The limousine glides through the city as if the road belongs to it by right. Tinted windows cut away reality, sealing me inside an expensive, silent aquarium. The leather seats smell of money and other people's decisions.
I'm sitting beside Kaiden Starkwell.
Across from us are two of his aides. Too calm. Too similar. The kind of men who don't ask questions because they already know the answers.
"Where are we going, Kaiden?" I ask, keeping my voice lightly curious—not… afraid.
"To a business meeting," he replies dryly.
He doesn't even look at me.
Of course. Everything is always business.
"And why did you take me with you?" I tilt my head slightly. Innocent. Almost flirtatious.
He finally turns his gaze on me. Cold. Appraising.
"Isabella," he says after a pause, "you're going to be my good-luck charm."
He says it declaratively, like signing a contract.
A charm.
A beautiful object. Not a person.
I smile.
Inside, anxiety tightens into a dense knot.
Why am I here?
Why these aides?
Why today?
We're heading into the business district. Glass. Steel. Money multiplied by ambition. In places like this, people are broken without a single raised voice.
A face-to-face?
A test?
A trap?
I'm in danger.
I take a deep breath.
Slowly let it out.
Easy. You know how to play.
I lean a little closer to Kaiden—casually. A thigh. A shoulder. Warmth. My body speaks before my mind does: I'm here. I belong.
He feels it. I see his shoulders loosen just slightly. His hand comes to rest over mine—not possessive, but… permissive. His fingers stroke my skin slowly.
As long as I'm not under suspicion, I note.
A high-rise office tower rises before us like a temple to capital. We step out. Kaiden walks ahead. I follow half a step behind. Always like this. Symbolic.
The lobby.
Marble.
Echoing footsteps.
The elevator.
Mirrors.
Reflections you can't trust.
The floor.
The doors open into a vast panoramic office. Tickers with market indices pulse in numbers like the heartbeat of the market. Brokers at their terminals speak in short, sharp bursts, like gunshots. This is where money is forged. And destinies. Sometimes at the same time.
Cool air.
Employees in light shirts.
They aren't cold. They're used to it.
We move on. An inner office.
The secretary opens the door.
The space is like a glass display case. Everything on show: a massive desk, leather chairs, a bar, huge monitors, a communications hub. Nothing is hidden here. Power is meant to be seen.
A man rises from behind the desk.
He smiles broadly. Too broadly. Spreads his arms as if greeting old friends and walks toward us.
"My dear Kaiden Starkwell!" he exclaims with theatrical delight. "Please, sit down, my friends."
Maxwell Driven.
The name is engraved on the plaque beside the door.
I lower myself into a chair. It receives me softly, almost intimately. And that's when I feel the gaze.
One of Kaiden's aides is looking at me without blinking. Not staring—scanning. Micro-movements. Reactions. Breathing. Pupils.
Calculating.
But I'm calm.
You won't catch me.
The second aide looks only at the owner of the office. He reads him like an open book—without turning the pages.
"Maxwell Driven," Kaiden says. "Do you have something to offer me?"
Straight to the point. No foreplay. Just the way he likes it.
"Of course, my dear Kaiden," Maxwell smiles even wider. "What would you like to drink?"
I lean forward slightly.
"Lemonade with ice, please," I ask softly. Almost domestic.
Everyone else declines.
Maxwell snaps his fingers. The secretary appears instantly, like part of the décor. The drink is prepared quickly. Ice clinks in the glass like a small warning.
He hands me the lemonade.
Our fingers almost touch.
I smile.
And in that moment I understand:
everyone in this room is playing their own game.
And no one has shown their cards yet.
**
"Let's get down to business," Kaiden presses, irritation clearly edging his voice.
I feel it on my skin. His tension jumps like static electricity. He hates being outplayed. And right now—that's exactly what's happening.
Maxwell doesn't rush. He savors the moment, slowly circling the desk as if arranging pieces on a chessboard.
"Your company, Kaiden—Hyperion Trust," he begins with pointed politeness, "is extremely interested in a deal with Quantec Innovations."
I take a sip of lemonade. The ice clinks. Too loud. Or maybe it just sounds that way to me.
"That's why you've been aggressively buying up Quantec Innovations shares on the market. Activity like that doesn't go unnoticed," Maxwell continues. "And as you can see, I also happen to hold…" a pause, deliberate, "…four million shares of that company."
Four million.
I don't look at Kaiden. But I feel him tense.
"Which I'm offering to you, my dear Kaiden."
Now I look.
Kaiden's jaw tightens. His face turns to stone. He shifts in his chair—barely perceptible, but I know the gesture. He's on the edge. One more second and he'll stand, lean across the desk, and smash Maxwell's face in.
Go on. Do it. I'd feel better.
But he exhales.
Control. Always control.
"So, Maxwell, you somehow learned about our confidential deal," he says coldly, "and bought up Quantec Innovations stock ahead of our purchase, driving the price up."
"Exactly right, Kaiden," Maxwell replies with a predatory smile. "You're quick on the uptake."
I feel the word espionage hanging in the air like a verdict.
"I could sue you for corporate espionage," Kaiden says quietly.
The silence in the room grows dense.
"That's your right," Maxwell shrugs. "Or you can buy my stake and carry out your project with Quantec Innovations. Your choice."
A knife game. Only instead of knives—billions.
"What's your price?" Kaiden asks.
"One hundred thirty-seven point six dollars per share."
I see Kaiden collapse into his chair—not physically, but inwardly. A clean hit.
"That's well above our target price. There'll be no profit."
"You're greedy, Kaiden," Maxwell counters calmly. "I did the work for you. Put together a ready-made block. And now you want me to work for free?"
I want to laugh. Or scream. Or kiss someone—anything to bleed off the tension.
"One thirty-three," Kaiden exhales.
Here we go.
"I'll concede a little," Maxwell inclines his head. "One thirty-six point five."
"One thirty-three," Kaiden snaps. "Not a cent more."
"We won't reach an agreement like that," Maxwell narrows his eyes. He's not smiling anymore. "Your project will collapse. And dumping our holdings will crash Quantec Innovations' stock—mutual losses."
I hold my breath.
"So be it," Kaiden says. "I'll do it just to punish you for espionage and greed."
He's bluffing.
Or is he?
"That's not good business," Maxwell says slowly. "Breaking each other's legs is a bad idea."
He looks like someone who actually could break them. And not just legs.
The pause stretches.
My blood pounds in my temples. This scene… excites me. Not physically—nervously. Power. Risk. Men ready to destroy each other over numbers on a screen.
"Fine, Kaiden," Maxwell finally says. "One thirty-five."
"One thirty-four," Kaiden fires back instantly.
Another second.
"Deal."
They stand and shake hands.
The world starts breathing again.
Kaiden's aides watch us closely—me and Maxwell—searching for a look, a gesture, a tremor. But I truly am seeing Maxwell for the first time. I'm clean. At least for now.
Though if they knew what was happening inside me…
"My people will finalize the paperwork, Maxwell," Kaiden says. "And don't cross my path again."
"I can't promise that, my dear Kaiden," Maxwell smiles. "The paths of entrepreneurs are inscrutable."
We leave.
The elevator.
The doors close.
Just us.
I press myself against Kaiden at once. Slowly. Deliberately. His body is still taut.
"You were magnificent," I murmur in a languid voice. "So masculine. So… firm in your decisions."
He looks at me. There's still a storm in his eyes.
The elevator descends.
I got lucky again today.
And I'm still in the game.
But how many moves do I have left?