Chapter 5
405words
His cloying cigar scent lingered like a ghost, haunting every corner of the office. Damian walked back to his desk, each step landing on what felt like solidified air. When he sat, that expensive chair didn't make even the slightest sound—the silence itself was terrifying.
I couldn't focus on my work.
My mind kept replaying that look he'd given Thorne. It wasn't pretense—I was certain. I'd seen that kind of look too many times in my own mirror.
My entire revenge plan was built on one foundation: Damian was Thorne's most trusted and capable lapdog. My job was to become an even smarter, more loyal dog, then, when he least expected it, bite back and drag both master and servant straight to hell.
But what if… that foundation was wrong?
I had to test him.
I stopped working and looked up, my face wearing the perfectly calibrated admiration and innocence of a junior employee.
"The senator seems to genuinely care about you, Mr. Blackwood," I said. "He looks at you like a proud father."
His fingers froze mid-motion.
He raised his eyes, those ice-pool eyes locking onto me again. This time, there was no inquiry—only bone-chilling coldness.
"Miss Nolan," he spoke slowly, each word like a block of ice, "you are very talented. I appreciate talented people. But talented people should know where to focus. Don't waste your curiosity on matters that don't concern you."
After he finished, he lowered his head again, as if our conversation had never happened.
This wasn't a warning. It was a threat.
A normal subordinate protecting his benefactor would respond more cleverly, more diplomatically. But he didn't. He used the most direct, coldest method to draw an absolute line in the sand.
The harder he tried to conceal, the more it confirmed my suspicions.
My heart raced—not from fear, but from a subversive, terrifying excitement. The chessboard beneath my feet split open with a crack, revealing both an abyss thousands of feet deep and another path to a truth I'd never anticipated.
I didn't care anymore. I had to uncover the truth myself.
But his warning hit like a bucket of ice water. Thorne's appearance had disrupted my rhythm and would inevitably deepen Damian's suspicions. I couldn't probe recklessly anymore.
I needed the perfect excuse—one that would make him willingly open more doors for me.
An excuse that would make him voluntarily hand me the knife.
