Avery's POV.
I curled into myself on the bed, knees pressed to my chest, staring at nothing. My mind was a storm, but my body felt numb. A knock sounded on the door. I didn't answer. The knocking continued—persistent, irritating—but I stayed silent.
Eventually, the door opened anyway.
Axel's right‑hand man stepped inside. He didn't ask permission. He never did. He pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed, studying me with an expression I couldn't read.
"Everything looks messy right now," he said quietly. "Because it is. You being adopted… your adoptive parents murdered… anyone would break."
I didn't lift my head.
"How does any of this concern you?"
"It doesn't," he admitted. "Not directly. I just don't want to watch you walk into the same pain I did. I lost my parents too."
I blinked. "So you're an orphan."
"Yes."
"Okay, but that's not enough reason to care. I'm not the only orphan in the world." I let out a bitter laugh.
He leaned forward, eyes sharp.
"No, it's not enough reason. But listen—whether you like it or not, you have the power to change the tides. If you don't act, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. You can try the law, but the law doesn't work here. Justice doesn't exist in this world. I regret every day that I didn't avenge my parents."
He paused, voice tightening.
"Axel is powerful, yes. But I don't want to depend on him. I want to do it myself… but I can't. Not yet. You, on the other hand—you're in a position I never was."
I finally looked at him. "That… seems valid."
He nodded once.
"As for the dragon tattoo—you were right. It's Darius and Andrey's uncle who killed your parents. Back then, he was the elder brother of their father. He seized everything—your parents' money, their property, their influence. He took control of the CIA and has been keeping you close ever since, making sure you never turn against him."
My stomach twisted.
"He even pushed you toward Axel," he continued. "Deliberately. He expected Axel to kill you. No one has seen him publicly since he took office. And he didn't do it alone—there's a woman and a man who helped him cover up the murders and secure his position."
He stood slowly, adjusting his jacket.
"Axel can't take him down. That man has too much dirt on him. And because they occasionally work together in the mafia, Axel's hands are tied. Rule number two—never mix personal grudges with business—is sacred. Breaking it would start a war."
He walked toward the door.
"You're the only one who can help," he said. "Whether you want to or not."
I whispered, "Thanks for the information. I'll think about it."
He opened the door, stepped out, and paused.
Then he smirked—like he knew something I didn't.
And the door clicked shut.
I stood up, took a shower, and slipped into a baggy white T‑shirt, letting my hair fall freely down my back. I put on a pair of shorts and headed toward Axel's room.
Axel was on a phone call when I entered. The moment his eyes landed on me, his tone shifted.
"You'll talk to my secretary," he said into the phone. "I'm in the middle of something."
He ended the call immediately, stood from his seat, and walked toward me with slow, deliberate steps. He placed his hand gently over my lips, then brushed my hair behind my ear, his gaze locking onto mine with unsettling intensity.
He pinned me against the wall and murmured,
"What brings you to my office at this time?"
"I'd like to ask for a favor," I said quietly.
He smirked.
"Is it something small? Do you want dresses? Gold? A Rolls‑Royce Phantom? A Ford Mustang? Or something that suits your feistiness… a rifle, a shotgun, a Ruger 10/22? Anything you want — name it, and I'll give it to you."
His hands tightened around my waist, his eyes holding mine so deeply I felt like I was drowning in them.
I gathered my courage.
"No… I don't want that."
"Well," he said softly, "I guess it can wait."
He lifted me effortlessly and carried me into the private room attached to his office — the one with a bed, the room he used whenever he felt too lazy to go to his actual bedroom. He laid me gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving mine.
He pulled off his T‑shirt, revealing the sharp lines of his torso. Then he unbuttoned his trousers, letting them fall and exposing the sculpted muscles of his abdomen — every line, every contour illuminated by the dim light. He looked mesmerizing, almost unreal.
He moved closer, then reached for me, removing my bra, my bum short, and my underwear with slow, deliberate movements.
Then he turned away… and opened the small fridge in the corner of the room.
