A slow smile touched my lips as I traced the cool metal of the earpiece, now a pendant nestled against my skin. My reflection in the full-length mirror was… unexpected. Conservative wasn't the word. A crimson backless dress clung to my curves, the six-inch heels adding a dangerous edge to my usual understated style.
A frustrated sigh escaped me. "Seriously? He just asked me out, and this is what I'm wearing?" The red dress felt alien, a costume for a role I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to play. A simple shirt and jeans would have been so much easier.
I tossed my long, jellyfish-cut navy blue hair over my shoulder, the movement a restless gesture mirroring the turmoil in my mind. The apartment door felt heavy, laden with unspoken expectations.
I opened it, my carefully constructed composure a shield against the unknown. His gaze, those intense gray eyes, raked over me, a silent appraisal that sent a shiver down my spine. The low whistle that followed was blatant, audacious, and undeniably infuriating.
"Is that standard teacher conduct? Whistling at your students?" My eyebrow arched, a challenge in my tone. I fumbled for my keys, the black shoulder bag feeling heavy with the weight of my uncertainty. The click of the lock was a small victory in the face of the looming unknown.
His lips curved into a smirk, a predatory glint in his eyes as he closed the distance. He leaned in, his breath—icy mint—a tantalizing contrast to the sudden heat rising in my cheeks. His face was so close, I could feel the warmth of his skin, the subtle tremor in his breath.
"I asked you out, Asher," his voice was a low rumble, a husky caress against my senses. "But not in my capacity as your advisor."
The heat intensified, a blush creeping up my neck. I pushed him away, the movement sharp and decisive.
"Child abuse," I stated, my voice cool and even, a stark contrast to the turmoil within. I turned and walked away, my heels clicking a steady rhythm against the polished floor, a counterpoint to the erratic beat of my heart. The elevator beckoned, a sanctuary from the unsettling intensity of his presence.
The elevator ride was a silent battleground. The only sound was the relentless click of my heels, a nervous tic I couldn't control. He was close behind me, his presence a palpable weight in the confined space.
My anxiety spiked. What if he decided to… do something? The thought sent a wave of panic through me. I moved to the opposite side of the elevator, crossing my arms defensively, my gaze fixed on him, a silent challenge in my posture.
His head tilted, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Anxious, Asher?"
"Perhaps," I retorted, my voice laced with sarcasm. "I wouldn't want to be accused of inappropriate teacher-student relations and end up on the FBI's radar."
The amusement vanished, replaced by a hardening of his features. His jaw clenched. I laughed, a nervous, slightly unconvincing sound. "Just kidding. I get claustrophobic in small spaces."
Another lie. I'd navigated tighter spaces than this, trained to move like a shadow in confined environments. That woman had ensured I was more than capable.
He turned away, his profile a study in controlled intensity. The subtle flex of his jaw, the way the light glinted off his stud earrings, was almost… distracting. He was breathtakingly attractive, even in his quiet intensity.
The elevator doors pinged open, breaking the tension. I stepped out quickly, the relief palpable. But as I reached the building's entrance, his voice stopped me.
"Nice ass," he said, the words delivered with a playful lilt that belied the underlying intensity.
I whirled around, my face a mask of disbelief. He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that vibrated through the air, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he closed the distance. He reached out, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder, and we began to walk.
A security guard, John, approached. "Good evening, sir. Going out on a date?"
I winced. Vhon, still smirking, answered, "Yes, John. My date's a little slow getting ready."
John chuckled. "Ah, just like my wife! Have a nice evening."
My annoyance flared as we walked away. I slapped his arm.
He hissed dramatically. "Ouch! That's a heavy hand."
"It's perfectly calibrated for your thick skull," I retorted, showing him my open palm.
"You're brutal—" His words were cut short by my raised hand.
I squinted, studying his face. "Your English is flawless now. No more Russian accent."
He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I was teasing you. The elevator was… depressing. I tried to lighten the mood."
I nodded, crossing my arms. I needed answers.
"Where are we going?" I asked, pointedly using "sir."
"Call me Vhon. Forget the teacher-student thing for now," he said, his tone cold.
I held my ground. "Only those who know me well can call me Domino." Only Squad X knew the real me, the darkness I kept hidden.
His expression softened. He put his hands in his pockets. "Then call me Vhon. And you can call me Vhon."
"Wait here," he said, walking towards the Diamond Chateau's parking lot.
