The rain had been falling all night, turning the city into a blur of silver and shadow. From the penthouse window, Celeste watched the streets below, her reflection ghosting over the glass. She could see Damien behind her in the faint shimmer — pacing, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and clipped in that language he only used when things were about to turn violent.
She ended her own call before he noticed. One message sent. One seed planted. The kind that would grow in silence until it was too late to uproot.
When he hung up, she was already at the bar, pouring two glasses of whiskey. The amber liquid caught the light like molten gold.
"To survival," she said, handing him one.
Damien's eyes narrowed slightly as he took the glass. "You're in a good mood."
"I'm in a decisive mood."
He sipped, watching her over the rim. "What did you do?"
She smiled faintly. "I made a friend."
The knock came seconds later — sharp, deliberate, like the sound of a gavel striking wood. Damien's men moved instantly, hands hovering near their jackets, but Celeste already knew who it was.
The door opened to reveal a man who looked like he'd been carved from the same stone as the city itself — tall, impeccably dressed, with a scar slicing clean across his jaw. His eyes swept the room, landing on Celeste first, then Damien.
"Voss," he said, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "We need to talk. Alone."
Damien didn't move. "You don't walk into my home uninvited."
The man's smile was cold. "I wasn't invited. I was sent."
The words hung in the air like smoke. Celeste leaned back against the bar, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable. She didn't need to say it — Damien already knew this was her doing.
"You've been busy," he said finally, his voice low, dangerous.
"I told you," She replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I'm learning the rules."
The man with the scar stepped further inside, ignoring Damien's men. "She's sharper than you give her credit for," he said, almost amused. "And she's not afraid of you."
Damien's jaw tightened, but his eyes never left Celeste. "Fear isn't the point."
"No," she said softly, "but control is."
For the first time since she'd met him, Damien looked… unsettled. Not much — just a flicker, a shadow crossing his expression — but she saw it. And she knew he hated that she'd seen it.
The man with the scar glanced between them, sensing the shift. "I'll give you two a moment," he said, stepping back toward the door. "But Voss… you might want to decide if she's an asset or a liability before someone else does."
When the door closed, the silence was heavier than before.
Damien set his glass down with deliberate care. "You think you've made a move, Celeste. But you've just put yourself on the board in a game where the pieces get broken."
She stepped closer, her voice low but steady. "Then you'd better hope I'm not the one who breaks you first."
And in that moment, she wasn't sure which of them believed it more.