Hart Couture’s remains for years.”
My stomach twisted, but I refused to show it. “Then perhaps he’s exactly the kind of man I should be speaking to.”
Adrian’s eyes darkened, something dangerous sparking there. He braced one hand on the wall beside me, boxing me in without touching me. “Careful.” His voice was low, rough. “You think you’re untouchable, but men like Voss don’t want partnerships. They want ownership. And you—”
He broke off, his gaze dipping briefly to my lips before snapping back up.
Heat flared through me, traitorous and unwanted. I swallowed hard, forcing steel back into my spine. “What about me, Adrian?”
His jaw flexed, as though he was holding back something brutal. “You’re not for sale.”
The words slammed into me, equal parts command and confession. My pulse raced, my breath caught.
But then the anger came, sharp and blinding.
“You don’t get to decide that!” I shoved at his chest, though he barely moved. “You destroyed everything I had, Adrian. My father, my future, my freedom—don’t you dare stand there and act like you’re my protector.”
Silence stretched between us, electric, unbearable. His hand twitched at his side, as though he wanted to touch me but didn’t trust himself.
Finally, he said, voice raw, “If you want revenge, Sophia, fine. Take it. But don’t hand yourself to men like him in the process. Because I promise you…”
He leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear, his words a blade.
“If Daniel Voss lays a hand on you, I’ll kill him.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. His words—so sharp, so absolute—hung in the air between us like a noose.
If Daniel Voss lays a hand on you, I’ll kill him.
The worst part wasn’t the threat. It was the conviction.
Adrian Blackwood wasn’t a man who made empty promises.
I should have been afraid. I should have recoiled. Instead, a traitorous shiver ran through me, heat pooling in places I refused to acknowledge.
No. I clenched my fists. I wouldn’t let him see the effect he had on me. That was his weapon—his presence, his power, his devastating ability to bend people to his will.
Not anymore.
“Do you hear yourself?” I hissed, shoving past him toward the desk at the center of the study. “You talk like you own me, Adrian. As if I’m something you can lock away when it pleases you.”
His gaze tracked me, unblinking, a predator watching prey pretend it wasn’t cornered. “And isn’t that exactly what you’re doing—pretending?”
I froze, the word slamming into me. Pretending.
He stepped closer, his voice low, dangerous. “You walked into that ballroom like a queen, Sophia. Cold, untouchable. But I saw you on that balcony. I felt the way you shook when I kissed you.”
My heart stuttered, traitorous. I forced a laugh. “Delusional. You mistake disgust for desire.”
But the smirk that touched his lips told me he didn’t believe a word. Worse, a part of me didn’t either.
I needed to flip the board before he read me completely.
So I leaned against the desk, crossing my legs, feigning nonchalance. “Tell me, Adrian… why does it matter? Why do you care who I talk to, who I smile at, who I let close?”
His eyes darkened, and for one glorious, dangerous second, I thought he might confess something real.
But a knock at the door shattered the moment.
Adrian’s jaw tightened. He strode across the room and yanked it open.
The scarred man stood there.
Up close, the harsh line of the scar seemed even more brutal, cutting diagonally across his jaw like a signature carved by violence. His gaze flicked from Adrian to me, unreadable, though I felt it like a blade pressed against my skin.
“Am I interrupting?” His voice was low, gravelly.
Adrian didn’t move. “What do you want, Cole?”
Cole. The name was as sharp as the scar.
“I thought we should talk.” His eyes lingered on me a fraction too long before returning to Adrian. “But I see you’re… occupied.”
The silence stretched, taut with something I couldn’t place. Rivalry? Partnership? Threat?
All I knew was that when Cole’s eyes slid back to me, a cold certainty settled in my stomach.
Adrian Blackwood might be dangerous. But this man?
This man was something else entirely.
The study was suddenly too small, the air thick with tension.
Adrian stood tall by the door, his presence sharp and unyielding, but Cole’s arrival shifted the balance. He didn’t need to raise his voice or posture; the weight of him filled the space.
He moved inside, uninvited, as though this was his home—not Adrian’s estate. The scar along his jaw caught the light, turning his otherwise handsome face into something lethal.
I straightened from the desk, instinctively smoothing my dress, refusing to let either man see me falter. “Should I leave?” I asked, my tone deliberately casual.
Cole’s gaze slid to me, cold and assessing, as though I were another line in a contract to be reviewed. “Not at all. In fact,” he said slowly, “I think this conversation concerns you more than anyone.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “Cole—”
But Cole only smirked. “Relax. I’m not here to poach what’s yours.”
The words struck like a slap. My pulse hammered. What’s yours. As if I were property to be traded between them.
Adrian’s jaw flexed. “She isn’t—” He stopped himself, biting off the rest, but the air crackled with the words he wouldn’t say.
Cole leaned against the desk, far too close for comfort, his voice lowering like a challenge. “Hart Couture. That was your father’s empire, wasn’t it?”
My breath caught.
He smiled faintly, but it wasn’t kind. “Tragic, how it collapsed overnight. Left nothing but scraps for men like me to pick up.”
The urge to slap him burned through me, but I forced my face into a mask of cool detachment. “And you’re here to what? Offer condolences?”
“On the contrary,” Cole said softly, tilting his head. “I’m here to offer opportunity.” His eyes sharpened. “You want your legacy back, don’t you?”
The room tilted, his words slicing through the fragile armor I wore. My legacy. My father’s company. The one thing Adrian had stolen with his merciless precision.
I swallowed, refusing to let the sudden ache show. “What are you suggesting?”
Before Cole could answer, Adrian’s voice cut like a blade. “She’s not interested.”
Cole chuckled, low and dark. “You don’t get to decide that, Blackwood. Not anymore.” His gaze flicked back to me, steady and unrelenting. “Think carefully, Sophia. You can chain yourself to the man who ruined your family… or you can step into a deal that puts you back on the throne.”
My heart pounded, torn between rage, temptation, and something far more dangerous: possibility.
Adrian moved suddenly, stepping between us, his broad shoulders blocking Cole’s view of me. His voice was ice. “Get out.”
Cole smirked, unbothered, and leaned close enough that Adrian’s knuckles whitened at his sides. “Tick-tock, Blackwood. The lady will have to choose eventually.”
He pushed off the desk, turned, and strode for the door. Just before leaving, he glanced back at me, his scar catching the light again.
“Careful, Sophia,” he said, his smile razor-sharp. “Sometimes the greater danger isn’t the man who destroyed you… but the man who offers to help you rebuild.”
The door shut behind him, the echo reverberating like a gunshot.
And in the silence, I realized one terrifying truth—
I wasn’t just a pawn in Adrian’s game anymore.
I was in Cole’s, too.
- Writer
