The curtain at the window flapped weakly, a tear at the hem snapping with each push of the sour night air. The room stank, old sweat, mold, and something worse, but Eris didn't even flinch.
She sat cross-legged on the cracked floor, the bones of her knees poking sharp against the threadbare pajamas.
In her lap, she clutched a battered doll, its fabric stained the same dull grey as the floor beneath it. One arm hung by a thread; there was a rip in the neck that looked one tug away from snapping the whole thing apart.
Didn't matter. It was still the best goddamn doll in the world.
Eris bent her head low, whispering secrets into the doll's frayed ear. Tiny victories only she would ever care about, finding a crust of bread behind the sink, a lonely coin wedged deep between the mattress springs. Things that shouldn't mean anything. Things that meant everything.
…BANG.
The front door slammed open so hard it cracked against the wall, the doorknob rattling like it was ready to rip free.
Eris flinched, bolt upright, heart ricocheting off her ribs.
Mama.
It had to be Mama.
The hope hit her so fast it made her dizzy. She scrambled to her feet, arms squeezing the doll against her chest, nearly tripping over herself in the rush down the hallway.
But she stopped halfway. And that was when she saw. It wasn't smiles. It wasn't open arms.
It was her father, staggering, reeking, with one filthy hand knotted in Mama's hair, yanking her head back so viciously her neck looked ready to snap.
"You whore!" he barked, voice shattering the air, louder than the slam of the door.
Mama's face sagged, too tired to fight it. Her mouth was smeared red at the corner. Old blood, maybe. Or new. Like it mattered.
"Out all night! Who you fucking, huh?!" His palm cracked across her face with a sound like breaking wood.
Eris froze, every nerve in her body locking up. Her fingers dug into the doll's mangled fabric so hard she could feel the stitches popping loose.
She wanted to scream. Run at him. Throw herself between them and claw him to pieces. But the only thing that left her mouth was a tiny, pathetic gasp.
Because she knew.
God, she knew.
One wrong move, and it would be worse. For Mama. For her. So she stayed rooted to the floor, feet trembling, the doll rattling in her arms like it was alive and terrified too.
The hallway reeked, cheap booze, sweat, something rotting inside the man that no prayer was ever gonna save. The smell of hate.
Mama collapsed to the floor, hands shielding her head. Father cursed again, something wet and ugly, then stormed out, slamming the door so hard the whole frame shuddered.
Silence.
Not real silence, the kind that buzzed in your ears, made the walls close in. The kind that told you no one was coming.
Eris stood there, her throat dry, her doll crushed against her ribcage like it could shield her from any of it. No heroes. No magic. Just a skinny kid trying not to fall apart.
She bit her lip so hard she tasted iron. Crying would only make it worse. Falling apart wasn't an option.
So she swallowed it down, all the fear, all the hurt, all the sick, burning rage, and hugged the torn-up doll tighter.
One day, she promised herself. One day, she'd get the hell out of here. She'd have money, power, freedom, everything they told her she'd never deserve.
She'd never, ever have to beg for mercy again. Even if she had to bleed for it.
Barefoot, Eris inched closer, the concrete floor leeching the heat from her soles, biting up her legs. Every step dragged like she'd tied rocks to her ankles, only, she wasn't even wearing shoes.
Mama sat slumped on the ground, shoulders trembling, hair a tangled mess clinging to the wet trails down her face.
Eris held her breath. Bent low, slow, careful like handling something too broken to be touched. She reached out a hand, just to... calm. Just to stop the shaking.
Her fingers brushed Mama's skin, warm, slick with tears.
Slapp.
The slap snapped through the air sharper than a gunshot. Eris flew back, ass hitting concrete, head bouncing off the wall with a dull thunk.
Pain flared, sure. But it wasn't the sting that made her chest cave in. Mama turned on her, eyes wild, bloodshot, drowning.
"Don't you fucking touch me!" she screamed, voice splintered, raw like it hurt to breathe it out.
Eris froze. Fingers twitching in her lap. The stuffed toy she'd dragged everywhere since forever, the one held together by prayers and stubbornness, slipped from her grip and hit the ground with a soft, pitiful flop.
Mama staggered to her feet. The dried blood at the corner of her mouth cracked as she moved, face still a living wound.
"This is your fault," she hissed, each word dripping like acid. "If it weren't for you…" A bitter, broken laugh cracked out of her, ugly and jagged.
"I could've been free. I could've had a life."
Eris bit down on her lip so hard she tasted iron, thick and sharp. Her throat burned, but not from crying.
No, this was something meaner. Uglier.
"You hear me?" Mama's voice broke again, slamming the words into the tiny room like fists. "I never wanted you. You shouldn't even exist. You…"
Mama's hand twitched in the air, halfway between a slap and a retreat, then dropped uselessly to her side.
"You're a mistake."
Eris didn't speak. Didn't move. Didn't dare.
Open her mouth now, and she'd say something she couldn't take back. Cry, and Mama would only hate her more. Get angry, and she'd turn into something worse.
So she sat there, bones aching from the cold floor, the too-big shirt hanging off her like a surrender flag, blood from her split lip dripping slow onto the fabric.
