Zara's POV
"The man talking to Tom?" I asked, barely keeping my voice steady.
"Yes, him. Ravier Auckland. New York's latest obsession. He just moved back here from Switzerland. Surely, you've seen him around The Amethyst. Doesn't he always dine there as a VIP?" Thalia's eyes sparkled, clearly pleased with herself.
I was still in shock, my blood pressure rising and a headache starting to form, but I forced myself to stay calm.
"Looks like a nice catch, isn't he? Yeah, I know him," I said, the words coming out harder than I intended, my mind still reeling.
"A nice catch, yes, but one that's hard to tame. Our families have arranged a marriage for us, but he barely speaks to me…"
Her voice faded as the words "arranged marriage" hit me like a slap. My mind raced, piecing together my previous encounter with him—the contract, the necklace.
A twisted mesh of coincidences or something darker? My heart pounded as the possibilities unfolded, each more sinister than the last.
The sheer gravity of this coincidence sent a shiver down my spine, and wicked scenarios spinning in my mind.
"…so I want to make him kneel before the marriage." Thalia's voice trailed off, her words hanging in the air, but it was her eyes that held my attention.
I'd never seen her so fired up over a man. Thalia, who could have anyone with a snap of her fingers, suddenly aflame for a man she couldn't tame.
Her expression incited me. This topic would distract her from finding out whether I'd heard about my father or not.
"So you want him because he's not interested in you?" I pushed, my voice cold, my eyes never leaving hers.
"We're bound to marry," Thalia blurted out, her voice laced with pride. "But that's not enough. I want him to choose me, to kneel and beg for me. Imagine the attention I'd get if he proposed. A man like him, submitting at my feet…ooh." Her eyes gleamed with cunning, a sly smile curving her lips.
"Do you honestly believe you can make him do that?" I asked, a sharp edge of mockery curling in my voice, my disbelief practically daring her.
"You doubt me?" Thalia's voice rose, an arrogant edge creeping in. "I'm Thalia, daughter of the Carrigan family. I can get whatever I set my mind to."
Of course, The Carrigan, a tycoon family in the food industry. Everyone knew their name. But she wouldn't get so worked up like this if it was that easy.
"I wouldn't dare doubt you," I replied with a chuckle, my voice laced with sarcasm. "Good luck with that, then."
"So, you don't need to worry about me and Martin. We're just a fling. You can have him all to yourself, Zara," Thalia sneered, dismissing me.
Those words sounded funny, yet ironic in my ears. I let out a bitter laugh, loud enough to make her flinch, caught off guard.
"Oh, Thalia," I said, my laughter dripping with mockery. "Thank you so much for your consideration," I paused, drawing it out with a smirk. "You're so funny. I didn't know your twisted mind could make me laugh like this."
Her face twisted in confusion, caught between irritation and disbelief that I could openly mock her like that. I watched her unravel under my words, bit by bit, and I enjoyed every second of it.
"You are insulting me, aren't you?" she asked, her voice dipping with annoyance.
"Insult? Whoa…" I stepped forward, my eyes narrowing, disbelief mingling with the simmering anger beneath my calm exterior. "Thalia, you're unbelievable." Should I pull her into yet another game?
I leaned back against the railing, a soft but resolved smile tugging at my lips. "You know, all of this act tonight makes me want to throw myself on the dancefloor," I added, the words coming out sharper than I intended. "Since we were friends, lend me a dress for that, so I can forget and dance away my misery."
Thalia widened her eyes, shocked by what I asked. "Suddenly? Aren't you still working?"
"Dinner's over. I'm clocking out." My tone was clipped, a quiet warning that I wasn't in the mood for any more nonsense.
Her mouth twitched, resisting. "And why should I lend it to you?"
I straightened, my expression hardening as I stepped closer. "Didn't you just say you were sorry? Moreover, friends are supposed to share, aren't we?" I let her words linger, twisting them back at her with a sharp, knowing look—making sure she felt the weight of her own logic. "Just do it for old friend's sake!"
"And if I refuse?" She scoffed.
I leaned in, my voice low. "Test me."
The challenge hung in the air as I stepped forward, my presence looming over her. Our eyes locked, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, that witchy smile of hers reappeared—sly, calculating.
"Sure... Follow me." She turned with that sweet, empty smile, as if nothing were amiss.
She was a witch. I was betting everything on my bark. She and I both understood that I couldn't hurt her. But what she didn't know—what she couldn't know—was just how much I had overheard. She wasn't sure if I'd heard her mention my father, and that uncertainty was my weapon. I clung to her doubt like a lifeline.
She knew I was capable of making a scene, especially over something as dangerous as my father's secret. But she also knew me too well. When I said I'd forget, she knew I meant it, whatever it was.
That was the gamble—she had to trust me, or pretend to. If I ever decided to bring it up, I would, and there'd be no stopping me. We'd been pretending at friendship too long for her not to understand the unspoken deal.
Little did she know, I had no real intention of bringing up my father's secret. I didn't have the power to beat her. But the way she reacted—so easily bent and submissive, for God's sake, she'd never even let me near her closet, let alone lend me a dress—told me all I needed to know. She was terrified I'd overheard something I shouldn't have. It was a game of bluff. And for now, I wasn't calling it.
My mind raced as I stepped into her walk-in closet, the weight of my next move pressing down on me.
The red off-shoulder dress caught my eye—perfect, stunning like it was made for my show. I ran my fingers over the fabric, feeling the promise of power it held, but I knew putting it on was only the beginning.
I was betting on two games, each more dangerous than the last, and once the dice rolled, there'd be no turning back.
Insult? Thalia needs to learn what it really means. I'd damn well bet my soul on it.
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