I was sitting in the second chair and my hand was still heavy on Darian's thigh but the air had changed. Darian wasn't looking at my dress anymore. He was looking at the wine in his glass like it held all the secrets of the world.

"You know," he said and his voice was casual. Too casual. "This house used to be a lot noisier. Journalists. Reporters. Always trying to dig up dirt on the Volkov name."

My heart did a violent kick against my ribs. Journalist. My father was a journalist. A damn good one. One who found out too much.

"One in particular," Darian continued. He took a sip of wine and he didn't even look at me. "A man named Daniel Hayes. He spent years trying to write an expose on our tech acquisitions. 

He thought he was a hero. He thought he was uncovering some great conspiracy."

Stop talking. Please stop talking.

"He was a nuisance," Darian said and he let out a short, dry laugh. "He was a man who didn't understand that some doors are meant to stay locked. He lost his job. He lost his reputation. And in the end, he lost his mind. My father said he died in a hit-and-run because he was too busy looking over his shoulder to see the truck in front of him.A pathetic way to go."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My fingers dug into the fabric of his trousers. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him that my father didn't lose his mind...he was hunted. He wasn't a nuisance; he was a threat to the monsters in this room.

He's making me spiral. He's doing this on purpose.

"Is that right?" I asked. My voice sounded thin and brittle, like old glass. "You think a man trying to tell the truth is pathetic?"

Darian finally turned his head. He looked at me and his eyes were cold. "I think a man who can't protect his family because he's obsessed with a story is a failure. He left his daughter with nothing but debts and a sick mother. That is the definition of a weak man, Liora."

I hate you. I fucking hate you.

I felt the tears stinging the back of my eyes. I couldn't let them fall. If I cried, I lost. If I showed him that his words were tearing me apart, he would know who I was. I had to stay in the game. I had to stay the seductress even if I felt like a little girl losing her father all over again.

I forced a smile. It felt like my face was cracking.

"Maybe he just cared about something bigger than money, Mr. Volkov," I whispered. I leaned in and I let my hair brush his shoulder. I looked at him through my lashes and I tried to make my eyes look bedroom-dark instead of tear-filled. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Darian's jaw tightened. He looked at my mouth and then he looked back at the table. The mention of my father...of the man he thought was just a nuisance"

had created a wall between us.

I didn't pull my hand away from his leg. I kept it there. I wanted him to feel me. I wanted him to feel the person who was going to take everything from him....eventually 

"Eat your fish, Liora," he said. His voice was a low growl. "You're getting emotional. It's boring."

Boring? I'll show you boring.

I didn't say another word. I just moved my hand slightly higher on his thigh, feeling the way his muscle coiled like a spring under my touch. He was affected. He was lying through his teeth.

I picked up my fork with my other hand and I took a slow, calm bite of the fish. I chewed it and I swallowed it while I stared him right in the eye. I was shaking inside but I looked like a queen.

"You're right, Darian," I said after I swallowed. "The truth is boring...Let's stick to the contract."

I shifted my weight and I leaned back in the chair. I kept my hand on his leg, my fingers splayed wide, claiming the space.

The air was thick and it felt like the room was shrinking while my hand stayed heavy on Darian's thigh...I could feel the hard muscle jumping under my palm and his breath was hitting my face in short, jagged bursts. I had him. I knew I had him because his eyes were dark and mask was melting right in front of me.

He's going to kiss me or he's going to kill me and I don't care which one happens first.

Then, a high-pitched chime sliced through the air. It was a cold, digital sound and it made the hair on my arms stand up. The massive screen on the far wall flickered once and then it exploded into light. A blue glare washed over the table and it turned the red wine into something black and oily.

Darian moved away and recoiled like I had burned him with a cigarette. He stood up so fast his chair nearly tipped over and he stepped back into the shadows.

"Darian."

The voice was like stones grinding together. It was deep and it was old and it made my stomach turn into a knot. I looked at the screen and I saw him. THE Sergei Volkov. He was sitting in a leather chair somewhere dark and his eyes were like two pieces of flint. 

He looked like Darian older and Deep blue eyes.

"Father," Darian said. His voice was dead. It was flat and empty and it sounded like a machine.

"I see you are busy," Sergei said. He leaned closer to the camera and his face filled the screen. He didn't look at Darian. He looked at me. He looked at the black silk dress and the way I was sitting in the wife's chair. "The Hayes girl looks... healthy. I hope you are not wasting time with dinner and conversation. We have a timeline."

"The project is on schedule," Darian said. He walked toward the screen but then he stopped. He moved back toward me and he placed his hand on the table but he didn't look at me but his knuckles brushed against my hand. He gripped the edge of the mahogany so hard his skin turned white.

He was claiming me. In front of the monster, he was holding onto me.

"Six months, Darian," Sergei said. His voice got lower and more dangerous. "The Obsidian Circle is losing patience. If there is no pulse by the end of the quarter, the contract is voided. You know what we do with failed investments."

Voided. The word tasted like copper in my mouth. My heart was thumping so hard I thought Sergei could hear it through the speakers.

"I am aware," Darian snapped.

