Chapter Three
A Whisper in the Dark
Damian did not speak as he guided me through Obsidian Noir, but his silence said everything.
The air in the club glowed with money, danger, and the sweet scent of secrets. People turned subtly as he passed, men nodding with reserved respect and women with thinly veiled interest. He did not acknowledge any of them.
Our booth was beneath a chandelier made of twisted black glass. Two bodyguards in plain suits stood at discreet angles nearby. This was more than just luxury. It was power, disguised as elegance.
I sat down, tucking my dress beneath my legs, and attempted to breathe evenly. Damian poured me a glass of expensive wine, which tasted smooth, aged, and sharp at the finish.
"I need you to listen carefully tonight," he said, his gaze fixed on the crowd rather than on me. "You will be observing the conversation. "Nothing more."
"Who am I observing?"
"A man named Cassian Durov. A Russian diplomat. Charming and dangerous. "A walking paradox."
I frowned. "So why are we meeting him at a nightclub instead of your office?"
"Because Cassian does not operate in daylight." Damian turned his full attention to me. "And because sometimes power only speaks freely when it is disguised."
Cassian arrived moments later.
Tall. Silver-haired. Perfectly dressed. He kissed both of my cheeks as if we were old friends, despite the fact that I would never seen him before.
"Damian," Cassian said in a thick accent, sitting across from us. "You have brought a new bird tonight."
"She is mine," Damian said quietly and definitively.
Cassian chuckled. "Of course." "They are all yours eventually."
I bristled but kept quiet.
Their conversation shifted to international permits, silent investors, and a project called Luxfire. I could not put it all together, but one thing was certain: this was not a business deal. It was a covert negotiation. Dangerous. Illegal?
Cassian then spoke in Russian, which I did not understand, but Damian's jaw tightened.
I jotted it down. Quietly. Cleanly.
Cassian noticed. "She takes notes?"
Damian gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. "She remembers everything."
"Dangerous," Cassian said, smirking. "I like her."
"She is not yours to like."
Damian's voice had a cold tone. A warning. Perhaps even a threat.
Cassian raised both hands. "As you wish, my friend."
And with that, the meeting was over. Cassian returned to the shadows, and Damian drained his glass in one swallow.
"Let us go," he said, already moving.
Outside, it was colder. He did not speak until we got halfway down the block.
"You handled it well."
"Thanks," I said, still trying to slow my heartbeat. "I memorized the majority of what he said. And I recorded that phrase in Russian—"
"You do not need to translate it," Damian interrupted. "I already understand what it means."
We walked silently again. His hands were in his coat pockets, and his jaw was rigid.
Then, quietly, he said, "He inquired whether you were for sale."
I paused walking.
Damian turned to face me. "That is why I ended it early."
My mouth became dry. "What would you have said if I were?"
He looked at me for a long time.
Then he stepped in too close.
Then he stepped in too close. Then he stepped in too closely. Not for power. "Not even as leverage."
"But I am not yours," I whispered, my heart racing.
He did not touch me. He did not need to.
"No," he replied. "But you will be. "One day.