I step into the Solaris Dominion Group building beside Christian Grayson—and glass, steel, and cold light immediately tighten around my chest. The air here is different: it smells of money, discipline, and other people's ambitions.
Breathe, Victoria. You're not on stage.
Though… almost.
The elevator rises without a sound. We're standing too close—or maybe it only feels that way. Christian's shoulder is beside mine, warm, perfectly still. He stares straight ahead, as if I'm not even here. And for some reason, that stings.
Of course you're not here. You're just a university girl. Don't you dare mix work with fantasies.
"I hope you're ready for the interview," he says evenly, without turning his head. "They don't like surprises here."
"I am the surprise," I almost joke—but swallow the words. Instead, I nod, far too serious.
The elevator chimes. The doors slide open—and the noise of the office crashes over me. People, screens, numbers, negotiations, movement. Huge digital boards pulse with data, as if the corporation's heartbeat is thudding right against my temples.
We enter a glass-walled office.
Edward Cortland sits with the confidence of a man used to deciding fates with a single glance. Andre is beside him. He smiles—too fast, too brightly.
I caught his interest. Damn it.
"Victoria Montreux," I introduce myself softly, with a carefully calibrated smile. "I'm ready to work part-time and learn fast."
Edward flips through my documents. One eyebrow lifts.
"Strong academic record… dance competitions…" He looks up over the papers. "An interesting combination."
I take a step back and—almost automatically—execute a short turn, a clean arm line, a light bow. Minimal. Not a hint of vulgarity. Just control.
The room freezes.
Got them.
"Bravo," Edward says at last. "Discipline. Then you'll work the same way."
Andre practically glows.
"Andre, show Victoria her workstation," Edward continues. "Bring her up to speed."
Christian gives me a brief nod and leaves. Just like that. No glance back. No gesture.
Why does that bother me?
Andre and I walk between rows of desks. I can feel his gaze on my skin.
"You'll be filling out reports," he says. "The software is standard. You'll manage?"
"And if I make a mistake?" I ask, deliberately calm.
"Then I'll fix it," he smiles, stepping a little too close. "You're an intern. I check everything."
Oh, you're checking a lot more than numbers.
I sit down at the desk. The screen lights up. My fingers touch the keyboard—and suddenly I feel it sharply: this isn't just a job. This is their game. And I've already been pulled into it.
"You can start," Andre says, not moving away.
I look up at him.
"Are you planning to stand over me all day?" I smile innocently. "Or is that part of the corporate culture?"
He laughs, a little embarrassed, and steps back.
First round is mine.
I open the file. Numbers flicker before my eyes. And inside me—there's a strange anticipation, like standing at the edge of a stage before a difficult performance.
There's only one question now:
who is directing this—and what role have I really been cast to play?
**
The Blackmore Mansion
I run in circles around the fountain, almost skipping—my heels clicking against the stone, my skirt catching the wind, my chest so tight with happiness it makes me want to laugh out loud. Three months. Just three months—and the wedding. My wedding. With Andre Cortland.
My favorite toy.
My amusement.
My project.
The fountain shoots water upward, catching sparks of sunlight as if it's applauding me. I spin like a ballerina without a stage and catch myself smiling too wide—the kind of smile only children and predators wear. Interesting. Which one am I today?
"Andre…" I breathe his name like a password.
Where are you now, my future husband? What are you doing? Are you thinking of me—or are you once again buried in your numbers, screens, and… fantasies?
I stop abruptly. The laughter cuts off as suddenly as a light being switched off. My heart starts pounding faster. I drop onto a cold stone bench and pull out my phone.
A video call.
Let him see my face.
Let him feel me.
Ring.
Second ring.
Third.
I narrow my eyes. I'm not used to waiting.
"Come on…" I whisper, tapping my nail against the screen.
Finally, the image appears. Andre. A little flustered. Slightly tense. Too official.
"Hi, Sofia," he says. "I'm glad to see you, but I'm at work right now. Can we talk later?"
Later.
The word cuts.
"Wait," I say softly, with a voice that contains not a trace of a request. "Don't hang up."
He freezes. I catch the micro-movement—tiny, almost invisible. Like a boy caught doing something forbidden.
And then I see her.
Behind him. At a desk. The light falls across her hair; she leans toward the screen, focused, alive. Too alive.
"And who is that?" I ask, tilting my head as if I'm merely curious.
Inside, a lock clicks shut.
"That's… our new employee," he answers quickly. "Victoria."
He says her name too gently.
Too willingly.
You little bastard, I smile, without changing my expression.
"You'll introduce me to her," I say—not as a question.
"Sofia…" Andre swallows nervously. "What's the point? She's just an employee. And anyway… she's Christian's girlfriend."
Oh. Is that so?
I laugh lightly. Almost playfully.
But inside, a scene is already forming.
A script.
A finale.
"All the more interesting," I say. "This weekend, you and I are going to the Angel club."
I pause. Let the words settle.
"Your favorite place, my fiancé. And you will invite Victoria."
I watch a shadow of panic flicker across his face. Small. Sweet. So genuine it makes me want to lick my lips.
"Of course, my dear Sofia," he forces out. "Great idea. A little rest…"
"Perfect," I cut him off—and end the call.
The screen goes dark.
And I remain.
Sitting with one leg crossed over the other, I stare at the fountain as if it were my audience. So—Victoria. So—that look in Andre's eyes. So—the club, the music, the lights, the bodies, the jealousy.
A lot of work ahead, Sofia.
So much work.
But you love this, don't you?
I smile—slowly, predatory, with the pleasure of someone who knows one simple truth:
playing with people is my favorite game.