"Good. Don't let her face distract you from the goal. She is a tool. You use the tool and then you put it away. Or you throw it away. I will see you Monday."

The screen went black. The blue light vanished and the room was plunged back into the yellow glow of the candles. But the warmth was gone. It felt like a grave in here now.

Darian didn't move. He stood there staring at the blank wall and his hand was still touching mine on the table...

I reached out and I put my hand over his. "Darian?"

He flinched. He pulled his hand away and he turned on me. The ice was back but it was cracked. There were lines of stress around his mouth and his eyes were wide and haunted.

"Stay away from me, Liora," he whispered.

"What did he mean?" I asked and I stood up. The silk rustled and it sounded like a warning. "What happens if the contract is voided? What does he do to failed investments?"

Darian laughed but it wasn't a happy sound. It was a jagged, ugly noise. "You don't want to know. You think this is a drama. You think this is a game where we flirt and you win. It's not. My father doesn't lose, Liora. He removes the obstacles."

"You're an obstacle?" I stepped closer to him. I didn't care about the rules. I didn't care about the 30-foot table. "He's talking about your child. Your heir."

"He's talking about power," Darian said and he grabbed my shoulders. His grip was tight and it hurt but I didn't pull away. He looked down at me and I saw the fear in him. It was raw,messy but it made him look human. "He wants the seat in the Circle. He needs me to have a son so the bloodline is secure. If I don't... he will find someone else to do it. And he will make sure you disappear so there are no loose ends."

Disappear. "Is that why you're being like this?" I asked. My voice was shaking. "Because you're trying to protect me by being a monster?"

Darian let go of me like I was made of fire. He stepped back and he smoothed his suit jacket. He was trying to put the mask back on. He was trying to be the CEO again while his world was falling apart.

"I'm not protecting you," he said. He wouldn't look at me. "I'm protecting my interests. Go to your room, Liora. Lock the door. And don't wear that dress again. It's a distraction."

"You're a liar," I said. I followed him to the door. "You're a liar and a coward, Darian Volkov! You want me and you're scared to admit it because your father told you not to!"

Darian stopped at the door. He didn't turn around. His back was a broad, dark wall and he looked so lonely.

"Six months," he said. His voice was a rasp. "That's all the time you have left to be alive in this house. Stop trying to make me love you. Start trying to survive me."

He walked out and the door clicked shut.

I stood in the center of the dining room and I looked at the empty chairs. My plan was working. He was crumbling.

But as I clutched the silver coin in my palm, I realized that surviving Darian was the easy part.

Surviving his father was going to be the real war.

The sun hadn't even cleared the skyline when the locks on my door clicked.

Four women marched in...They wore sharp, black blazers and carried silver cases that looked like surgical kits. 

In the center of them stood a woman in a red silk wrap dress. She didn't look at me....She looked at the room, her nose wrinkled as if she could smell the public ward I'd just come from.

"Is this it?" she asked. Her voice was like a thin blade.

"This is Miss Hayes, Tira," one of the stylists said.

Tira finally turned her gaze to me. Her eyes were dark, polished, and entirely vacant of heat. She was the woman from the photographs in the library...the one Sergei Volkov called the daughter he never had.

"Darian has such strange tastes lately," Tira said. She stepped closer, circling me.

Who is she?

 "Stand up, Liora. Let's see what five hundred thousand dollars actually buys these days."

I stood. My legs were heavy, but I kept my chin level.

"Arms out," the lead stylist ordered.

I didn't move.

"Do what she says," Tira whispered, leaning in. "The Circle doesn't tolerate disobedience. Especially not from the daughter of a thief."

And who the fuck is this circle everyone keeps talking about!

I felt a sharp prick in my chest. I slowly raised my arms.

The tape measure snapped around my waist. The stylists moved with robotic efficiency, their fingers digging into my skin...

"Small," the lead one muttered, scribbling on a tablet. "Malnourished. The skin is dull. We'll need the chemical peels."

"And the scent," Tira added, waving a hand in front of her face. "It's very... diner. Greasy. Cheap."

"I've had a shower," I said.

"It's in your pores, dear," Tira said. She picked up a lock of my hair and dropped it as if it were soiled. "It's the smell of failure. Your father had it, too.

The room went silent. I felt my heart hammer against my ribs....a frantic, rhythmic thud. I stared at the wall....I didn't blink. I would not let the tear fall.

"Daniel Hayes was a genius," I said. My voice was flat.

Tira laughed. It was a soft, melodic sound that didn't reach her eyes. "A genius who died in debt. Just like you're doing now. You're just a vessel, Liora. A high-priced incubator. Don't forget that."

"The waist is twenty-four inches," the stylist announced. "She'll fit the archive pieces."

"Good," Tira said. "Make her look like a Volkov. Even if she's just a Hayes underneath."

I turned my head slightly.

Darian was standing in the doorway.

He was wearing a dark suit, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He didn't say a word...He didn't tell them to stop. 

But I saw his knuckles,they were white and the skin stretched tight over the bone. His gaze was locked on mine.

"Are we done?" I asked, looking directly at him.

Darian didn't move. His jaw tightened, a small muscle leaping in his cheek.

"Not even close," Tira said.