THE GAME OF POWER AND PERSUASION

Zephyr leaned back in his chair, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face. His fingers tapped against the desk, slow and deliberate, while his gaze never wavered from Ariena.

"You want this case buried?" Ariena finally broke the silence, her tone smooth, unshaken. "That's not how the law works, Mr. Draven."

Zephyr's smirk was razor-sharp. "That's not how you work either, Miss Adams."

Ariena closed the file with a soft thud, pushing it toward Zephyr. "I'm not taking this case."

Zephyr's smirk didn't falter, but his fingers drummed once against the desk—just once. A slow, calculated movement. "Not an option, sweetheart."

She stood, adjusting the cuffs of her blouse with practice ease. "It is. I don't take cases that are already drowning in blood."

Zephyr leaned back, his gaze never leaving her. "That's a lie."

Her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering in her usually unreadable gaze. But she recovered quickly. "Excuse me?"

"You take cases no one else dares to touch. You win them. You twist the law in ways even the judges don't see coming," he murmured, standing to his full height. "So, tell me, Miss Adams… what's your real reason for walking away?"

Ariena inhaled sharply but didn't step back. "I don't work for men who think they own the world."

Zephyr chuckled, low and dark. "Then it's a good thing I don't think I own the world, sweetheart." He stepped around the desk, closing the distance between them. "I just take what I want."

Ariena's pulse spiked, but her expression remained cold. "And if I say no?"

Zephyr tilted his head, as if considering. Then, in one swift move, he plucked the file from the desk, flipping it open again. "Then I'll just keep coming back. Again. And again. Until you say yes."

She narrowed her eyes. "That sounds like harassment, Mr. Draven."

He smirked. "That sounds like persuasion."

Ariena smirked ,she reached forward and pulled the file back toward her.

A single page turned beneath her fingers.

"I'll take the case," she said, voice steady, unshaken. "But don't mistake this for surrender, Mr. Draven."

Zephyr straightened, his victory dark and delicious. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, smirking. "I'd be disappointed if it was."

"Tell me everything. Every detail. If I take this case, I don't play blind."

Zephyr watched her carefully, something dark and satisfied flickering in his gaze.

Let the game begin.

Ariena exhaled slowly, her fingers tracing the edges of the file. "Fine," she said. "Let's hear it. What mess are you dragging me into, Mr. Draven?"

Zephyr smirked, taking his time as he settled into the chair across from her. He didn't hand her the details right away. Instead, he watched her, like a predator enjoying the moment before the kill.

Then, he slid a crisp, black envelope across the desk.

"Four men," he began, voice smooth, controlled. "All dead. Executed."

Ariena arched a brow. "And?"

"And the world thinks I killed them."

She didn't blink. "Did you?"

Zephyr chuckled, low and dark. "That's not your concern, sweetheart. Your job is to prove I didn't."

Ariena's lips curled, but there was no humor in her expression. She leaned back, crossing her legs. "It's Ms. Adams, Mr. Draven. Not sweetheart."

Zephyr's smirk didn't fade, but his gaze darkened. "Noted."

She flipped the envelope open. Photos. Crime scene reports. Four bodies—each killed with precision. No evidence left behind.

Her fingers skimmed the reports. "They were found in different locations," she noted. "No pattern. No connection." She glanced up, eyes sharp. "But they were connected, weren't they?"

Zephyr's smirk deepened. "Of course they were."

Ariena tapped her fingers against the desk. "You have powerful enemies, Mr. Draven. That doesn't mean I should clean up their mess."

Zephyr exhaled slowly, then leaned forward, mirroring her posture. His voice dropped to something lethal, something that made the air crackle.

"Ms. Adams," he murmured, dragging out her name like a challenge, "this isn't just a case. This is a game of survival. And I don't lose."

Ariena tapped her fingers against the desk, her expression unreadable. "Do you have a suspect, Mr. Draven?"

Zephyr exhaled slowly, tilting his head. "No lies?"

Her lips curved into something sharp. "No lies."

Ariena held his gaze, unreadable. Then, she smirked. "Let's see about that."

Zephyr leaned back in his chair, his fingers lazily tapping against the armrest. "This morning, I received a package."

Ariena arched a brow. "And?"

He tilted his head, watching her reaction. "Inside was a white silk tie, soaked in blood. No sender. No explanation. Just a message written between the lines."

She held his gaze, unbothered. "Whose blood?"

Zephyr's smirk was slow, but it didn't reach his eyes. "A man who once betrayed me. Someone I had planned to deal with myself. But it seems…" He exhaled through his nose, his amusement laced with something colder. "Someone else got to him first."

Ariena's expression remained unreadable, but there was a slight shift in her posture—interest, calculation.

"You said betrayed," she mused, tapping a single finger against her desk. "What exactly did he do?"

For a moment, Zephyr said nothing. His gaze darkened, the air between them growing heavier. Then, with a lazy shrug, he offered only, "He made a mistake."

Ariena's eyes narrowed slightly. "A mistake that cost him his life?"

Zephyr's smirk vanished.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his voice dropping lower. "A mistake that cost me my family."

Silence.

Ariena's gaze flickered with something unreadable, but before she could press further, Zephyr straightened. Just like that, the cold mask slipped back into place.

