Location:Grand Ballroom, Umbra Operations HQ, Dallas, Texas, USA
Time: 9:45 pm
He thought he had the rhythm under control, confident, cocky, certain of his game. But that last boast struck a nerve he hadn't anticipated. She wasn't one of those women grateful to be picked up at his convenience. She is the East Wind. The CFO of Wind Core.
She didn't flinch. Not even a flicker in her gaze. She simply lowered her lashes, and the corner of her lips lifted, a smile so faint it was almost imperceptible, but cold as frost.
When she spoke, her voice was soft enough to be mistaken for warmth, but every word landed with the precision of a diamond blade."So… the women you just mentioned," she asked, tone calm and evenly paced, "Do they also hold a PhD in Economics?"
"Or perhaps they oversee a multinational holding group valued close to 70 billion USD, with a net asset base of 30 billion too?"
She tilted her head ever so slightly, the motion graceful, detached, like a velvet sheath wrapped around a hidden blade. "Oh, and just so you know," she added gently, "I have over five billion U.S. dollars in liquid assets at my immediate disposal." Her eyes remained cool, her smile unwavering."I don't fall into anyone's arms, Mr. Graves."A beat. Then came the smile, light, measured, and lethal. "I'm your future investor."
Arthur Graves stopped. Just for a second, but it landed harder than any touch. This wasn't flirtation. It wasn't a coy comeback.
It was a declaration of power, undiluted and unmistakable. At that moment, Lyra shattered every trace of his casual charm, cutting through all the games and projections.
She commanded his full, undivided attention.He didn't respond right away.Instead, he stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until he was standing directly in front of her.
His chest filled her field of vision, solid and close, pushing right up against the edges of her personal space.
A Wall. Steady. Heated.
His body radiated warmth like a furnace, wrapping around her without a single word. He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of her ear, his voice low and rough, like a match striking in the dark, slow, deliberate, and radiating heat.
"You just said…" he murmured," You've got a PhD, and you can move five billion in liquid assets. Right now?"
This time, his tone held no trace of mockery, only curiosity. And something deeper… She lowered her gaze, masking the flicker of pride, of hunger, that almost slipped through when she saw his reaction.
What she didn't know, was that it was precisely this restraint, this calculated poise laced with the faintest trace of desire, that made him addicted.
With composed elegance, she drew the only card tucked inside her gown and held it out,calm, deliberate, and unmistakably in control.
"As business partners, your finance team should have already received Wind Core Group's annual report."Her voice was measured and warm, yet carried a precision that left no room for ambiguity."If there's anything missing from the information provided, feel free to reach out to me directly, this is my personal number."
The words had barely settled in the air when she dipped her head with poised civility, preparing to take her leave. At that moment, she was no longer just the striking guest of the evening. She is the Chief Financial Officer of Wind Core: composed, deliberate, and in complete control.
Lyra turned. But she didn't get far. She hadn't even taken a full step before his fingers closed around the card, swift and deliberate, as if what he snatched wasn't just her contact information, but the last sliver of control she meant to keep for herself.
The hand he had placed on her waist never moved. Not an inch.His body remained pressed against hers, and the heat of him bled through the fabric of her gown, undeniable.
So was the hardness of him, solid, unyielding, impossible to ignore. "Don't be in such a rush, Darlin'." His voice brushed against her ear, velvet-soft, almost tender, but laced with something dangerous beneath the surface.
A coaxing lullaby, disguising a command. "You're not leaving. Not yet."
His other hand slid slowly down to her lower abdomen, its movement unhurried, calculated. Without a word, he pulled her back, effortlessly, completely. And just like that, she was locked against him. He was too solid, broad enough to drown her completely in his presence, as if his very body was designed for possession.
It wasn't force.It was gravity. A calculated encirclement, executed with nothing but heat and proximity. Arthur surrounded her like a fortress, arms firm around her waist and lower belly, holding her not with violence, but with certainty.
Lyra could feel all of him, the strength, the heat, the intention. But she didn't soften. Instead, she turned her head just slightly, just enough to let her voice brush against his ear, cold and steady."Sir," she exhaled quietly,"This game is not fair." Only a few words. Spoken calmly. But sharp as a bullet. It wasn't flirtation. It was a warning.
What she got in return was a laugh, low, husky, and intimate, the sound vibrating gently against her skin."You're asking a mercenary for fairness?" he murmured against her ear, utterly unapologetic.
His hand moved again, slower this time, more casually, drawing lazy circles across her lower abdomen. Every motion carried a teasing edge, each stroke a quiet reminder: He was the one in control.
"No one builds a body like yours by accident, Darlin'," he murmured with a low laugh, his teeth grazing the edge of her ear. "Too damn sexy… makes a man want to swallow you whole."
And then, he dropped the line. Blunt. Ridiculous. But so steeped in danger it raised goosebumps. "I could toss you over my shoulder right now," he drawled, "carry you to bed like a damn sack of flour." It was the kind of line that could've gotten him sued. Any other woman might have blushed, or snapped back, or taken a step away.
However, not her. She stayed right where she was, still and composed, letting his body heat curl around her like smoke. Then she spoke softly, almost like idle conversation. But her words cut sharper than any rebuke. "And what would that get you, Commander?"
Just a question. But the right ones always carry weight. That one landed like a thunderclap, rational, clear, a needle to the inflated skin of desire. He laughed again. Not with mockery, but with a kind of pleasure born in the shadows of midnight. As if the colder she was, the more fascinated he became.
That restraint, that distance, it fed something in him. Something old. Something dangerous. Something that craved control. His hand didn't move away from her abdomen. It kept circling, slowly, leisurely, almost absentminded, but impossible to ignore. Like he was testing her. Or claiming her.
"Firstly," he murmured, voice low and raspy, like whiskey just off the flame, bitter on the tongue, hot down the throat, and addictively lethal. "I like the way you feel towards me."
His other hand moved up along the curve of her spine, fingertips tracing the lines hidden beneath silk, as if he were learning her shape by memory, not sight. "A woman like you…" he paused, his voice taking on the focus of a predator describing its prize.
"Running a multinational worth more than a couple of times what Umbra's valued at, and yet, here you are, helpless against me, folded into my arms with no resistance at all."
He leaned in, his mouth brushing the edge of her ear, breath scalding hot like a secret confession burning its way under her skin. "You know what I love the most Darlin'?" he whispered, his tone steady, certain, like the declaration of a fate long decided. "You. Powerless in front of me. You are everything I've ever wanted."
This time, the look in his eyes finally stripped itself bare, no more charm, no more games. Only raw, unfiltered desire, burning like flame.
But she wasn't like the others he'd had before. No flinching. No flushed cheeks. No unraveling at the seams. She simply turned her head, just enough for her cheek to brush against the edge of his jaw, a calculated movement wrapped in silk.
Then, with the calm of someone already holding the upper hand, she spoke, her voice low, precise, and cutting like polished glass:"Sir, I don't believe this is how a business partner should behave."
Simple, lethal, undeniable. Just like a door closed, softly but without any room left for return.
But Arthur Graves was never the kind of man to back down when cornered. He chuckled, low, rough, like a predator pressed into a corner, still ready to pounce. His grip tightened, firmer now, possessive. He was the kind of man who took what he wanted, and right now, it was clear he had no intention of letting go...