POV: Jasmine
The boardroom doors weren't open yet, but the corridor outside already buzzed with low conversations and the faint clink of champagne glasses. Investors clustered in knots… men in tailored suits, voices rough with cigars and entitlement. My heels tapped a steady rhythm against the marble floor, each click deliberate, my folder tucked under my arm like a blade I had no intention of yielding.
Heads turned as I entered. Not in admiration… no. The looks were curious, dismissive, amused. Too young. Too female. Too inconvenient.
Perfect.
"Miss Duvall."
The heavy voice dripped with condescension.
I turned. Mr. Hawthorne… silver hair, silver tongue, his smirk polished sharp as his tie… stepped forward.
"You're early." he said, as if it were a crime. "Eager to watch the show?"
"The show?" I lifted a brow.
"KnightCorp's presentation." he clarified. "Ares Knight has the floor today. These meetings… they're not exactly sightseeing material."
The hyenas at his back chuckled. I smiled, slow, razor-edged.
"Sightseeing," I repeated. "Interesting word. I assumed we were here to safeguard millions in assets. But if you want to call that sightseeing…" I tilted my head. "Maybe you should've stayed home and watched a documentary."
The laughter died in their throats. Hawthorne's smirk stiffened.
"Careful," he said smoothly. "These meetings are about more than numbers. They're about strategy. Relationships. Strength. A girl your age might find it… overwhelming."
I stepped closer, close enough for my voice to slide between his ribs.
"Numbers," I said softly, "keep empires standing… or bury them. And strategy? That's knowing when to let a man talk… and when to make sure he regrets it. Shall I prove it in there?"
Silence. His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing warning. I walked away, my heels clicking like gunfire down marble.
From the corner of my vision, I caught the flicker of whispers, the doubt sliding into their eyes. A sliver of respect too. Exactly what I wanted.
Then Crawford stepped forward… lean, snake-like, a smile too polished to trust. "You've got bite," he murmured. "But take some advice. Ares Knight doesn't forgive being shown up. He doesn't forget, either."
I met his gaze, cool, unblinking. "Then let's hope he learns to forget quickly. Because I don't plan on being silent."
His smile sharpened. "Arrogance is cute, Miss Duvall. But in there, it's suicide."
I walked past him without answering. Words meant nothing. Results would.
At the doors, my pulse was steady, folder unyielding in my grip. Investors shuffled in, still whispering. Some looked at me with suspicion, others with interest. Let them. Their scrutiny was fuel.
If they thought I was a spectator, they were about to choke on their mistake.
The boardroom gleamed like a stage… glass walls, steel lines, a mahogany table stretching forever. The hum of men who thought they'd run this meeting unchallenged filled the air. I slid into my seat, folder in hand. This was my battlefield: underestimated, doubted, and ready to cut.
The doors opened.
Ares Knight walked in.
The air shifted. Power lived in the way he moved… dark suit, storm-gray eyes scanning the room like he already owned it. For a split second, his gaze locked on me. He froze. Subtle, but real. Recognition flickered. Gone almost before it registered.
But I caught it. And I smiled inwardly.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice silk edged with steel. "Let's begin."
I folded my hands, holding his stare when it lingered. He wanted me to blink. I didn't.
He launched into his presentation. Charts, projections, margins. His words pulled the room into his orbit, commanding, flawless. Investors leaned forward, nodding like pupils at their master's feet.
But I wasn't here to nod.
I waited. Listening for the crack. The slip.
And then it came.
"... KnightCorp's profit margins in the last fiscal quarter rose by…"
"Ten percent." I cut in, my voice slicing clean across the silence.
Heads snapped toward me. Perfect.
Ares' eyes sharpened, irritation flashing beneath calm. "Excuse me?"
"You said margins rose," I said evenly, sliding a sheet from my folder for the nearest investor to see. "what you didn't mention is the subsidiaries in South Asia. Factoring those losses, it's closer to four percent."
The ripple was instant. Murmurs. Pens scratching. Eyes darting between us.
Ares' jaw flexed, but his smile held. "You've done your homework."
"I prefer accuracy to illusions."
Our eyes locked. The air between us coiled tight, heavy as a drawn bowstring. His stare carried weight, enough to crush lesser wills. But I didn't break.
"Be careful, Miss Duvall," he murmured. "Challenging numbers is one thing. Challenging me is another."
I let a slow smile cut across my lips. "Then let's hope the two overlap often."
The tension was alive, vibrating. Investors held their breath.
