At Obsidian,
Damien tossed his key fob to the valet, his strides quick and purposeful as he dialled a number on his phone.
The line rang until Damien found himself in the middle of the vast grand hall. The modern vast space stretched around him with high ceilings, sleek black marble floors, and reflective glass walls that enhanced its opulent ambiance.
Soft LED lighting lined the floors and ceilings, casting an eerie yet mesmerizing glow. Shadowed hallways branched off in every direction, their depths holding secrets untold.
The minimalist luxury of the place wasn't just for show—it was built for power, for gatherings where only the elite belonged, where whispers carried more weight than spoken words.
When the call was answered, "Ric!?" Damien's voice was sharp, betraying the urgency clawing at his composure.
A smooth voice answered. "Bar." Then the call cut off.
Damien exhaled harshly, his grip tightening around the device. His gaze flickered toward the dimly lit hallway leading to the security room. For a moment, he considered barging in, demanding the footage himself. But that would be reckless. Instead, he turned on his heel, heading toward the opulent bar.
The bar exuded understated luxury, a haven for the city's elite. Velvet-draped booths lined the walls, while a grand chandelier hung above the marble-topped bar, casting a golden glow over the dark oak flooring. The soft notes of jazz hummed from hidden speakers.
Damien's gaze swept over the space until it landed on a man lounging on one of the plush couches, flipping through a file with unbothered ease. The CEO of Obsidian stood beside him, silent, ever at his disposal.
Alaric Lancaster.
Despite the relaxed posture, there was an unmistakable weight to the air around him. A presence that was impossible to ignore.
Was he the chairman of Obsidian?
Not yet.
But being the son of the chairwoman of the Obsidian, the information trove of Velmora, gave him a power that no title could grant.
As Damien approached, the CEO dipped his head in greeting. Damien ignored him completely. A man with no true power held no significance to him.
"Ric!?" His voice was even, but his dark eyes betrayed the storm brewing within.
Alaric barely lifted his gaze from the file, taking his time to close it before gesturing for the CEO to leave.
He began testing Damien's patience.
A faint crease appeared between Damien's brows. He hated this game of waiting. How effortless it was for Alaric to sit there, relaxed, unburdened. The luxury of a man who had nothing to prove.
Tsk.
"Next time, ask if I'm free," Alaric finally said, his voice smooth, almost lazy but the hint of warning was hard to miss.
Free?
Damien nearly scoffed. The spoiled prince of the Lancaster family, Alaric, had spent years doing nothing but traveling, indulging in luxuries, and throwing parties that often made headlines.
But then Damien caught the sharp glint of green eyes, and his mockery stilled.
"Ah, right. Your startup." His tone was dismissive, but his mind spun.
It had been months since they last met. Damien had been too occupied with securing his place in the Ashford empire, his marriage to Aveline, too tangled in his own affairs to care about Alaric's.
Still, the sheer lack of urgency in Alaric's demeanor was infuriating.
"I forgot," Damien admitted bluntly. "We'll catch up soon, but I need your help right now."
Alaric tilted his head, amused by Damien's directness. Well, he was in no hurry. "Why so impatient?" He leaned back, feigning thoughtfulness. "Coffee?"
He made a motion to call over the bartender, but Damien's voice cut through, firm. "No."
Alaric merely raised a brow in response as though he was too lazy to spare a word.
Damien exhaled through his nose, keeping his expression neutral as he wove his lie smoothly. "I lost my promise ring yesterday."
Alaric's gaze flickered to Damien's bare ring finger, unimpressed.
Damien didn't evade his gaze and continued, "I might have dropped it at Obsidian. I need to check the security footage."
Alaric didn't so much as blink. He knew a lie when he heard one. Instead, he leaned forward as he simply stated, "The confidentiality and privacy of Obsidian precede any of its members."
Damien clenched his jaw. He knew that. Everyone knew that. Hence, the Obsidian stayed top.
"Hence, I'm asking you for help," he said, voice strained.
But Alaric merely leaned back, tilting his head. "You should check with lost and found." They had an amazing and strict housekeeping department.
In Obsidian, nothing was ever truly lost– except power, reputation, and business deals.
Damien's fingers curled into fists. Yes, he also knew that but he hadn't lost the ring. He couldn't tell anybody that he needs to check if Aveline entered the Obsidian.
"Ric." Damien's voice dropped, his control slipping. His pride refused to let him beg, but the urgency was clawing at his insides.
Alaric finally pushed himself to his feet, walking toward the exit of the bar. "I can't bring you to the security room." A pause. Then, with an ease, "But I can get you the footage."
This wasn't a favor. This was a move on the chessboard–one that Damien hadn't even realized Alaric was playing.
Damien's sharp eyes flickered, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. His appearance in the security room would cause issues. Since his friend wasn't toying with him but considering his options, he took that as a win.
Alaric, however, saw it for what it was.
A game.
…
In a private room at Obsidian,
The dim light flickered against the screen as Damien pressed play. He was glad Alaric didn't sit beside him. His breath evened out as he continued to watch.
The footage showed nothing. Not Aveline. Not anyone following him inside the Obsidian. Nobody was around when he reached the private room and went to the suite with Vivienne Sinclair.
Damien exhaled, his muscles loosening, his mind finally easing. Everything was under his control.
"Giselle was here last night?" He asked as he shut the laptop.
Alaric, who had chosen to sit at the far end of the room, deliberately away from Damien, barely reacted the whole time.
He responded to the question with a lazy hum of confirmation without feeling the need to respond. Giselle went to Obsidian in the middle of the night on his call to meet Aveline.
Alaric's gaze flickered toward Damien, watching the man who was so immersed in his conspiracy that he failed to see the traps tightening around him.
The image burned in his mind.
Aveline was in a radiant yellow floral dress, laughing and having fun as she played with children at the orphanage.
Then the contrast.
Aveline was kneeling on the ground, shivering in the cold and crying her heart out.
His fingers twitched against the armrest. He had barely restrained himself from storming into that suite last night. From choking Damien and Vivienne to their last breath.
His jaw tightened, his eyes darkened a shade for a moment, "I'm hosting a product launch event," he stated, his voice unreadable.
Damien stood, grabbing his blazer. "I'll be there. Send me the deets." With that, he turned and strode out of the room.
Alaric rose from his seat, stepping toward the window with an almost lazy grace. His green eyes bore into the garden below—the very spot where Aveline had broken down. Where, for the first time, he had seen her not as the sunshine girl he watched from afar, but as the woman caught in the storm of deception.
The Product Launch Event.
The world would see it as the grand unveiling of his innovation. But for him, it was Aveline's first step into the battlefield. Her move against Damien.
His gaze followed the Bugatti speeding past the gates. His voice was low and unreadable, breaking the silence.
"You shouldn't have messed with her, Damien."