He leaned forward. I flinched, pulling away, my chair scraping against the concrete floor. He didn't just hold out the napkin. He reached across the table, and his thumb, warm and calloused, brushed against my chin.
I went completely still. My breath hitched. His touch wasn't rough, but it wasn't gentle either. He wiped the smear of melon juice from my skin with a slow, deliberate stroke. Then he brought his thumb to his own mouth and licked the juice away.
My stomach turned.
I looked down at my plate, my appetite gone. The food, which had tasted so good moments before, now looked like ash in my mouth.
He stood up, taking his empty coffee cup with him. "Finish your food," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Then meet me in the study. There are things we need to discuss."
He walked back towards the kitchen, disappearing from view. The silence rushed back in, but it was heavier now.. I was alone, but the feeling of his thumb on my skin remained,
I forced myself to take another bite of eggs. I chewed mechanically, my throat working to swallow. I had to eat. I had to keep my strength. I was going to need it. I ate the rest of the food in silence, my mind racing. The study. What happened in a study? What did he want to discuss?
When I was done, I placed my fork and knife neatly together. I stood up on shaky legs and walked towards the hallway he had indicated earlier. The door to the study was a dark, heavy wood, slightly ajar. I pushed it open and stepped inside.
It was a man's room. Dark wood paneling, a massive mahogany desk, and walls lined with books. But they weren't just books. They were ledgers, old-looking ones with spines of black leather. And in between them were objects. A jade dagger. A small, antique pistol. A silver letter opener shaped like a stiletto. It was a collection of beautiful, deadly things.
He was standing by the window, looking out at the city. He turned as I entered. "Close the door," he said.
I did, the soft click of the latch sounding loud in the quiet room.
"Daniel was grooming you," he said, without preamble. His voice was flat. "He was preparing you for a task. A specific role."
I just stood there, my hands clasped in front of me. I didn't know what to say.
He walked to his desk and picked up a thin tablet. He swiped it on, and a picture appeared on the screen. It was a man. Young, maybe my age, with a sharp, handsome face and cruel eyes. He was at a party, a glass of champagne in his hand, a predatory smile on his lips.
"This is Cassian Montclair," Damien said, his voice like ice. "Heir to the Montclair family. Daniel's plan was to use you to get close to him. To seduce him. To get information."
He looked up from the tablet, his grey eyes locking on mine. "Daniel is gone. But the plan is still… viable."
He walked around the desk and stopped in front of me. He was so close I could see the fine lines around his eyes, the way his dark hair curled slightly at his collar.
"You will do what Daniel trained you for," he said, his voice a low, possessive murmur. "You will get close to Cassian Montclair. You will make him fall in love with you. And you will give me everything he has."
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers cold against my skin. "You are my weapon now, Chloe. And it's time for you to learn how to fire."
He stepped back and swiped the tablet again. A new image appeared. It was a security feed, a black and white view of a hotel bar. A woman was sitting alone, sipping a martini. She was beautiful, with sharp cheekbones and dark hair slicked back into a severe knot.
"Her name is Anika Petrov," Damien said. "Wife of a Russian oligarch. She's in town for a charity auction. Her husband is a target. We need access to his private server."
He turned to me, his eyes unreadable. "Daniel's methods were crude. He would have had you fuck the man for a password. That's messy. Inefficient." He walked back to his desk and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest. "We're going to do something different. You're going to become her friend."
He gestured to the screen. "You will approach her. You will have a 'chance' meeting. You'll bond over art, or charity, or some other vapid bullshit rich women care about. You will make her trust you. You will be her confidant."
He looked at me, a challenge in his gaze. "And then, you will betray her."
I stared at him, my mind reeling. This was the training? This was the plan? To befriend a woman, to gain her trust, only to destroy her life? It was colder, more calculated than anything Daniel had planned.
"I can't," I whispered, the words out before I could stop them.
His expression didn't change. "You can," he said, his voice flat. "And you will. Or I will make what happened to Daniel look like a mercy killing. I will take everyone you have ever cared about, everyone you have ever even spoken to, and I will peel the skin from their bodies while you watch."
The threat was so absolute and so devoid of emotion, He wasn't angry. He was just stating a fact.
He pushed off the desk and walked towards me again. "Your first lesson starts now," he said, his voice a low murmur. "We're going to practice."
He stood in front of me, so close I could feel the heat from his body. "You're going to tell me why you're scared. Not the big things. The small ones. The ones you hide from yourself."
I just stared at him, my throat tight.
"Go on," he prompted. "Is it the way my voice sounds? The way I look at you? The fact that you're attracted to me, and it disgusts you?"
My breath hitched. A hot, sick feeling washed over me. Was I? Was that what this was? The thought was a violation, a deeper one than anything Daniel had done.
"See?" he said, a flicker of triumph in his grey eyes. "You don't even know your own mind. That's your first weakness. We'll fix it."
He reached out, his hand going to my face again. I flinched, but I didn't pull away. I was frozen, trapped by his words and my own horrifying self-awareness.
His fingers traced my jawline, a slow, possessive touch. "You will learn to read everyone, Chloe. Most importantly, you will learn to read yourself. You will know what they want before they do. You will know what you feel, and you will use it. Or it will be used against you."
He leaned in closer, his lips just inches from mine. I could feel his breath, warm and minty. My heart was hammering against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. I didn't know if I wanted him to kiss me or if I wanted to bite his tongue off. The conflict was a war inside me.
And that's when the study door opened without a knock.
A woman walked in. She was tall and slender, with a cascade of silver-blonde hair and a body poured into a simple, black sheath dress. She was older than me, maybe closer to Damien's age. And she was stunning. She took one look at me, at Damien's hand on my face, at the inches between our mouths, and her eyes, a cool, arctic blue, turned to chips of ice.
"Damien," she said, her voice a low, purring contralto that held a note of steel. "I see you've started without me."
He didn't turn. He didn't move his hand from my face. He just kept his eyes locked on mine, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips.
"Seraphina," he said, his voice a low, intimate murmur that was clearly meant for me to hear. "You're late."