Celeste sat in the back of Damien's car, the city lights sliding past like streaks of gold and steel. She wasn't looking at him — not directly — but she could feel his presence, the way the air seemed to bend around him.
She'd spent the night replaying every word, every glance, every moment since they'd met. And somewhere between fear and fury, a new thought had taken root:
If she couldn't escape Damien Voss… she'd outmaneuver him.
When the car stopped outside the penthouse, she stepped out first. Damien followed, his gaze sharp, assessing.
"You're quiet," he said.
"I'm thinking," she replied.
"About what?"
She turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "About how to survive you."
A flicker of something — amusement? respect? — crossed his face.
Inside, she moved through the penthouse like she belonged there. She poured herself a drink, sat in his chair, and opened the ledger he'd left on the desk. This time, she didn't flinch at the sight of her name.
"You keep records on everyone," she said. "That means you have enemies. And enemies can be… useful."
Damien leaned against the doorway, watching her like a predator deciding whether to pounce. "Careful, Celeste. You're stepping into a game you don't understand."
She met his gaze, steady. "Then teach me the rules. Or I'll learn them from someone else."
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then Damien smiled — slow, dangerous.
"Welcome to the table."
Celeste smiled back, but inside, she was already making her first move.