Just an Accident
"Oh, my bad. I am sorry; I should have introduced myself first," the brown-eyed guy scrambled in nervousness, standing up from his chair. Darcy, on the other hand, continued to monitor his every move, her face devoid of expression as usual.
"My name is Cayden Stone; you can call me Cay. I'm Victor's childhood friend," Cayden introduced himself, all smiles, extending his hand. However, his smile faltered as he nervously chuckled, noticing Darcy's unwavering gaze without any response.
She sat there with her legs crossed and arms folded, her siren-like cold eyes fixed on his face. The poor guy gulped, on the verge of asking if he had somehow offended her, but his question was interrupted by someone approaching them.
"Boss, I'm sorry for being late," said a red-headed girl, dressed in edgy hip-hop clothes. She bowed deeply in front of Darcy, causing Cayden to widen his eyes, feeling increasingly confused and awkward in the situation.
"Hello, are you Mr. Stone?" someone else spoke up, capturing everyone's attention. Cayden's eyes widened once again as realization dawned upon him. The woman standing before him matched exactly the description Victor had given for his secretary.
With her green eyes, black hair, and cream business attire, everything fell into place. Cayden's cheeks turned a shade of red as embarrassment washed over him. Without asking for any confirmation, he had enthusiastically sat down in front of someone else, acting like a fool.
He looked apologetically at Darcy, who, understanding the situation, observed the female that had just approached Cayden. It was easy to see why he would be misled; the similarities were uncanny. Darcy smirked at him, and his embarrassment deepened.
Meanwhile, Victor's secretary stood there, confused.
Darcy's informant, astonished by the unfolding scene, blinked repeatedly, trying to make sure what she was seeing was real—Darcy was smiling! Although it was a smirk but not quite like her usual dreadful one. Amusement played on Darcy's face, a rare expression never witnessed before, no matter how many guys they saw Darcy bringing around.
...
In a dimly lit room, cloaked in the hush of the night, the only audible sounds were the rhythmic huffing, the echo of skin meeting skin, and the silhouette of Darcy's latest manwhore beneath her. Another man in a long line of those who had succumbed to her allure.
Beads of sweat trickled her forehead, and her breath came in jagged gasps as she relished every sensation, reveling in the power she wielded over the man beneath her.
To her, that physical act was not just a means to seek simple pleasure, it was a way to assert her dominance, and she took full advantage of it.
Darcy thrusted vigorously, deriving pleasure solely for herself, apathetic to the other person's experience.
Her eyes, sharp and penetrating, sent an unspoken message—she was in control, and she dictated the terms of that encounter. The power she held over men fueled her greatly, providing a sense of satisfaction that filled her soul with delight and pride.
And that dominance too was not a mere indulgence; it was a reflection of a deep-seated need from within. There was that one person, a singular figure, who had been the reason for her twisted personality. It was this very man who catalyzed her need to dominate every other male in her path.
Her objective has been clear: to make them bow down, to assert her strength over the world of men.
She had sworn—an unspoken vow to herself—that she would reach a point where revenge on the very man who shaped her identity would be within her grasp.
Tying the knot of her bathrobe, Darcy took a leisurely drag from her Cuban cigar. The vintage lure of the cigar appealed to her; it had a classic charm that resonated with her tastes.
Exhaling a plume of smoke, she drank in the satisfying sensation it brought, an indulgence that hit just the right spots for her.
Beside her, still, the breathless, naked man lay, his gaze fixated on her with a mixture of lust and fatigue. He understood, to some extent, that Darcy was something else. "You're sexy even when you're smoking," he uttered breathlessly, drawing Darcy's attention once again.
Observing him, Darcy couldn't help but notice the sparkles in his eyes, a silent plea for more of her. She snickered sinisterly, shaking her head at the seemingly pathetic nature of his desire. His lust-filled eyes, though flattering, were nothing new to her.
She had grown accustomed to the effect she had on men, a power she wielded effortlessly.
As she continued to savor the cigar, a smirk played on Darcy's lips. Little did the infatuated man realize, that he was just another one of those one-night stands for her.
...
Ravens, the biggest mafia organization, had its primary camouflage in the form of a seemingly legitimate business engaged in crude oil and biochemical trades, named Ravens & Co.
However, beneath this exterior of normalcy thrived their true, thriving business—illegal weapon trafficking. Darcy, finally having taken the harnesses of the family business, navigated the whole business at her fingertips.
The key move, and arguably the most intelligent one, executed by Darcy was establishing the company headquarters right in the heart of a bustling city.
This strategic decision aimed to make Ravens & Co. appear as ordinary as possible. Darcy meticulously managed the company's records, ensuring that there was no trace left of their confidential weapon trade, as their business thrived underground.
The building, stretching eleven floors high, showcased a facade of legal trading. Normal employees, oblivious to the illicit dealings transpiring beneath them, carried out their daily activities. The first basement level, B1, housed members of the Raven gangs, discreetly operating behind closed doors.
Delving even deeper into the concealed depths of Ravens & Co., was the bottommost floor, B2. Here, hidden away from prying eyes, was Darcy's private lounge. The space held a bar and an expansive living area, only and exclusively accessible to the most trusted and confidential members of the Raven gang.
