CheckMate: Billionaire's Unfinished Game

The restaurant was dimly lit, steeped in the rich aromas of expensive wine and gourmet dishes that clung to the air like the scent of flowers in a high-end garden. It was a place of prestige, a sanctuary for the people deemed of higher standards. Located on the top floor of a skyscraper, the establishment boasted breathtaking views of the city skyline through massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The ambiance was an elegant blend of modern sophistication and timeless luxury—warm lighting casting a soft golden hue over deep mahogany floors. Crystal golden chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, their delicate sharp designs reflecting the glow of flickering candlelight. Tables draped in crisp white linen were each adorned with a small arrangement of rare flowers in sleek glass vases, with fancy candles adding a subtle yet refined touch. Plush velvet chairs in deep emerald surrounded each table, their luxurious texture further enhancing the exclusivity of the place. Soft classical music drifted through the air, mingling with the scent of jasmine and vanilla that lingered just beneath the savory richness of the cuisine. The wait staff moved with impeccable grace, dressed in tailored uniforms—men in black suits with gold ties, women in sleek black dresses with a delicate gold pin at the collar. Black and gold, classic. Callum Vale barely glanced at any of it. Seated near the window, he idly flipped through the gold-embossed menu, his expression unreadable. Across from him, Ronan leaned back in his chair, smirking as he watched Callum feign disinterest. “You seem impressed, though you’re trying not to show it,” Ronan mused. Callum let out a soft grunt, barely lifting his gaze. “It’s fine.” “Fine?” Ronan scoffed. “This is one of the best restaurants in the city.” “I’ve been to better,” Callum replied, setting the menu down. “But I suppose this will do.” Ronan shook his head with a chuckle. “Nothing impresses you, does it?” “You wouldn’t stop going on about how good the damn steak here was, so I figured I’d try it for myself.” “Well,” Ronan said, flipping open his own menu, “I guess we’ll see if it lives up to the hype.” The conversation was cut short when a waitress approached their table. Ava adjusted her apron and shifted her weight to one side, popping her gum absentmindedly. She wasn’t exactly the ideal picture of fine dining etiquette, but as far as she was concerned, as long as she did her job, no one should care. Then they walked in. Two men, dressed in sharp suits that screamed old money and expensive cologne. One of them—the quieter, brooding one—stood out. Not because he was loud or obnoxious, but because he didn’t need to be. Tall. Sharp-jawed. Cold. The kind of guy whose presence made a room feel smaller. She had a vague sense that she had seen him before, but wealthy men like him came here all the time. Maybe he was some CEO, or an actor from a show she hadn’t watched. Either way, he wasn’t her problem. Just another customer. Straightening, she strolled over to their table, flipping open her notepad. “Evening, gentlemen,” she said, voice casual. “What can I get started for you?” Callum lifted his gaze. His eyes flickered from her face to the gum in her mouth, and his lips twitched slightly. “You’re awfully comfortable here,” he observed, his voice smooth but edged with something really close to being unimpressed. Ava raised a brow. “Should I not be?” Like I work here? Hello?? Ronan snickered under his breath. Callum, however, continued studying her like she was some sort of anomaly. “No offense,” he said coolly, “but I don’t usually see the staff chewing gum like they’re taste-testing the food themselves.” Ava popped a bubble, leveling him with an easy smirk—even as something about his tone made her spine stiffen. Relax, she told herself. He’s just another rich prick. “Just making sure my taste buds are working before I try the overpriced air on this menu,” she shot back. Ronan outright laughed at that. Callum, however, simply tilted his head, his unamusement laced with irritation. “Noted.” His tone was clipped. “I’ll have the steak—medium rare. No mushrooms. I’m allergic.” Ava jotted it down. “Got it. Anything else?” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “A glass of Château Margaux.” She gave him a mockingly impressed look. “Fancy. And for you?” She turned to Ronan. Ronan grinned. “I’ll take the same steak, but make mine medium-well. Oh, and I’d love some of those mushrooms he can’t have.” Callum shot him an unimpressed glance. “Noted,” Ava said, scribbling. “One high-maintenance meal, coming right up.” Callum exhaled but said nothing. Ava turned and walked away, unaware she had just set the first dice rolling. When she returned, she placed the plate in front of Callum with a confident smile. “There you go. One overpriced steak.” Silence. His gaze flicked from her face to the plate. Then his jaw tensed. “Tell me,” he said, voice calm but sharp, “does this look like ‘no mushrooms’ to you?” Ava’s stomach dropped. Oh, s**t. She followed his stare and saw it. A few small mushrooms nestled against the steak. Before she could stammer out an apology, he sighed, pushing the plate away. “You had one job.” Ava bristled. “Okay, first of all, I've had multiple jobs. And second, I can fix this—” “Don’t bother.” He leaned back, fingers drumming against the table. “Just get me the wine at this point. In case you forgot.” Wine. That she could do. She hurried off, relieved to escape his glare. But as fate would have it, she was cursed that night. Because the moment she set the glasses down, her hand wobbled—just enough for the dark liquid to spill over the rim and splash onto his crisp cream shirt. For a second, there was only stunned silence. Then— “You have got to be kidding me!” Ava’s stomach twisted. “Oh, crap. Hold on—” She lunged for a napkin, but he was already stepping back, his face unreadable but his eyes burning with something that made her feel about two inches tall. Ronan snickered. “Well, at least she’s consistent.” Callum’s lips pressed into a tight line. “Apparently. Talk about best restaurant in the city,” he scoffed. Ava bit her lip. “I—” He didn’t let her finish. Instead, he pulled out his phone, thumbed out a message, and stood up. “We’re leaving, Ronan.” Ronan sighed, amused rather than disappointed. “Really? We didn’t even try the steak.” “I’d rather eat a meal prepared by the maids back at home than be insulted by an incompetent waitress.” Ava watched, speechless, as they walked out. Callum didn’t storm out. He moved slowly, deliberately, like someone who never had to rush for anyone. Just as he reached the exit and without looking away from his phone screen—he turned just slightly toward her. Their eyes met. His stare wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even annoyed. It was the cool, collected look of a man who had just decided her fate. She could’ve sworn she saw him give a small grin, but that sent a thousand shivers down her spine and left her spooked. And worried. Ava swallowed. A moment later, he walked out. She didn't have to wait long, not even till the end of her shift. A complaint. And by the time she hung up her apron that night, tired and dejected, she wasn’t even a waitress anymore.