● Nicholas ●
I stared at myself in the mirror. I was back in a suit again. A black suit and a black designer shirt. I'd had to buy a dozen of them, and I still hated every single one. I skipped the tie. It felt like a noose anyway.
Once I was ready, I stepped out of the penthouse.
The elevator ride down was interrupted by two drunk girls who had clearly spent the night at the rooftop party. They were giggling, whispering far too loudly, not even trying to hide the way their eyes crawled over me. One of them murmured something about how hot I looked. The other laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.
I didn't give them the attention they were desperate for.
When the doors opened, I stepped out and adjusted the Rolex on my wrist as I headed toward the parking area. Leon was already waiting in the car, playing the role of my chauffeur like always.
"What a gentleman," he said, eyeing me through the rearview mirror before letting out a laugh. "You look like someone who hadn't been laid in days though."
I shot him a glare, but Leon couldn't care less.
Before the car pulled away, he handed me a small velvet case. Inside was a new pair of earpieces, sleek silver studs disguised as earrings. I took them without a word and replaced the ones I was wearing.
"Who's this Jack guy we're burying?" Leon asked as he pulled into traffic.
"He was a former legal adviser to Senator Lincoln. He died of cancer," I responded.
I hadn't known the man personally, but he'd done more than enough business with my father to make his name familiar. I also happened to know a few of his close relatives, which worked in our favor because when I ran into Jonathan there, it would seem coincidental.
We were among the first to arrive at Jack Russell's home. The place was already heavy with grief, quiet conversations hanging in the air as family members gathered, waiting for the body to be brought in from the mortuary.
I stepped inside and approached his wife first. She looked genuinely broken. If I wasn't wrong, they had been married for over three decades. I offered my condolences, kept my tone respectful. Then I did the same with his two sons. Both of them looked hollowed out, trying too hard to hold it together.
After that, I faded into the background with the rest of the guests, my eyes scanning the room.
Almost immediately after the burial, people began scattering into small groups, murmuring condolences and catching up. I moved among them, exchanging polite words, until I finally found myself standing near Jonathan Blake.
"Losing a loved one can be really painful," I said, my gaze drifting toward Mrs. Russell as she broke down, her son hovering close to console her.
"It is," he agreed, not turning to look at me. "Are you relatives?" His eyes flicked toward me, sharp, calculating.
"No, more like family friends," I replied. "Jack worked with my father for years, so I had to come since he couldn't make it. Did you come alone?" I tossed the question lightly, and I saw the flicker—just for a moment—that my words had struck something in him.
Even as I tried to be in his good books, I couldn't help the small thrill of getting under his skin. He thought that I had something for his wife, which was wrong, because it was his daughter that I was actually interested in.
His eyes tightened just slightly, but he didn't dwell. "My family couldn't make it," he said, his tone clipped.
The ceremony had been over for half an hour now, and only a few guests remained lingering near the grave. I checked my watch and, feeling the need to make my exit, I said, "I should head back now."
"Nicholas," he called, and I stopped, turning fully toward him, curiosity dancing in my chest.
"It's been a while since I last heard of your father. How is he doing?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly, measuring me.
"He's doing amazing," I replied smoothly, keeping my tone light but confident. "He just decided to retire and let me and my cousin take over in looking after his fortune."
The reaction that crossed his face was exactly what I wanted. He needed someone to endorse him for these campaigns, and I'd give that—on my terms. I wouldn't use my father's money, not directly. Our organization had enough resources from lawbreakers to catch the big fish like him, and maybe even teach him a lesson or two.
"You must have a lot on your plate," he said, then added with a subtle edge, "Have you ever thought of getting into politics?"
"Yes, I have," I answered. His expression shifted—interest, curiosity, maybe a hint of surprise—and I knew I'd got him hooked. I continued, letting my words land exactly where I wanted them to. "It's always been a dream of mine, but I barely know where to start."
"I was like you when I started," he said, his voice low but filled with pride, a small laugh escaping him. "But look at me now. You should probably start as early as now. You're young, and this generation prefers younger people to represent them."
"I would, but I think I'd need to fall under someone's wing first, so people could actually get to know me properly," I said, careful to keep my tone casual but precise.
He cocked a brow, letting the words sink in, weighing them. I caught that moment—the fraction of calculation in his gaze—and I knew he was thinking of the possibilities, completely unaware that while he assumed this was about politics.
And while I wanted this conversation to continue, another man joined us. Some congressman, I assumed, and I immediately hated that he was interrupting a conversation that had been going so well.
"Jonathan," he called casually, a smile plastered across his face as he extended his hand. Jonathan shook it firmly, and I did the same, keeping my smile polite but neutral.
"I did not know you would come," he said to Jonathan.
"Why wouldn't I?" Jonathan replied evenly. "Jack was not just a political friend—he was more like family."
I watched them exchange pleasantries, making light conversation, and I felt my patience thinning. The slow, meaningless chatter was grating. I began to excuse myself, deciding there was no point lingering where nothing productive was happening.
Jonathan called after me just as I took a step back. "Do you still have my number?"
I nodded without hesitation.
"Then you should call me up, and we can have a meeting. A weekend would do, my week's going to be packed."
"Sure," I answered seriously, letting my words land firmly. Then I slipped away. At least I'd tugged another string. Soon, he'd trust me completely, unaware of how far I was willing to go to get what I wanted.