"But that's not relevant, is it?" He gave her a sharp, knowing look. "I came here for a case, not a history lesson."

For the first time, Ariena looked… intrigued. Very intrigued. But she didn't push. Not yet.

Instead, she leaned back, matching his calculated ease. "Then let's talk about your case, Mr. Draven."

Zephyr's smirk returned—pleased, predatory.

Ariena arched a brow, crossing her arms. "You're awfully sure of yourself."

Zephyr let out a low chuckle, standing up, towering over her desk. "I always am."

Ariena's gaze followed him as he adjusted his cufflinks, casual, yet entirely in control.

"You think everyone bends to your will, don't you?" she asked, amused.

Zephyr paused, then gave her a slow, knowing look. "Eventually."

Ariena rolled her eyes, standing up as well, her presence just as commanding. "Cocky."

Zephyr smirked, stepping toward the door. "Confident."

"Annoying."

"Charming."

Ariena exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "I'll review the details, Mr. Draven."

Zephyr reached the door but didn't leave immediately. Instead, he turned slightly, his gaze flickering over her one last time, something unreadable in his expression.

"I expect nothing less."

And with that, he left.

The moment he stepped into his office, he pulled off his tie with one sharp tug, running a hand through his dark hair. The city lights glowed beyond the vast windows, but his mind was elsewhere—on a blood-soaked tie, a broken chess piece, and a woman who refused to bend.

His jaw clenched. Ariena Adams.

A soft knock.

Then, without permission, Emily Johnson entered.

She moved with deliberate ease, her heels clicking against the floor. Tonight, her blouse was just a little too unbuttoned, her skirt hugging every inch of her body. Calculated.

"Long night, Mr. Draven?" she purred, stepping closer.

Zephyr didn't look at her immediately. Instead, he poured himself a drink—whiskey, neat. Unbothered. Unimpressed.

But he felt her. Felt the weight of her lingering gaze, the way her breath hitched when he loosened his cuff.

She wanted him to notice.

He did.

He just didn't care.

Emily leaned in, her perfume thick and cloying. "You seem tense." A slow smile. "Maybe I could help you unwind?"

Zephyr took a sip of whiskey, then set the glass down—hard.

Before she could react, he moved.

Fast.

One swift step, and he was towering over her, the air thick with something dangerous. Before she could step back, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, pulling her in—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her breath catch.

"Help me unwind?" His voice was a low, dark drawl. Taunting. Deadly.

Emily swallowed, eyes flickering with something between anticipation and fear.

Zephyr tilted his head, his smirk sharp as a blade. "Are you sure you can handle that, sweetheart?"

Her lips parted, but she had no answer.

He leaned in—so close she could feel his breath ghosting over her skin, the heat radiating off him. He wasn't touching her, but the sheer force of his presence alone was enough to steal the air from the room.

Emily's back hit the desk.

Zephyr didn't stop.

His grip on her wrist loosened, fingers skimming slowly, deliberately down her arm before pulling away entirely. But the absence of his touch was almost worse.

Her breath hitched.

Zephyr chuckled, low and dark. "Didn't think so."

Emily's face burned—humiliation creeping in.

Zephyr took a step back, his smirk cold. Unmoved. Untouched.

"I've noticed, Emily," he murmured, voice laced with amusement. "The stares. The little 'accidental' touches. The way you play this cheap little game." He exhaled sharply. "Let me be very clear…"

"You want my attention?"

Emily swallowed.

Zephyr smirked, but it was cold. Lethal.

"This isn't the way to get it."

The words sliced through the air like a final warning.

Emily straightened, forcing a smirk, though the confidence in her eyes wavered. "I was just offering company," she murmured. "You don't have to be so serious, Mr. Draven."

Zephyr exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Cheap tricks don't amuse me." His voice dropped lower. "And neither do desperate women."

A flicker of something crossed her face—humiliation? Anger? She masked it quickly.

"I see." Her voice was clipped, but she didn't dare push further.

Zephyr leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, the shadows deepening around him. "Now, unless you have something work-related, get out."

Emily hesitated for a second too long before nodding stiffly. "Of course, sir."

She turned, walking toward the door, her movements more rigid than before. Just as she reached for the handle, Zephyr spoke again—one final blow.

"And Emily?"

She stopped but didn't turn.

His smirk was slow, deadly. "Don't make me repeat myself."

The door clicked shut behind her.

Zephyr leaned back, exhaling through his nose. His fingers instinctively curled around the broken chess piece in his pocket.

Distractions. Cheap games. He had no time for them.

There was only one woman who occupied his mind.

And that was a far more dangerous problem.

_______

Emily stormed out of Zephyr Draven's office, her heels stabbing against the marble floor with each furious step.

His words echoed in her mind, each syllable laced with mockery, dismissal… challenge.

Her fingers curled into fists.

Zephyr had played with her. Toyed with her like she was nothing.

And that? That she couldn't accept.

Emily wasn't a woman who faded into the background. She knew what she wanted. And if Zephyr Draven thought he could humiliate her and walk away?

He had another thing coming.

Her nails dug into her palm, a slow smirk curling at her lips.

''Game on, Mr. Draven''

📌 Was Emily's humiliation the end… or just the start of something dangerous?

🔥 Drop your thoughts below!