One step closer

Elon's pov 

I watched Douglas smile, light flickering across his face like a cold ripple across a lake.

It was the kind of smile that didn’t come out unless it wanted something. 

Douglas lifted a brow, slow and almost amused.

“I like to do lots of things for fun.”

His gaze drifted taking in the crowd, the music, the soft clink of crystal glasses, before letting his eyes land back on me. Or rather, on Julian Hartford. On the man I was pretending to be.

I didn’t meet his eyes.

Eye contact that lingered too long could become a challenge. Too short, a weakness. Dimitri drilled that into me a few hours ago standing over my shoulder in a mirrored hotel suite, correcting my posture, my timing, my breathing. 

Control the moment, he’d said. If they feel like they’re chasing you, you’re already winning.

My fingers tightened slightly around the stem of my champagne glass as I angled my body away, just enough to seem distracted. Just enough to seem bored. 

Inside, my mind was racing—cataloguing every exit, every reflective surface, every security camera angle I could spot. My life could quite literally end the moment I misstepped.

I couldn’t mess this up.

I’d been doing this for years. This was what I was good at. Deceiving people. Wearing skin that wasn’t mine and convincing powerful men that it belonged to me.

I turned back to Douglas with an easy smile, the kind that suggested indulgence rather than interest.

“For a man who seems to have more money than imagination,” I said lightly, “you’re not very interesting"

I tipped my glass in a casual salute, already shifting my weight as if preparing to leave.

“So if you’ll excuse me—”

“Hartford.”

There it was.

I stopped, exactly when I meant to. Not too fast. Not too slow.

Douglas’s voice followed me, smooth as polished marble. I turned back, feigning mild surprise.

“Willing to make things less boring?” I asked.

The question was layered. It always was.

“Whatever you’re looking for,” he said, “I’m not the guy to give it to you.”

For half a second my stomach dropped.

Shit.

The word flashed hot and sharp through my mind. Had I pushed too hard? Misread him? Dimitri had said confidence could be mistaken for arrogance if you didn’t temper it correctly. 

Maybe Douglas had clocked me. Maybe he didn’t want to reveal anything to a complete stranger—and why would he?

No one smart ever did.

Then I caught myself.

No. I’d been in this game too long to panic over a single line. You’d be surprised how many people were willing to spill their deepest secrets once they felt seen, understood, or even just entertained. 

Trust didn’t come from honesty. It came from familiarity. From the illusion that you were the same kind of animal.

I exhaled, letting the tension drain from my shoulders, and smiled again—wider this time, careless, almost amused at myself.

“You’re probably right,” I said. “I mean, who would want to bare anything real to a stranger?”

Douglas watched me carefully.

So I gave him a story.

“My father handed me billions,” I said, lowering my voice as if confiding something mildly embarrassing. 

“Just… dropped it into my lap like a loaded gun and told me not to shoot myself.”

I laughed softly, taking another sip of champagne.

“Now I sit in a mansion all day watching l people do things they can’t stand. Buying things I don’t want. Living a life I didn’t earn.”

I shrugged.

“It gets dull.”

The lie slid out smoothly. Too smoothly. I leaned into it.

“So,” I added, glancing past him toward the crowd, “it was nice meeting you, Douglas Chen. I think I’ll find someone else tonight who might tickle my fancy.”

I turned.

One step.

Two steps.

“Wait.”

Of course.

Douglas glanced around, subtle but deliberate, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. When I turned back, I didn’t let my satisfaction show. I kept my expression neutral, curious.

“Yes?” I asked.

“We should get out of here,” he said.

I tilted my head. “A change of heart so soon?”

His mouth twitched. “Follow me.”

We slipped through the edge of the gathering and out into the night air, the music dulling behind us. 

The path led to a structure near the water—a pavilion, I realized. Open-sided, white-painted, elegant in a way that screamed money without ever raising its voice.

A chandelier hung from the center, crystals catching moonlight and scattering it across the smooth floor. 

Beyond it stretched a lake so still it looked staged, swans gliding across the surface like ornamental pieces placed by a designer who thought nature needed editing.

I stared at them for a moment.

“Did the owner buy the swans for the view,” I murmured, “or do they come included once you hit a certain tax bracket?”

Douglas laughed, genuinely this time.

People really do have money, I thought to myself, stepping into the pavilion.

Douglas stopped near the railing and turned to face me.

“All right,” he said. “How much are you willing to drop?”

I smiled, unbothered.

“Oh, Mr. Chen. I will spare no expense for this kind of thing.”

That earned me another laugh.

“I like you,” he said. “I really do.”

He paused, then sighed, as if surrendering to something inevitable.

“And to be honest, I haven’t been entirely honest myself.”

I waited.

“As you probably guessed,” he continued, “most of the people in that room are criminals. Or at least adjacent to things the average person wouldn’t recognize on the surface.”

I met his eyes this time, offering a quiet smile. An acknowledgment. Not shock. Not judgment.

We stood there a moment longer before he gestured toward the house.

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

He nodded. “What kind of dining do you enjoy?”

My brain practically rewired, I had read about his love for fine dining in the papers Dimitri forced me to read.

I scoffed lightly. “You don’t even understand how far fine dining has fallen lately.”

That caught his attention. Good.

“Oh?”

“Everyone’s chasing trends,” I said as we began walking.

 “Foams. Performances. Plates that look like abstract art but taste like disappointment. No one respects the craft anymore.”

Douglas hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve been saying that for years.”

“Then you know exactly what I mean.”

He glanced at me, impressed now. “Most people don’t.”

The restaurant inside the house was pure luxury everywhere I looked. Polished stone. Soft lighting. Staff who moved like shadows.

Wow, I thought. People really do have money.

We sat. Ordered. Waited.

When the waitress left, Douglas leaned forward.

“I’m going to involve you in some very dirty business,” he said calmly. “You’ll need to drop the first payme

nt tonight.”

I laughed, lifting my glass once more.

“For this,” I said, “I will spare no expense, Mr. Chen.”

And as we clinked glasses, I knew I had him.

One step closer.