Ares straightened, talking as smooth as ever. "Miss Duvall is correct," he conceded. His fingers tapped once against the table, steady. "Including those subsidiaries, margins narrow. But those branches have been liquidated. This quarter's rebound will surpass four percent."
It almost smoothed the sting. Almost. But I caught the scribbling pens. The eyes on me instead of him. The crack had widened.
And I pressed it.
"Projected rebounds mean little without a risk buffer. Unless KnightCorp enjoys gambling with investor trust?"
Gasps.
His smile turned ice. "Careful. That almost sounds like an accusation."
"Almost."
The silence stretched. Hawthorne, of all people, cleared his throat. "Perhaps Miss Duvall has a point…"
Ares shut him down with a look. Hawthorne shrank.
I leaned back, satisfied. The tide was shifting.
When recess came, the room splintered into whispers, recalculations, glances in my direction that hadn't existed before.
I gathered my papers slowly, savoring the storm I'd lit. But before I rose, a shadow fell. His hand… on my folder.
Ares.
His grip was controlled, deliberate. His voice low, for me alone. "You're playing a dangerous game."
I tilted my head, pulse steady despite the static in my veins. "Funny. I thought it was chess."
His grip tightened. A flicker… frustration? Interest?... broke through his mask. Then he released, leaning back, unreadable.
"Enjoy your moment," he said. "It won't last."
But I heard it… the edge in his voice. The smallest crack.
I'd drawn blood.
The break ended too soon. Investors returned, but the room had shifted. Reverence for Ares cracked, eyes tilting toward me. They wanted blood.
And I was ready.
Crawford struck first. "Perhaps Miss Duvall can clarify risk mitigation?"
"With pleasure." My smile was polite, my words sharp. "Duvall Holdings doesn't gamble. Every expansion is paired with a reserve fund to absorb volatility."
Nods. Scribbles. Ares' eyes narrowed.
"Admirable," he said smoothly, "but capital should work, not sit idle. Momentum, not fear, builds empires."
"Momentum without brakes," I countered, "is just velocity. And velocity without control?" I paused. "A crash."
A chuckle escaped one investor. Another scribbled harder.
Ares' jaw flexed. "Fear-driven models don't build empires."
"And arrogance-driven ones don't keep them standing."
The clash crackled through the air. Neither of us yielding.
Then Mrs. Caldwell, sharp-eyed, spoke. "Are you suggesting KnightCorp is reckless?"
The trap.
"No," I said smoothly. "Bold. Recklessness implies ignorance. KnightCorp knows the risks. They just gamble shareholders will absorb the losses."
Gasps. Murmurs. Pens flew.
Ares' head turned, his eyes storm-fire. "Careful."
I leaned forward. "I don't do careful. I do truth."
The silence was electric. Investors weren't even pretending anymore. They were watching. Fascinated.
"You're very confident for someone new." he said finally.
"And you're very defensive for someone secure."
The room broke… chuckles, murmurs, even applause. In a boardroom. Applause.
I'd pulled them into my orbit.
For the first time, Ares leaned back. Silent. Assessing.
And I knew: I had stopped being an annoyance.
I became a threat.
When the meeting adjourned, chatter exploded. My name threaded louder than his. KnightCorp's golden boy had been made to bleed, and they all saw it.
I rose, calm, every step toward the door measured. His presence followed me, heat at my back.
"Miss Duvall."
His voice cut the room. Sharp enough to silence it.
I turned slowly.
He stood at the head of the table, carved by light and shadow. His gaze pinned me.
In three strides, he was in front of me, too close, the room dissolving around us.
"You've made yourself very clear. he murmured. "Do you understand the cost of clarity?"
My pulse flickered, but I tilted my chin. "Truth always has a cost. I'm willing to pay it."
His silence pressed heavy. Then his lips curved… something sharper than a smile.
"Careful," he said, voice brushing my skin like heat. "You're playing with fire."
I let a small smile curl. "Maybe I like the burn."
For a moment, it was just us, locked in a standoff. His jaw tightened. His eyes burned.
Then he leaned in, voice low enough to sear only me. "Enjoy your victories. They won't last. And when the fire catches you…" his gaze swept my face, sharp, searching. "... don't say I didn't warn you."
My heart pounded, but my voice stayed steady. "If you think warnings scare me, Mr. Knight… you don't know me at all."
Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement. Irritation. Interest. Gone before I could name it.
He straightened, retreating like a tide, pulling investors back into orbit as if nothing happened.
But I knew better.
He had seen me now. Not a nuisance.
But a threat.
And threats in Ares Knight's world were never ignored.
As I stepped out of the boardroom, my grip on the folder tightened.
The game had only just begun.