Chapter 6
1566words
Crystal chandeliers hung from the three-story high ceiling, each crystal refracting warm golden light. Italian marble floors were covered with antique Persian rugs, and what looked like original Monets and Van Goghs adorned the walls. This wasn't wealth—this was empire.
"Miss Vance!" A crisp voice interrupted my observation.
I turned to see little Evelynn Braxton bouncing down the magnificent staircase, dressed in powder blue Christian Dior children's wear, looking like a little princess.
"Evelynn, darling." I crouched down to receive her tight hug. "You look absolutely beautiful tonight."
"Daddy said you would come to his chess tournament!" Her eyes sparkled with excitement. "Are you really good at chess? I want to learn!"
"Perhaps I could teach you some basic moves." I gently stroked her golden curls. This child, so innocent and pure, completely unaware of how crucial her existence was to my plan for revenge.
"Evelynn, let Miss Vance go mingle with the other guests." A deep, authoritative voice sounded from behind us.
I slowly stood up and turned toward the source of the voice.
Damian Braxton stood there. Six feet three inches tall, with a perfectly tailored midnight blue suit, dark hair meticulously combed. His chiseled jawline and piercing gray eyes made him look like a modern-day monarch.
But what was most impressive was the almost tangible aura of power that surrounded him. This wasn't the soft privilege of inherited wealth—this was the raw commanding force of a self-made empire.
"Mr. Braxton." I extended my hand for a professional handshake.
Instead of shaking it, he raised my hand to his lips, lightly grazing my knuckles with a kiss so gentle it might have been imaginary. But the electric current that shot up my arm was definitely real.
"Miss Vance. Please call me Damian." His voice was perfectly modulated, but I could detect something predatory underneath. "Welcome to my home."
"Thank you for inviting me." Despite his gray eyes seeming to scan every inch of my face, as if memorizing details for later analysis, I still maintained a steady voice.
"Evelynn always talks about you." His hand still held mine, his thumb caressing my wrist, where my pulse was definitely racing. "I was curious to see what kind of woman could so completely capture my daughter's heart in such a short time."
"Children are excellent judges of character." I gently withdrew my hand from his grip. "They see authenticity that adults often miss."
Damian's lips curved into what might pass for a smile, but his eyes remained calculating. "Indeed. May I introduce you to the other guests?"
He guided me through the enormous mansion, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. The contact was professional, appropriate, but I could feel the heat radiating through my black silk dress.
The living room was filled with New York's elite. I recognized faces from Forbes covers, fashion magazines, and political news. These people controlled banks, media empires, political careers. They were all here, in Damian's house, because he had summoned them.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Damian's voice cut through the elegant conversation. "I'd like to introduce you to Miss Irala Vance, a distinguished educator from Whitemore College."
I smiled gracefully, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. But I was acutely aware of Damian's presence behind me, that feeling of being observed and evaluated by a top predator.
"So, Miss Vance," a silver-haired lady in Chanel asked softly. "What brings you to our little gathering?"
"Mr. Braxton kindly invited me," I answered, letting a hint of mystery seep into my voice. "I heard there would be chess tonight?"
"Ah, yes." Damian moved closer, his chest almost brushing against my shoulder. "I host a tournament every month. Only the most... strategically minded individuals are invited."
The way he said "strategically" made it sound more intimate, more dangerous.
"I must admit I'm quite interested in your teaching methods, Miss Vance." Another man, evidently some kind of hedge fund manager, joined the conversation. "Evelynn has made remarkable progress in critical thinking."
"Children respond to appropriate challenges," I replied. "Most adults underestimate their capacity for complex thought."
"And do you apply the same philosophy to adults?" Damian's voice was silky smooth, but the question carried weight.
I turned fully to face him, meeting his piercing gray gaze directly. "I believe everyone should be pushed to their full potential, regardless of age or... circumstances."
Something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps. As if he was beginning to see the pattern beneath the surface I had so carefully constructed.