The refrigerator door hissed shut, casting a brief, silver light across the room as he retrieved a single, crystalline shard of ice. He approached slowly, the cube melting slightly between his fingers, then commanded, a low rumble in his throat, "Spread them wide." I obeyed instantly, a current of electric anticipation shooting through me, wondering what exquisite torture he planned. He began to trace the fragile, shocking cold across my skin. The sensation was immediate, alien—a delicious, startling jolt that felt like a sudden, necessary shock. A fire I thought long extinguished roared back to life, and I gasped, a low, guttural moan escaping my lips.
"Now," he breathed, his voice rough with sudden demand, "it's my turn." He surged forward, gripping my thighs with fierce possessiveness, and with one deliberate, agonizingly slow movement, he buried his enormous length deep inside me. The sheer, overwhelming fullness stole my breath. He groaned, a deep, resonant sound of pure satisfaction that vibrated through my core, while I could only manage soft, fluttering whimpers of pleasure against the sudden invasion.
He lowered his head, tracing a searing path of kisses down the column of my throat, and I instinctively arched, my hands raking down the taut, sweating landscape of his back. Then, his eyes locked on mine, he captured my mouth in a consuming kiss, his tongue diving deep, a hot, invasive exploration. His breath, sharp and heavy, felt like the furnace of the night itself. As the darkness outside bled into the first weak light of dawn, the intensity finally ebbed, leaving me utterly spent, cocooned safely within the strong, familiar harbor of his arms.
When I woke up the next morning, I was still wrapped in his arms, his warmth pressed against my back. His voice rumbled softly above my head.
"Now," he murmured, "we can talk."
I shifted slightly so I could face him. We were still lying in his bed, the sheets tangled around us, the room quiet except for our breathing.
"I want revenge," I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. "Give me every resource I need to take action… and I'll repay you."
He looked down at me, one brow lifting.
"And what," he asked quietly, "could you possibly repay me with?"
I shifted, turning toward him. The blankets slid with me as I slowly crawled onto his chest, my movements deliberate, unhurried. My fingers traced a slow path across his chest, gliding down the defined lines of his torso until they reached his abs. His breath hitched — barely, but enough for me to feel it.
I pushed my hair back over my shoulder, leaning in just close enough for my breath to brush his skin.
"Isn't it obvious?" I said, my voice low and teasing.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. The reaction was subtle, but unmistakable — a tension tightening beneath my touch, a shift in his breathing, a heat rising between us.
I smiled softly, letting my fingers linger against him.
"Let's both agree," I murmured, "that I have an effect on you… and you can't deny it."
He smirked, eyes narrowing with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
"Avery… what's made you suddenly so courageous with me? Weren't you always the timid little puppy around here?"
I let a slow smile curl across my lips.
"Well," I murmured, tilting my head, "I learned from the best… didn't I?"
His expression shifted — a flicker of pride, possession, and something darker.
"Your request has been granted," he said, voice low and deliberate. "But remember this… you serve me. Only me."
I nodded without hesitation. At this point, I would do anything to get what I needed — even if it meant crossing lines most people feared to approach. Even if it meant blood.
I pushed the blankets aside and rose from the bed, the morning light brushing against my skin. I glanced back at Axel, letting my gaze linger on him with a flirtatious, knowing confidence — the kind that said I understood exactly how much power I held in that moment.
Then, without another word, I turned and left the room.
If I'm being honest with myself, last night with Avery was… different. Better. It wasn't just her being my doll, or me taking what I wanted like I always do. It felt real — like we crossed some invisible line neither of us had touched before.
And this morning… the way she moved her hair, the way she looked at me with that new fire in her eyes — damn. It hit me harder than I expected. I might be obsessed with her, but I'm not blind. She affects me in ways I don't usually allow. She turns me on without even trying, and that's dangerous. For both of us.
But none of that changes the plan. Everything has to unfold exactly as I've set it. Once the pieces fall into place, every file — our dealings, the alliances, the dirt on the other gangs — will be in my hands. And when that happens, I'll be untouchable. The most powerful man in this city.
People forget the truth about power:
A pawn is always dispensable.
But when a pawn reaches the end of the board, it can become anything — a queen, a rook, a bishop, even a knight.
Avery… she's the pawn that made it to the end. She's becoming a queen in this game.
But even a queen can be taken off the board if she forgets who controls the match.