At that very moment, those very men and women were engaged in a casual game of pool.
In another corner of the same basement, Dominic and his fraction of underlings engaged in a game of poker.
The door of Darcy's private lounge shut tightly, drawing the attention of everyone present. Glances were exchanged, but no one dared to inquire about the man who emerged from the room, embarrassed and half-naked, with his belongings slipping from his grasp.
One of the men swiftly escorted him away.
In the midst of this, a smirk played on Dominic's lips.
He couldn't help but find amusement in the situation. There was never a time, when Darcy would allow a man to stay the night with her. She was known among her underlings for bringing in random man-whores regularly, only to dismiss them promptly after satisfying her desires.
Dominic's history with the Ravens was almost a tragedy that has now turned into something he could name as pursuit.
His father, unable to settle a debt with Ravens, chose to end his own life rather than face the ruthless consequences. Mr. Raven, recognizing Dominic's potential, took him under his wing, transforming him into a loyal dog for himself.
However, the dynamics had shifted over the years, and Dominic found himself serving as Darcy's right-hand man—It was a calculated move played by Darcy, and while Dominic had accepted his role, his unrequited love for Darcy began there.
Over the course of fifteen years, Dominic's feelings for Darcy had only deepened. Despite witnessing her interactions with other men and enduring the sight of them leaving her private lounge, he never once crossed the boundaries.
He harbored a silent understanding that those men were mere playthings for Darcy, and if she had no room for love in her heart for him, she had none for anyone else either.
...
Darcy owned a lot of cars and jeeps, yet she found peace and freedom riding her sports bike alone.
With the company just a few seconds away, and the streetlight ahead seemingly in her favor, she anticipated a smooth journey. Unfortunately, her plans took an unexpected turn when a man carrying two huge boxes suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
With the speed Darcy was maintaining on the almost empty road, stopping was not an option. In a split-second decision, she chose the risky way—turning her bike's handle sharply.
The move caused her to lose balance, and her bike skidded ahead, crashing into the streetlight.
Cursing loudly, Darcy stood up, brushing off the minor impact. Full clothing and a helmet spared her from more serious injuries, but her left glove got dragged away, leaving a small abrasion on her dorsum.
As Darcy gathered herself, the man, still clutching his boxes, hurriedly placed them on the road and rushed to her aid. Concern etched on his face, he exclaimed, "Oh my God, oh my God! Are you alright?"
Darcy, removing her helmet with her right hand alone, vented her frustration by shouting, "What the fuck is wrong with you? Could you not see the traffic light? And if you wanna die, go die somewhere else, why would you—" Her rant halted abruptly as the man, now attempting to lift her fallen bike, met her gaze with an apologetic expression.
In that moment, Darcy fell silent, almost in a stupor.
The man, a work of art, was the same guy from the café. While he had appeared handsome that day, today, with a worried look in his eyes and tears welling up, he resembled an angel.
Darcy couldn't believe that such a human could exist.
Cayden's eyes slightly widened as he recognized Darcy as the same girl from the cafe, but the urgency of the current situation was too much to focus on that aspect.
"I'm-- I'm really sorry. There was no traffic on the road, so I did not wait for the light to turn green and just walked ahead. I should have been more careful," he stammered, genuine remorse and worry etched across his face.
As Cayden continued to express his regret, Darcy found herself in an unusual pickle. Her usual flings were rough and thug-like, fitting the image she believed to be her type.
Yet, here was Cayden, displaying a vulnerability that made her internal world feel strange. She has seen men acting all high and mighty, pretending to be strong and hiding their weaknesses. But this guy, Cayden, his eyes were clear like a mirror, they reflected his emotions clear.
She remained silent, unable to articulate a response. Cayden's reddening face, on the verge of tears, added an unexpected layer of softness to his exterior that intrigued Darcy even further.
Her reverie was abruptly interrupted by her underlings catching up with her. One of them forcefully pushed Cayden against the streetlight pole, pressing his forearm against his neck.
"Boss, are you alright?" the other underling, a woman inquired, while Cayden gasped, as he struggled against the grip of the larger guy.
"Leave him at this instant!" Darcy's sharp command cut through the tension, causing both her underling and Cayden to flinch.
The bigger guy immediately pulled his hands away, a look of fear crossing his face as Darcy seemed ready to lose her wrath on him for manhandling Cayden.
"It was just an accident, and nothing much," Darcy stated dismissively, but she couldn't shake the sense of embarrassment that lingered in the air.
Perhaps it was the fact that she had shouted at her own man for protecting her, or maybe it was the awkwardness of the situation where her underling had been excessively forceful with someone who seemed like a mere matchstick in comparison.
"Get the bike and send it for service," she grumbled, moving away swiftly toward her company, her hurried stride reflecting the humiliation she felt within.
Her confused underlings and Cayden looked at each other, unsure of how to process the sudden turn of events. Cayden, in particular, felt a wave of shame for causing the accident and, before that at the cafe, for not even asking for Darcy's name when seated so casually in front of her.
As Darcy disappeared into the distance, her underlings scrambled to follow her orders. Cayden, still nibbling nervously on his lower lip, contemplated the string of unfortunate events that had happened between those two, making his embarrassment pooling within.