The broken doll lay abandoned at her feet.
Just like her.
And in the middle of all that wreckage, a thought coiled tight in her gut, sour and sharp and burning:
Fine.
I'll be the goddamn mistake then.
She snatched the doll off the floor, crushing it to her chest, heart pounding loud enough to rattle her ribs.
But I'm gonna be the kind of mistake that makes this whole damn world sorry. The kind that laughs last while they choke on it.
If life wanted a villain? It just fucking made one. I'll be the kind of mistake they can't fucking beat.
Something clawed at Eris's chest, hot, brutal, merciless, then vanished.
Gone.
Like gravity had shifted sideways and ripped her out of that memory without warning.
When she blinked back into herself, she was already seated, half-sinking into buttery leather, facing the oval window of a jet cabin too quiet, too still.
The air smelled wrong. Too clean. Too... fake. Like this world wasn't made for someone like her. She dragged in a breath, slow. Shallow. Blinked once. Twice.
There was a haze edging her vision, but hell if she was gonna pull some pathetic move like wiping her face.
Let it be.
Let the bastard tears die in her eyes before they ever made it out.
Across from her, Darian sat, lazy elegance in human form, dark shirt sleeves shoved up, veins sharp along his arms.
He didn't talk.
Didn't ask.
Didn't fake some polite small talk like normal people. He just... watched.
One arm slung over the chair back, fingers tapping a slow, steady rhythm. Almost like a code only he knew. Those unreadable gray eyes pinned her, prying her open, seeing things she hadn't even admitted to herself yet.
And fuck, she felt it.
Felt the weight of him peeling her apart molecule by molecule without even moving.
Searing.
Unfair.
She snapped her gaze back to the window, drowning herself in endless cotton seas of cloud. Busy. Strong. Untouchable.
A flick of her mouth. Barely a smirk. More like a silent "fuck you" carved into her lips. If Gravelle wanted a show, if he wanted to see her crack wide open…
Fine.
Enjoy the view, asshole.
But Eris Moreau wasn't about to break.
Not for him.
Not for anyone.
Not even for herself.
Only the low hum of the jet engine crawled into Eris's ears, a soft, sterile whisper too damn tame to trust. She sat upright, hands laced neatly in her lap, pretending to admire the clouds, pretending she didn't feel the weight of a stare still clinging to her like static.
Almost convinced herself she was fine, almost, when his voice broke through. Smooth. Flat. Unbothered, like a coin flipping lazily in the air.
"Reminiscing, Miss Moreau?"
God. That voice.
It wasn't bored curiosity. It was something finer. Thinner. Like silk thread stretched just tight enough to slice skin without you noticing.
A net, invisible but closing in.
Eris dragged in a breath through her nose, just enough for her own ears. Tilted her head the slightest degree, catching him from the corner of her eye, poker-faced like she actually had a hand worth betting.
"Do I look like the type who daydreams, Mr. Gravelle?" The words slipped out smooth, the tiniest curl of her lips betraying a practiced smile, the kind built to hide the fractures underneath.
Darian, the cold-blooded bastard, just stared back. Not judging. Not sympathizing.
No, he studied her. Like he was cataloging flaws no one else could see.
"I think," he said, tapping one slow beat against the chair arm, "you're too smart to let your mind sit still."
Fuck.
Eris almost laughed. Almost.
Because the idea of someone like him thinking she was "smart" …someone who hadn't even glimpsed half the wreckage she'd survived, was so absurd it was hilarious.
She swallowed the urge.
Only a lazy shrug made it out, the kind of half-assed motion that dared him to believe whatever the hell he wanted.
"Maybe I'm just bored," she said, tossing the lie like a stone into a too-still pond. The ripples barely showed, but they were there, all right.
Darian nodded, once, a flicker of movement so small it barely counted. He wasn't buying it. Not for a goddamn second.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loose in front of him. Casual posture. Friendly even.
Yeah. And wolves probably smiled at sheep, too.
Eris sat still. Breath snagged somewhere tight inside her. Feeling like a tiny, trembling thing pretending to play dead in front of a cat that hadn't decided yet, play or destroy.
And Darian…
Darian watched.
Watched like he already knew how this game would end. And for the first time in a long, long while, Eris wasn't sure she could rig the outcome.
The plane shuddered, just a nudge. Not turbulence, just a shift in speed. Still, Eris's stomach dropped five floors like a broken elevator.
She shifted in her seat, busying herself smoothing the edge of her blazer, pretending not to notice Darian sitting across from her. Watching. Existing. Being a goddamn problem.
A big one, six-foot-five of it, all sharp cheekbones and money you could smell from a mile away.
Every woman Eris had seen at the office, even the stone-cold senior supervisors, turned into drooling idiots the second Darian Gravelle walked by. They smiled too sweetly. Laughed too loud. Fixed their makeup like their lives depended on eyeliner survival rates.
And honestly? Could you blame them? Darian wasn't just rich. He was stupidly gorgeous.
Plus... well. If the rumors about what he was packing underneath those thousand-dollar slacks were even half true? Yeah. They had reasons to want to die face-down at his feet.
