Chapter 2 Let the games Begin

The Morning After

7:14 AM - Her Apartment, Upper West Side

Ariella Blake stared at the man sleeping in her bed like he was a loaded gun with the safety off.

Sunlight leaked through her half-drawn curtains, dusting his bare chest in a soft golden glow. His hair was a dark mess against her white pillow, lips slightly parted, brows relaxed in the kind of peace that shouldn't exist in people like Damien Cross. Even asleep, he was too composed, too handsome, too dangerous.

Ariella sat up slowly, every muscle in her body stiff-either from the twisted, breathless war they'd called sex last night, or from the tension that still clung to her spine like armor.

Her robe was across the floor, tangled with his blazer and her bra.

Damn it.

Damn him.

She stood, wrapping the silk robe around herself and tying it tight like she could contain the chaos beneath it. Her reflection in the mirror didn't help-flushed cheeks, lips bruised from kissing, neck marked with half-moon shadows of his mouth.

This wasn't her.

She didn't do this. She didn't sleep with enemies. She didn't blur lines. She didn't let the past crawl into her bed and whisper things that sounded like apologies but felt like control.

Yet she had.

And it was perfect.

And she hated that.

She poured herself black coffee and took the first bitter sip just as Damien stirred.

"Morning," he said lazily, voice still gravel and silk.

She didn't answer. She sipped.

He sat up, the blanket falling to his waist, revealing more tan skin and lean muscle than anyone should look that good wearing. He raked a hand through his messy hair and smirked like they were just two lovers enjoying the afterglow.

She finally spoke. "You need to leave."

He raised a brow. "No good morning? No small talk over overpriced coffee beans?"

"This was a mistake," she snapped.

He yawned. "You said that last night. Right before you-"

"Finish that sentence and I'll throw this mug at your face."

He smirked wider. "Temper. I'd forgotten how much I liked it."

She glared. "Get dressed, Cross. I've got a company to run, and you've got a face I'd like to forget."

He stood slowly, unashamedly nude, as he reached for his slacks.

Ariella looked away.

"You sure about that?" he asked softly.

"Dead sure," she lied.

---

9:03 AM - Blake & Bloom Headquarters

Ariella strode into the office like nothing had happened, dressed in a steel-gray pantsuit with black heels that echoed through the marble lobby. She wore war like perfume.

Lucy trailed behind her, handing her the morning schedule. "You have a joint meeting with Cross Global at ten, a call with Vogue at noon, and the creative pitch with Durell Pharmaceuticals at two."

"Good. Move the Durell pitch to three. I want an hour with the digital team."

Lucy hesitated. "Um... should I also mention that Damien Cross is already in the building?"

Ariella stopped walking.

"He's what?"

Lucy nodded nervously. "He showed up early. He's in the glass conference room. Alone. Waiting."

Ariella's jaw clenched. "Fine. Bring him coffee. No cream."

Lucy blinked. "You want me to bring him your order?"

"No," Ariella said, eyes narrowing. "Bring it exactly how he hates it. Add cream. Add sugar. Add almond milk. And write 'From Ariella' on the cup in red marker."

Lucy grinned. "Consider it done."

---

10:02 AM - Glass Conference Room

Damien was already leaning back in the executive chair when Ariella walked in, wearing smug like cologne.

"Nice coffee choice," he said, holding up the sugar-filled monstrosity like it was a trophy.

Ariella took her seat across the long glass table, laptop open, notes in hand, face unreadable. "Thought you'd enjoy a change. Or maybe I just wanted to see if you'd spit it out like a child."

He sipped it slowly. Didn't flinch. "Delicious. Just like last night."

Her smile was venom. "You talk about it again, and I'll leak the footage of you begging."

His eyes gleamed. "I don't beg, Ariella."

"Funny. My thighs would say otherwise."

The room fell into silence, heavy with challenge.

Then the glass door opened.

Two senior board members entered-one from Blake & Bloom, one from Cross Global. They carried tension like briefcases.

"Shall we begin?" the older man asked.

Ariella and Damien didn't break eye contact.

"Yes," they said in unison.

---

11:46 AM - Post-Meeting Debrief

Ariella was halfway to her office when Damien caught up with her in the hallway.

"You're good," he said, tone unreadable.

"I know," she replied without stopping.

He matched her stride. "You didn't flinch once when they announced the co-leadership role. Not even a twitch."

"I don't twitch."

"No. You smirk. It's worse."

She stopped outside her office, turning to face him. "Let's get one thing straight, Cross. This partnership? It's business. Strictly business. There will be no repeat of last night. No lines crossed. No games."

He stepped closer.

She didn't move.

He leaned down until his mouth was at her ear.

"Everything with us is a game," he whispered. "And sweetheart... I don't lose."

Then he turned and walked away.

And Ariella stood there.

Still.

Burning.

---

That Night

11:08 PM - Ariella's Apartment

She couldn't sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes, she felt him.

His hands.

His mouth.

The way he'd looked at her after.

Like she was a puzzle he'd finally solved.

She hated it.

She hated him.

But the worst part?

She didn't hate how it felt.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Damien: Still thinking about it?

She stared.

Then, another.

Damien: You moaned my name like a prayer, Ariella. I'll remind you again soon.

She threw the phone across the room.