"Speaking of chess," he continued, his voice dropping to a more intimate register, "would you care for a game? I have a beautiful set of Russian antique pieces."
The room seemed to grow slightly quieter. Clearly, being invited to play chess with Damian Braxton was a significant honor.
"I'd be delighted," I answered, knowing this was the moment everything had been pointing toward.
He led me to a quiet corner of the room where an exquisite chess board was set up. The pieces were obviously antiques, carved from what appeared to be ivory and ebony, each one a miniature masterpiece.
We sat down in luxurious leather chairs opposite each other. Damian gestured to the board.
"Ladies first."
I moved my queen's pawn forward two spaces. A standard opening, nothing fancy.
He did the same. "Tell me, Miss Vance, what draws you to education?"
I moved my knight. "Knowledge is power. I like sharing power with those who are worthy."
He captured my pawn with his bishop. "Then how does one earn such a privilege?"
I studied the board, then moved my other knight, threatening his bishop. "By understanding that everything of value comes with a price."
Damian's eyes never left my face as he moved his queen to an offensive position. "Interesting philosophy. Most people prefer to believe that good things come to those who wait."
"Patience is overrated." I captured his bishop with my knight. "I prefer decisive action."
He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the mental sparring as much as the chess match. "Are you talking about chess or life?"
"Is there a difference?" I countered.
We continued our chess game, each move accompanied by a verbal chess match more dangerous than anything happening on the board. Damian was testing me, probing for weaknesses, trying to understand what drove me.
But I was doing the same to him.
"You know," he said after I put his king in check, "my wife would find you fascinating. Serafina likes meeting... unique individuals."
At the mention of Serafina's name, I felt that familiar cold anger beginning to churn. But I maintained a completely neutral expression.
"I look forward to meeting her." I moved my queen into attack position.
"She's traveling at the moment. Milan, I believe. Fashion week." He moved his king to safety, but I had him cornered. "Tell me, what drives you, Miss Vance? What is it you truly want in life?"
This was the moment. The moment of truth. I raised my head from the chessboard and met his intense gray eyes directly. With slow, deliberate movements, I moved my rook to the final position.
"Checkmate."
Damian looked down at the chessboard, surprise flashing across his face. In less than twenty moves, I had systematically dismantled his defenses and trapped his king.
He looked up at me, and for the first time tonight, I saw something primal and appreciative in his expression.
"Impressive. Few people have ever beaten me at chess."
"You asked what drives me," I said calmly, my voice steady but with underlying steel. "What I want in life."
"Yes."
I leaned slightly forward, lowering my voice to an intimate whisper that only he could hear.
"To get everything I want, at any cost."
These words hung between us like unsheathed blades. Damian's pupils dilated slightly, and I watched as something dangerous awakened in his eyes.
"At any cost?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"At any cost."
For a long time, we stared at each other across the chessboard. Two predators recognizing each other, two souls of iron will, understanding that some rewards require completely destroying everything in their path.
Finally, Damian leaned back, but his eyes never left my face.
"Miss Vance, I have a feeling this is the beginning of a very interesting... friendship."
The way he said the word "friendship" made it clear he was referring to something more complex and dangerous.
Just then, a woman's voice sounded from behind us, with lazy elegance in an Italian accent:
"Damian, who are you playing chess with?"
I turned around. Serafina Braxton stood at the entrance to the living room, wearing a Chanel haute couture dress fresh from Milan Fashion Week, perfect as a painting.
Her eyes swept over me, pausing for a second—so briefly that if I hadn't been waiting for this moment, I might not have noticed at all.
"This is Miss Irala Vance," Damian introduced, "Evelynn's new teacher."
Serafina walked toward me, extending her perfectly manicured hand. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Vance."
I took her hand—the same hand that once pressed down on my head, forcing my face into the cold cement floor.
"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Braxton," I smiled and said. "I've heard so much about you."
Yes, Serafina. Everything about you.
