The café was its usual midday purgatory. I took my usual table, back to the wall, ordered black coffee and a turkey club. Fuel, not pleasure.
I was on the last bite when the bell dinged.
Grace Timber walked in. Her eyes found me immediately, like a targeting system locking on.
She was dressed to kill—sleek black dress, punishing heels, hair a perfect, icy blonde. She smiled as she walked over, but it didn't reach her eyes. It was a prop. A blade with no edge.
"Look who I ran into," she said, her voice light, airy. The performance was flawless.
But DES painted the truth over her perfect face the moment she stopped at my table:
Target: Grace Timber.
Bio-metrics: Elevated cortisol, suppressed respiration. Heart rate +22 BPM above baseline.
Emotional State: Suppressed anger / High agitation.
Surface Behavior: Controlled smile, relaxed posture (simulated).
Note: Target is actively containing a volatile emotional response. Volatility threshold: High.
She didn't wait for an invitation. She pulled out the chair opposite me and sat, crossing her legs. Her eyes were no longer smiling, they were glaring.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
Her thoughts sliced into my head, sharp and frantic: {Did he really not see the text? It said 'read.' Wait. Is he… intentionally ignoring me?}
I took another slow sip of coffee, letting the bitterness coat my tongue before. I already knew what she was going to say—DES had painted her anger in cold, clinical detail seconds ago. I let the silence stretch, let her stew in it.
Then, my voice flat, I answered: "Should I be remembering something?"
Her jaw tightened. She picked up her phone, swiped twice, and turned the screen to face me. Her text from last night glowed between us.
Grace – 10:23 PM
So… did I pass the vibe check? 😏
DES flickered with tactical options:
Social Engagement: High-Stakes Confrontation.
Recommended Responses:
• Acknowledge & Deflect: "I was occupied. Your move was noted." (Maintains mystery, moderate de-escalation.)
• Direct Challenge: "You asked if you passed. If you had, you'd know." (Asserts dominance, high risk of escalation.)
• Dismissal: "Texts aren't priorities." (Undermines her value, may trigger walkout.)
Option two. Always option two.
"Ah," I said, my voice devoid of inflection. "That text. Yes, I saw it."
Her eyes widened. Not with surprise, with fury. The controlled mask cracked for a second. "So you're the ignoring type."
"You asked if you passed," I replied, setting my cup down with a soft click. "If you had, you'd know."
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, her eyes sharp with disdain. "Wow. You're playing games. You're not as clever as you think you are, Terrence.
"It's not a game," I said, holding her heated gaze. "It's a standard. You want a reply? Earn it. I don't reward nudges."
A flush bloomed across her chest. Her nostrils flared. She looked like she wanted to throw her coffee in my face.
Instead, she stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the floor. "You know what? Forget it. You're just another arrogant jerk in a cheap suit, trying to be something you're not."
As she turned to leave, DES flashed a new, urgent analysis across my vision—not a recommendation, but a profile update:
Target Re-Assessment: Grace Timber.
Behavioral Archetype: Competitive-Submissive confirmed.
Conflict response: Seeks authoritative shutdown. Volatility is a test of dominance.
Strategic Value: HIGH.
Target's social capital, intelligence, and psychological wiring make her an ideal long-term asset for influence expansion and network penetration.
Acquisition Priority: Elevated.
Note: Target's psychological profile confirms high strategic yield. Disengagement at this stage represents a net loss of potential influence.
High strategic Value? Grace Timber?
The word appeared in my vision, stark and simple. DES saw value I didn't fully understand yet.
The summary was technical, but the meaning was clear: Letting her walk is a mistake.
"Sit."
The word left my lips flat, calm. Not a request. A command.
She froze, half-turned away. Slowly, she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes blazing. "Excuse me?"
I didn't raise my voice. I didn't smile. I just held her gaze, my own utterly still. "I said sit."
A silent war erupted between our stares. Hers was fire—indignant, prideful, furious. Mine was ice—patient, unyielding, absolute.
Five seconds. Her glare wavered.
Seven seconds. Her shoulders lost their rigid set.
Ten seconds. Her eyes dropped first.
DES tagged the surrender in real time:
Compliance Event: Triggered.
Target bio-signature: BPM spiking (118), pupil dilation max.
Behavioral Indicator: Submissive predisposition activated. Resistance collapsed following direct, calm authority.
Note: Target lacks existing authoritative attachment. Receptivity to command structure: High.
The words burned in my vision, clinical and absolute.
Submissive predisposition.
For a half second, my mind just... stopped. Then I shut it down. Filed it away. My face didn't move.
She let out a sharp, frustrated breath, rolled her eyes with magnificent drama, and slumped back into the chair. "I'm only sitting because I'm starving," she muttered, crossing her arms.
But her thoughts betrayed her, a frantic, thrilled whisper in the wake of her own submission: {Shit. Okay. That voice. That tone. Keep it together, Grace. Do NOT let him see you fold.}
She had folded. She knew it.
And a part of her was excited by it.
---
We sat in a thick, charged silence. She broke it first, her voice sharp but the edge blunted. "I'm seated. Now what?"
She was still playing angry, but the heat had gone out of it. Now it was performance. She was waiting to see what I'd do with my win.
I didn't answer. I just looked at her. She probably thought I was admiring her, or getting lost in her eyes. I wasn't. I was running diagnostics, calculating. How much give was left.
Push now, and she might snap for real.
Let her go, and I'd waste the foothold.
Before I could decide, DES painted three options across my vision:
De-escalation Protocol – Target State: Compliant but Testing.
Recommended Actions:
• Option 1 – Command & Redirect: "Order your lunch. We're not here to fight." (Asserts control over the environment, shifts focus. Maintains dominance.)
• Option 2 – Apologize & Reframe: "My approach was blunt. I value directness." (Acknowledges friction, reasserts control through 'value' statement. Lowers hostility.)
• Option 3 – Dismiss & Observe: "Nothing. You can leave if you want." (High-risk power play. Could confirm submission or trigger final walkout.)
Option 2. Always Option 2.
Besides, an apology was the logical step. Not a real one, a strategic correction. The kind that sounds like a concession but is really just setting the hook deeper.
"Maybe I came on too strong," I said, my voice flat, not an ounce of regret in it. Just a fact. "I don't do hints. You asked a straight question. I gave you a straight answer."
Her eyes flickered. The angry mask slipped, just for a second. A tiny, smug smile played on her lips.
Her thought whispered, satisfied: {About time.}
"But," I cut in before that smile could settle, "if you want a real answer, you need to give me a real reason."
That wiped the smirk right off. "That's implying I want you," she shot back, but there was no heat left. Just habit.
I kept my face perfectly blank. "Then why are you still sitting here?"
Silence.
Total, utter silence.
She had nothing. No comeback. No clever thought.
I glanced at my watch. A manufactured move. "I've got to get back."
Her eyes widened slightly. {Wait, is he leaving? Now?}
I stood, dropping cash on the table for my half. I held her gaze as I straightened my jacket. "This was interesting, Grace," I said, my voice flat. "Don't make it tedious."
I turned and walked out. I didn't look back.
Outside, the midday sun was harsh, glaring. It fit.
The puzzle wasn't just coming together—it was solving itself. Yuri was loyalty, secured and nesting. Kelly was authority, soft and pliable. And now Grace… Grace was something else entirely. A high-value strategic asset. A key to a door I hadn't even seen yet.
She was a submissive without a master.
And she'd just handed me the leash.
The game wasn't just bending to my will anymore.
It was starting to beg for it.
---
To be continued...