Arya smoothed her dress for what felt like the hundredth time, her palms damp with nerves. The Maverick family gala was in full swing, the grand ballroom filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the hum of conversations.
She spotted her mother, Helen Light, talking animatedly with some old acquaintances. Helen was in her element at events like these, her confidence and charm shining as brightly as the diamonds on her neck.
But Arya wasn't here to bask in the social atmosphere. She had a mission, and her target was standing by the bar, his presence commanding even in the crowded room.
Marx Maverick.
He was impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, his dark hair swept back, revealing a chiseled jaw and piercing eyes that seemed to assess everything and everyone.
Arya took a deep breath and approached him, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease.
"Mr. Maverick," she said, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.
Marx turned, his gaze landing on her with the weight of a spotlight. For a moment, he said nothing, and Arya wondered if she'd made a mistake.
"Do I know you?" Was the first thing he said.
"Oh, I'm not sure. I'm a daughter of the light family."
"Miss Light," he said finally, his tone measured. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Arya offered a polite smile. "I thought it might be nice to talk, considering our families' connections."
Marx's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Connections," he repeated, his tone faintly amused.
Arya opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, a voice cut through the tension.
"There you are, Arya!"
She turned to see Elara approaching, her golden curls bouncing as she walked. She was dressed in a dazzling red gown that clung to her figure, exuding confidence. But Arya didn't miss the flicker of malice in her sister's eyes.
Elara slid her arm around Arya's shoulder, her smile sharp. "I've been looking for you everywhere. You've been hiding."
Arya stiffened under her sister's touch. "I wasn't hiding, Elara. I was just having a conversation."
"With Mr. Maverick, no less," Elara said, her tone sugary sweet. She turned to Marx, her eyes sparkling. "You know, Arya tends to be a little shy in these settings. I hope she's not boring you."
Marx's gaze shifted between the sisters, his expression unreadable. "Not at all," he said coolly. "Miss Light has been… intriguing."
Elara's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but she recovered quickly. "How kind of you to say," she replied, her voice tight.
Arya tried to step away, but Elara's grip on her shoulder tightened.
"Don't go running off now," Elara said, her tone low enough that only Arya could hear. "I'm not done with you."
Moments later, Arya found herself standing by the grand staircase with Elara.
"You're such a bitch you know?" Elara said.
"You're just a failure who wants to cling to men to get what she wants." Arya muttered with a grin.
The noise from the gala seemed distant as her sister leaned closer, her voice a venomous whisper.
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Elara hissed. "Exposing me like that in front of everyone."
Arya held her ground, refusing to flinch. "You did that to yourself, Elara."
Her sister's eyes narrowed. "I warned you that your little victory wouldn't last."
Before Arya could respond, Elara's hand shot out, shoving her backward.
Her heart lurched as she lost her balance, the edge of the staircase looming behind her.
But before she could fall, a strong hand caught her wrist, pulling her forward with startling force.
"Careful, Miss Light," Marx said, his voice low and steady.
Arya found herself pressed against his chest, her heart pounding from both fear and… something else. She looked up, meeting his gaze. His dark eyes were intense, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away.
"Are you always this clumsy?" he asked, his lips quivering into a faint smirk.
Arya flushed, her voice caught in her throat. "I—I'm not…"
His hand lingered on her waist, and his gaze dropped to her lips for a brief second. The air between them grew charged, electric.
"Do you want me to kiss you?" Marx asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Arya's breath hitched, her eyes widening. "What?"
He leaned in slightly, his lips almost brushing her ear. "You've been staring at me all night. If you're waiting for something, just say so."
Heat rushed to Arya's face, and she pushed against his chest, breaking the spell. "You're insufferable," she muttered, stepping back.
Marx chuckled, his hand falling to his side. "If you say so."
Arya turned away, her heart racing. She could still feel the warmth of his touch, the weight of his gaze lingering on her.
She didn't notice Elara watching from a distance, her fists clenched at her sides.
Elara's mind raced as she watched Marx and Arya's exchange. She had hoped to humiliate Arya tonight, but instead, she had unwittingly created an opportunity for her sister.
Her lips curled into a bitter smile. "This isn't over," she whispered to herself.
Later that night, Arya returned to her room, her thoughts a tangled mess. She had completed the first step of her mission, but Marx's words echoed in her mind, unsettling her in ways she couldn't explain.
The glowing screen appeared again, displaying a new message:
"Mission Two: Progress – 10%. The target's interest has been piqued. Continue building trust."
Arya stared at the screen, determination hardening her features.
If he wants to play games, I'll make sure I win.