The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made her skin itch, that amplified the sound of her own breathing. Vera stood by the window, her hand flat against the cold glass, the city below stretching endlessly into the night. The glow of candles reflected faintly in the glass, and the air carried the faint scent of wax and jasmine. She barely noticed it anymore.

She didn’t turn when she heard the door open. The click was soft, but she felt it ripple through her, tightening something low in her stomach.

She exhaled slowly, deliberately, letting the breath pull her shoulders back. Her fingers flexed against the glass, and she shifted her weight slightly, the motion drawing attention to the curve of her back. She knew he was watching—she could feel his gaze, heavy and unrelenting, like a hand pressed against her skin.

“Come in,” she said, her voice low, controlled.

The silence stretched for a moment, and she wondered if he would stand there all night, rooted to the doorway. Then she heard him move, his steps almost silent against the carpet, and the tension in her chest eased slightly. She didn’t turn. Not yet.

When she finally did, she let her movements stay slow, fluid. Her hair shifted over her shoulder as she turned, and the first thing she saw was his eyes. Locked on hers, not wandering, not distracted. Focused.

She hated how steady he looked.

“Victor said this was a gift,” said Ethan. He stayed near the door, his arms crossed on his chest. “What’s the catch?”

That calmness irritated her. It was the opposite of what she wanted, and yet it made her want to push harder. She stepped toward him, each step calculated, her bare feet brushing against the cool floor.

His gaze stayed on her, sharp but unreadable. She felt the air between them shift as she closed the distance, her own skin warming as she got closer. When her fingers brushed against his chest, she felt the faintest tremor there—not enough for most people to notice, but enough for her.

Good.

“You don’t like gifts?” she asked, her lips curving into a faint smile.

“It depends,” Ethan said with a flicker of emotion she couldn’t quite catch.

His breathing gave him away. Just a slight hitch when her fingers grazed his shirt—but enough. Enough to tell her the game wasn’t over yet. The sensation sent a jolt of heat through her, low and insistent, and she hated how much she wanted him to break.

Vera let her hand linger, the heat of his body beneath her fingertips sending a pulse of warmth up her arm. She let her hand slide lower, tracing the line where his shirt met his waistband. Her other hand lifted to her own body, her fingers trailing slowly down her ribs, her hip. She didn’t look at him now—she didn’t need to. She could feel his eyes on her, following the motion like a magnet.

Her own breath caught, just for a moment.

Her lips parted slightly, and she leaned in, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that her hair brushed his arm.

For a heartbeat, the room was silent. Then his hand came up, catching hers—not rough, but firm.

“Vera.” His voice was low and steady, but there was something raw underneath it. “Stop. Please.”

His fingers traced the line of her cheek before resting beneath her chin. She tensed, caught between expectation and hesitation, but he didn’t pull her closer. Instead, he tilted her face upward, his eyes boring into hers with quiet, relentless clarity. For a moment, he seemed to search for something unspoken, a truth neither of them dared to name.

“You don’t need to do this,” Ethan said at last, almost gently. “Not with me.”

Her lips curved, a faint mockery dancing in her eyes.“You think I’m here because I have to be?” She stepped closer, her body brushing his, and she felt it then—the way he tensed, the quiet drum of his heartbeat against hers. “This is my choice, Ethan.”

“Why are you always doing this?” she purred, leaning in until their bodies connected, the warmth of her belly grazing the firm tension of his. Her breath brushed his neck, her lips hovering in a space too close to ignore. “Acting like you’re better than the rest of them. You’re not, Ethan.”

She felt his body betraying what his words wouldn’t. “You want. Just like everyone else.”

The words landed like a challenge, and for a moment, Ethan said nothing. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said slowly, his voice calm but edged with steel. “But I won’t dance when someone else pulls the strings.”

Her mask slipped. Just for a second, but it was enough.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“You think this is about Victor,” she said sharply, stepping back. “You think he sent me here to test you. But he doesn’t need to.”

She took another step back, her gaze colder now. “You think he needs you to take off your clothes to own you? He already did.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

Her lips curved into something sharper, more cutting. “Every move you make, you’re thinking about him. Trying to beat him. Trying to stay one step ahead. But you can’t, Ethan. Not when he’s already in your head. Not when he’s pulling your strings without even trying.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, pressing against them like a weight neither could escape. Ethan’s eyes softened, though his expression remained unreadable.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his words deliberate. He hesitated, his gaze holding hers for a beat longer than necessary. “But it sounds like you know that feeling all too well.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Turning on his heel, he left with a measured stride, the door clicking softly behind him. The emptiness in the room grew louder in his absence, and Vera sank back against the glass, biting her lip. The sharp pang of disappointment gnawed at her, unexpected and unwelcome. She had wanted more—needed more—but he had slipped through her grasp, leaving her feeling like a child denied a new toy.

