DRAVEN'S POV
We rounded up and left the office. I agreed, with a sigh, to Gordon's urging and suggested we go to The Apex, a club for the city's rich and powerful. Luxurious and only for people of great standard. My driver took us there. The music wasn't a low thrum like the other place; it was a deep, driving beat that seemed to vibrate in the air. The crowd was a blur of expensive clothes and sharp smiles, all of them here to play the same game. Gordon and I got a private booth, and he ordered us drinks. I was already enjoying myself. The real fun wasn't about the music or the drinks. It was about the energy, the game, the controlled chaos.
"You look like you're actually having fun," Gordon said, holding up his glass.
"I am," I replied, raising my own glass. "This is just another kind of negotiation. People are their true selves when they think they're having fun. It's a good way to read them."
Gordon laughed. "Only you, Draven. You come to a party and treat it like a business meeting."
"It is," I said. "Everyone here wants something from someone else. You just have to figure out what it is."
Just then, a beautiful woman with long, dark hair and a skimpy dress with ounces of flesh on display approached our booth. She was stunning, but with a hungry look in her eyes.
"Mr. Sterling," she said, her voice a practiced leverage. "Would you like a dance?"
"Only if it's a good one," I replied, a smile playing on my lips. "Show me what you've got."
I led her to a quiet room in the back, "Dirty Diana by Michael Jackson" was playing and she began a private performance. The transaction was swift and clear. I gave her what she wanted (money) and she gave me a service I expected. But as she moved with a perfect, practiced grace, my mind went back to Elena. The raw desperation in her eyes that night. The way she had danced for her dream, not for a paycheck. The professional was skilled, but Elena had been real. I paid her what she was owed, plus a generous tip for her "private handling," a taste of dissatisfaction lingering in my mouth.
I got back to the booth, and Gordon was waiting, a knowing look on his face.
"Did you have fun?"
"She was good," I said, taking a sip of my drink. "But she wasn't as good as she thought she was. She was too easy to read."
"Not as good as your almighty Elena, bet she gives you private dances at home. So, another conquest?"
"Gordon please, isn't that enough about Elena for a day," I said, though the attempt to dismiss her felt weak even to me. "Another transaction. Nothing more."
Gordon leaned closer, his voice dropping. "It sounds like it was more than nothing. You're rarely that clinical about a club girl. You're comparing her to your little housemaid, aren't you? Tell me, what is it about Elena that actually interests you? Is it the performance, or the fact she thinks she can fool Draven Sterling?"
I swirled the ice in my glass, watching the condensation bead on the exterior. "It's the hunger, Gordon. The unvarnished ambition. Most people here want a small piece of the pie. Elena wants the whole bakery, and she's willing to get her hands dirty. That's rare. And it's predictable."
"Predictable how?" Gordon challenged. "That she'll eventually ask you for too much?"
"No. Predictable in her willingness to submit to a greater power to achieve her ends," I clarified, my voice hard. "She knows I hold the keys to her empire. That makes her perfectly leverageable. Unlike these spoiled women who think a nice dress is currency, Elena knows the cost of failure. That level of desperation is a powerful tool."
Gordon shook his head. "You're a cynic, Draven. You'll manipulate her until she breaks, just because you can."
"I am the architect of my reality, Gordon," I replied, finishing my drink. "And she is an aspiring contractor. We both signed up for the work."
The night went on, with more women approaching, more drink. We were both drunk by the end of the night, but my mind was still clear. Gordon, on the other hand, was struggling. He was high on drugs, blowing ice the whole night and his words were slurred.
I pulled out my phone and called my driver.
"Gordon's had enough," I said. "Take him home. Then come back for me."
"Are you sure you don't want to go with him?" the driver asked.
"I'm sure," I said. "I have something to take care of."
After my driver left with Gordon, I went back into the club. Asides strip teases there are other things I enjoy doing for fun, "Board Games" and for me I am the king of board games. I played with different people the rest of the night, many wins, few losses. Isn't that what gaming's all about.
When my driver came back for me, I was ready. It was almost 2 AM. The city was still awake, but I was ready for home.
Elena's Pov
I heard the front door click shut downstairs. A wave of relief washed over me. It was well past midnight. I had been in my room for hours, trying to sleep, but my mind wouldn't let me. I knew he sometimes went out, but tonight, I felt a strange worry. I crept out of my room, padding softly down the hallway. I wanted to see if he was okay.
When I reached the top of the grand staircase, I saw him standing in the foyer. He hadn't turned on the lights yet. He was just a dark shape, taking off his jacket. A single lamp was on in the hall, casting a warm glow on his face. He looked tired, but in control. Just then, he looked up and saw me. My heart jumped in my chest. He frowned, his eyes narrowing.
"What are you doing up?" His voice was a low rumble, filled with a cold edge I'd heard many times.
"I... I was just getting a glass of water, sir," I lied, my voice a whisper. "I saw the light go on. I just... wanted to make sure everything was okay."
His frown deepened. "My well-being is not your concern, Elena. My orders are that your day ends at 9 PM. Your shift ends in the Evening, not in the middle of the night."
The scolding stung. I bit my lip, feeling the shame burn my cheeks. "I'm sorry, sir. I just..."
He cut me off. "Don't be sorry. Be obedient. Go back to your room."
His words were a punch to the gut, reminding me of my place. Just a maid. I felt a tear well up. The weight of the last two months, the endless cleaning, the silence, and the loneliness, pressed down on me. I had to remind myself that this humiliation was temporary.
But then, his voice softened, just a little, the cold edge retreating fractionally.
"We have something very important to talk about in the morning. Be ready. It's a Saturday, and I expect you to be punctual at 8AM."
I felt a rush of hope, so strong it took my breath away. My stomach filled with butterflies. My heart, which had been in my throat a second ago, now soared. An important talk. He wouldn't risk being late for a business meeting on a Saturday unless it was serious.
"Yes, sir," I managed, my voice soft with a sudden, new hope and happiness.
I hurried back to my room, a wide smile spreading across my face. He had seen me. He hadn't just noticed the maid; he'd remembered the woman who offered to be a slave for her dream. He had tested my patience, my discipline, and my reliability for two months, and I had passed.
This is it, I thought, pulling the covers up. He's going to propose a business deal. Studio space. Funding. Connections. He was going to give me my chance. Finally. The stage, the brand, the CEO title. The stage, the brand, the empire. It was all about to begin. I can't wait! I would show him that his investment was the best he had ever made. I would work harder than anyone, even if it meant sacrificing every inch of myself.