But Eris? Eris kept it professional. Okay, mostly professional. She wasn't a goddamn statue.
Some tiny, stupid part of her, one she wanted to personally slap, wanted to yeet itself straight into his arms screaming take my entire pathetic life. But she liked her dignity better than she liked oxygen.
And Darian? He was starting to notice. Movement, subtle, almost accidental.
One hand slid toward the small table between them, fingers tapping lazily.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Each muted thud a small detonation under Eris's ribs. Then, slower than sin, his fingers shifted closer.
Not touching. Not quite. But close enough that the fine hairs along her arm stood at attention like idiots.
Those damn eyes, grey, unreadable, like storms seen from a distance, stayed blank. Casual. As if this whole thing was just nothing.
But Eris knew better. He was doing it on purpose.
She sat up straighter, a little too fast, jerky, like a kid caught with stolen candy. Get it together, Moreau. You're not about to become another Gravelle casualty.
She lifted her chin. Refused to shrink, refused to squirm, even if her skin was already buzzing like she'd licked a battery.
"Something you want to say, Mr. Gravelle?"
Her voice came out sweet, polished, edged like a velvet-wrapped blade.
Darian only arched a brow, a smile ghosting the corner of his mouth, maddeningly restrained.
"Why does there always have to be words, Miss Moreau?"
Fucking hell.
Eris swallowed down the stupid, primal reaction trying to claw its way out of her throat.
Seriously? Seriously? You're gonna pull that shit on a moving plane where I can't even storm out dramatically?
He wasn't flirting. Not exactly. He was weaving some silken trap around her, light enough to ignore, until you realized it was already choking you.
But Eris Moreau didn't crumble because some rich asshole smiled pretty. She smiled back, bright, empty, lethal.
"Maybe I prefer deals I can see coming, Mr. Gravelle."
She let it slip into the air, soft and easy, poison folded neatly inside the lace.
His eyes narrowed, just a fraction. There, small, quick. Amusement? Interest? Something.
For the first time since her ass hit this goddamn plane seat, Eris felt a shift.
Felt him adjusting to her.
Not much.
Maybe just an inch.
But hell, she'd take it.
Because for the next few minutes, at least, the leash was in her hands.
Eris pulled in a breath through her nose.
Steady. Cool. Pretend you didn't just almost trip over your own hormones.
Life had a sick sense of humor sometimes.
You could lock your ambitions, your pride, your whole damn existence in an iron vault, and it would still take just one man like Darian Gravelle to crack the hinges loose.
God, who was she kidding? The first time she laid eyes on him, even Eris, proud, calculating, cynically allergic to bullshit Eris, had felt it. That low, traitorous flicker. Not some stupid teenage swoon. Not fairytale garbage.
It was... primal. Raw. A gut-deep reaction to symmetry, to power wrapped in a six-foot-five nightmare dressed in custom Italian silk.
Her fingers curled into fists over her lap, nails ghosting against fabric. Reminder: you're here for Madame Rousseau. For yourself. Not for some pair of hands that could probably ruin a person in more ways than one.
Across from her, Darian stayed quiet.
But it wasn't a passive silence. No, it was the heavy kind, the type that thickened the air and made the walls feel like they were inching closer.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
His fingers brushed the table between them, knocking a slow, measured beat. Almost lazy. Almost cruel. Each sound thudded low in her chest, out of sync with her racing pulse.
Motherfucker.
Eris shifted slightly in her seat, pretending to check the fit of her blazer, anything to not look like she noticed how he leaned forward. Just an inch. Just enough to steal half the oxygen from the room.
His eyes, the color of rain-soaked stone, watched her without blinking. Calm. Detached. Like he was already ten steps ahead, and she was just another piece on his board.
A corner of his mouth tilted upward.
Not a smile. Not really. More like a question. Are you going to play, little girl?
Eris exhaled through her teeth, slow enough it didn't show. Calm the hell down, Moreau. You're not special. He's probably like this with every breathing thing that has a pulse and a skirt.
Still. When he leaned back again, lazy and deliberate, she hated how her stupid heart did a little stutter against her ribs.
His lashes dipped halfway, eyes hooded, like he was savoring some secret flavor no one else could taste.
She wanted to slap him. Or climb him. Both options felt disturbingly valid.
…A knock. A soft slide of the cabin door.
Violette slipped inside, all composed efficiency and crisp perfume.
"Mr. Gravelle. Miss Moreau," she said, in that glass-smooth voice. "We'll be landing in ten minutes."
The tension snapped like an overstretched wire. Gone. Just like that.
Eris sucked in a breath that was too fast, too obvious. Pretended to fuss with her watchband, like she had pressing business with the clasp.
Darian didn't even glance at her at first. Just nodded once at Violette, dismissive.
But when his gaze drifted back, slow, almost lazy, there was a glint tucked in the corner of it. Tiny. Sharp.
Satisfaction.
Like he'd won something she didn't even know she was competing for. Eris ground her molars together. Think you rattled me, you arrogant bastard? Cute. Try harder.
Eris Moreau didn't fold just because someone decided to look at her too long. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.