***

Ethan closed the door behind him, the soft click barely registering over the pounding in his ears. His hand lingered on the cool knob for a moment before he let go, exhaling sharply. He couldn’t stay in there. Not with whatever that was turning into.

The hallway wasn’t quiet. A low murmur of voices, muffled laughter, and something heavier—a rhythm, a pulse—echoed faintly from further down. He followed it without thinking, his steps slow, deliberate, as if moving too quickly might let the tension in his chest break free.

The sound led him to a wide, dimly lit lounge. Warm, flickering light—candles, scattered here and there—cast long, uneven shadows over bodies. Too many bodies. Ethan’s eyes skimmed over the room without fully taking it in: tangled limbs, bare skin, laughter curling low and throaty. The faint scent of jasmine lingered, sharp and cloying.

In the center of it all, Victor sat sprawled in a velvet armchair, his jacket discarded, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the sharp line of his collarbone. A woman leaned against one side of him, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered something; on the other side, a man knelt at his feet, his face pressed against Victor’s knee in silent supplication. Victor barely seemed to notice them, his gaze fixed on Ethan as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“Ethan,” Victor said, his voice low, almost pleasant. His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Glad to see you out here, among the mortals.”

Ethan didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could. The scene around him felt like a fever dream, something that couldn’t possibly exist outside the recesses of some warped imagination. He forced his gaze back to Victor, grounding himself in the steady, maddening calm of the man.

Victor raised a glass—dark liquid, ice clinking softly—and gestured toward Ethan with a smirk that barely lifted the corner of his mouth. “Leaving her so soon? Now, now, I thought you were better at playing house.”

Ethan stopped mid-step, his shoulders rigid.

Victor’s gaze flicked lazily toward the door Ethan had just come from, his smirk widening. “What is it they say? ‘Good boys don’t leave the damsel in distress.’ Or was it something else entirely?”

“If you’ve got something to say, Victor, just say it,” Ethan snapped, his voice low and tight.

Victor chuckled, a sound that felt more like smoke than laughter. He shifted slightly, his fingers trailing lazily down the arm of the woman beside him, who hummed in response but didn’t move. “I know she’s quite… persistent. Hard to resist, isn’t she? My best girl.”

Ethan took a step forward before he could stop himself, his voice sharp now. “What do you want, Victor?”

“What I’ve always wanted,” Victor said simply, leaning back in his chair. “For everyone to be merry and have fun. The more, the merrier”

Victor’s attention drifted for a moment, his gaze sweeping lazily over the room before returning to Ethan. He smiled then, wider this time, and raised his glass again. “Go ahead. Go back to her. Or don’t. It doesn’t matter, you know. The game keeps going either way.”

The words slid under Ethan’s skin, sharp and insidious. He took another step back, his body rigid. Victor didn’t stop him; he simply watched, his smile softening into something almost indulgent.

“You are welcome,” Victor said, almost gently, as Ethan turned away.

The words followed him as he left the lounge, the sound of Victor’s voice and the clink of ice chasing him down the hall. His heart felt heavy, his thoughts louder than ever, but his legs carried him back toward the room.

***

The door clicked shut behind him, and Vera didn’t even try to hide her smile.

“You said this was your choice,” Ethan murmured. “Prove it.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “Prove how?”

He straightened, stepping back just enough to give her space. “Show me something that’s real. Something that’s yours.”

Vera’s breath caught, her composure cracking just enough for him to notice. “What are you talking about?”

“You use sex like a weapon,” Ethan said, his gaze steady, unrelenting. “You think it gives you power over men. But you don’t feel it, do you?”

Her throat tightened, and she hated the way her body betrayed her. He wasn’t wrong, and that made it worse. The silence between them stretched, heavy and electric. When Ethan spoke again, his voice was softer, almost coaxing. “Touch yourself,” he said. “Not for me. For you.”

Her eyes widened, the words landing like a shock to her system. Of all the things he could’ve asked, she hadn’t expected that.

“You’re serious,” she said, her voice flat.

Ethan didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. His expression said everything: he wasn’t playing her game anymore. This was something else. Something she didn’t know how to control.

Vera hesitated, her pulse quickening as the silence pressed in on her. She wanted to say no, to laugh it off, to deflect the way she always did. But the way he was looking at her, waiting, made it impossible to move.

“Why?” she asked finally, her voice quieter now.

“Because if you fake it, what’s the point?” he said simply.

The words hit harder than she wanted to admit. Her hands curled slightly against the sheets beneath her, her nails pressing into the fabric. Her body felt too warm, too exposed, even though she’d been naked in front of him this whole time.

And then, slowly, she let her knees fall apart.