I couldn't believe myself. I was going out with him, not knowing where he was taking me. But I could handle myself. I wouldn't go down without a fight. And besides…
I sighed, staring at the road. "I have no choice. I need information."
I was lost in thought when the sound of an engine—or rather, the lack of a typical engine sound—snapped me out of it. My eyes widened.
"Holy Mother of Jesus Christ—is that a freaking Ducati Superleggera V4?!" The sheer disbelief in my voice was undeniable.
He lived here? There were no luxury hotels in this rural area. This was… unexpected.
My eyes were still wide as I stared at the magnificent machine. He removed his helmet, the black leather a stark contrast to his playful grin.
"Wow... you just blurted out the whole name. There are still women who know their motorcycles?" he said, amusement dancing in his eyes.
I laughed, taking the red helmet he offered, mirroring the bike's color. "Why wouldn't I? Ducatis are masterpieces! I'd kill for one!"
"A Ducati freak, I see," he said, laughing. "Let's go."
I was about to put on the helmet when reality hit. The dress, the heels—this was a disaster.
His expression mirrored my own realization. "My bad, I'll get my car—"
"NO! NO! NO! NO!" I interrupted, my eyes wide. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I grabbed my pocketknife from my bag, quickly slitting a generous opening in the side of my dress. "Self-defense purposes," I muttered, glancing at him.
Next, I removed my heels—they were cleverly designed flats. I tossed the heels in my bag.
"There," I declared, satisfied.
"I'm speechless," he said, shaking his head, a smile playing on his lips.
He put on his helmet, and I followed suit.
I climbed onto the back of the bike, my hands gripping his shoulders. I tapped his shoulders, signaling I was ready. The roar of the engine filled the air as he pulled away, the wind whipping through my hair.
—
"Oh my god!!!" I screamed, pure exhilaration filling my voice. The speed was exhilarating! This bike was a dream.
This was the first time I'd felt this alive in ages, not since my last mission.
A wave of chilling memories threatened to overwhelm me, but I pushed them back, focusing on the slowing bike. I looked up.
A luxury restaurant. The name was emblazoned across the building. A three-story restaurant? In this rural area? It was utterly unexpected.
Vhon dismounted first, then helped me down. I could have managed it myself, but I let him.
I removed my helmet, placing it on the bike's seat. "That ride… was amazing!" He laughed, mirroring my excitement. He removed his helmet, shaking his slightly curly hair.
His gray eyes met mine, intense and captivating. "Shall we?"
I raised an eyebrow. "After that ride, I doubt you're worried about the bill."
I walked ahead, my composure unwavering. The guard opened the door, and as I stepped inside, my breath caught in my throat.
Oh my God! Japanese and French cuisine! A three-story culinary extravaganza!
I jumped as an arm snaked around my waist. I looked up at Vhon, his hand resting possessively there.
My heart pounded. He was even more attractive up close.
I laughed, responding to his teasing. "Teachers don't hold their students like that."
He smirked. What he said next would consume my thoughts for weeks.
"You're with me as my date, though."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. My mind reeled. A date? With him? What was going on? Was this part of his plan? Was he trying to manipulate me? The thrill of the ride, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, warred with a growing sense of unease. This was far from a simple "date." This was a game, and I wasn't sure what the stakes were.
He led me through the restaurant, his hand never leaving my waist, the touch both possessive and strangely comforting. The atmosphere was luxurious, opulent, the air thick with the scent of exotic spices and fine perfumes. It was a world away from the world I knew, the world of shadows and secrets.
He pulled out a chair for me, his eyes never leaving mine. "Please," he said, his voice smooth as silk.
I sat, my heart pounding against my ribs. He sat across from me, his gaze fixed on mine. The silence stretched, pregnant with unspoken words.
"So, Asher," he began, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Tell me about yourself."
I couldn't help but smile. He was playing a dangerous game, but I was ready to play along.
"What do you want to know?" I asked, my voice steady.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Everything."
And so I began to weave a tale, a carefully constructed facade, a carefully crafted lie. I told him about my childhood, about the orphanage, about the nuns who had raised me. I told him I was an orphan, that I had no family, that I was searching for my place in the world.
He listened intently, his eyes never leaving mine. He asked questions, probing for details, testing my story. But I was prepared. I had a plan, and I was sticking to it. This dinner, this date, was just another piece of the puzzle. And I was determined to fit it into place.