Chapter 5: Games of Power

The sharp pin left a red line, but he didn’t make a sound. He just let me go, slow and deliberate, a faint smirk on his lips.

He stepped back, hands up, surrendering. Tension crackled in the humid air.

The clouds shifted, moonlight spilling over the patio.

Silver light washed over us, the shadows long and shifting. The world felt suspended, balanced between danger and something else.

A pair of deep, careless gray eyes met mine, curiosity flickering in their depths.

His gaze was steady, unblinking. There was a challenge there—and maybe a touch of respect.

His features were blurred by shadow, but his tall frame loomed, blocking my escape.

He was built like a college linebacker, broad and imposing. I held my ground, refusing to back down.

Not liking the feeling of being cornered, I stepped back, chin up, and turned to go.

My heels crunched on the gravel, my spine stiff. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me rattle.

Behind me, I heard a faint “tsk” and a low, amused laugh.

It echoed in the night, promising mischief. I picked up my pace, vowing not to let him get in my head.

I frowned, leaving that infuriating troublemaker behind.

Back in the private room, Mr. Whitmore announced Harrison would arrive soon.

The conversation had shifted to golf handicaps and Aspen ski trips, but everyone turned as the name dropped.

Almost as he finished, unhurried footsteps echoed outside, Harper’s voice going sugary-sweet: “Harrison!”

Her tone shot up an octave, full of hope. I watched her smooth her hair, checking her reflection in a Tiffany spoon.

Prompted by my father, I rose slowly, a gentle smile on my lips as I turned to greet the newcomer. “Harrison…”

I drew a breath, steeling myself. The whole room seemed to hold its breath with me.

The moment I saw his face, my words caught in my throat.

He stood in the doorway, backlit by golden light. His presence filled the space—commanding, magnetic, and utterly at ease.

Chiseled, striking features, close-cropped hair, a tailored Tom Ford suit, long legs, broad shoulders—a man built for both war and Wall Street.

He looked every inch the Army Ranger and CEO, confidence radiating from every pore. The room seemed to tilt toward him.

Eyes as sharp and deep as a hawk’s—both piercing and lazy.

They swept over me, pausing just long enough to make my pulse skip. I felt exposed, seen in a way that was thrilling and terrifying.