Chapter 7: The Devil's Games

Rosette’s Point of View~~~

I stepped out of the elevator, forcing my expression into its usual collected mask.

Three pairs of eyes watched me at once. Their curiosity piqued at the sight they’d just witnessed seconds ago.

Great.

Julio Jenner’s daughter and soon-to-be chairlady seen with my fist raised, ready to punch Cesare Llewellyn square in the face.

I smiled smoothly, ignoring the thudding of my heart.

“I apologize for that scene,” I said, extending my hand to Mr. Blakewood first.

“This gentleman and I," I gestured to Cesare, "...had a little misunderstanding. Old acquaintances, you know how it is.”

Mr. Blakewood, a refined man in his late fifties with silvered hair and shrewd blue eyes, raised a brow as he shook my hand firmly. “You both know each other?”

Well, isn't that a weird question.

I let out a light laugh, one I reserved for meetings—pleasant but not too polite.

“Yes, long ago. College days to be precise. But that was another lifetime ago, wasn’t it, Mr. Llewellyn?”

Cesare said nothing behind me. Just stood there watching me. Is he waiting for me to ‘shuu’ him away before he presses a button?

I turned back to the rest of the group. There was a young man in glasses and a tall woman with perfectly pinned-up hair.

“Shall we begin the meeting? I believe we have a lot to discuss.”

They nodded, following Mr. Blakewood’s lead toward the private dining table arranged in the center of the penthouse restaurant.

The city lights spilled through the glass walls, and I inhaled deeply, forcing my shoulders to stay squared.

I moved to sit down, but then I caught movement from the corner of my eye.

Cesare.

He followed us calmly, unhurried, sliding into the empty chair directly across from mine as if this was his place to be.

My brow furrowed despite myself.

Why is he sitting here? Why is he even—

The realization hit me just as Mr. Blakewood caught my expression and spoke.

“Forgive my bad manners, I didn’t properly introduce you two, did I? I assumed he would have told you already.” he said smoothly and professionally before dropping the bomb.

“Ms. Jenner, Mr. Cesare Llewellyn here is the overseer of one of my largest companies. He’ll also be working closely with you on this expansion deal. Practically, he’ll be your direct point of contact.”

My fingers tightened on the edge of the table. “I—excuse me?”

Cesare leaned back lazily in his chair, his expression unreadable. No smirk. No frown. Just a blank stare directed at me.

Mr. Blakewood continued, oblivious to the war raging inside my head.

“The JJ Empire is entering new markets; it’s crucial we have someone experienced to coordinate things. Cesare’s the best I have.”

I forced my lips into a polite smile, even as horror clawed at my chest. I was going to work with Cesare Llewellyn?

Terrible. Absolutely terrible.

I flicked a glance at him again, expecting that familiar mocking tilt of his lips, that devil-may-care arrogance that had defined him. But no. He just watched me silently, not even blinking an eye.

It unsettled me more than his smirks ever had.

I returned my attention to the table, pushing him to the back of my mind as the meeting began.

I launched into my proposal, detailing the JJ Empire’s expansion strategy, numbers, projected revenue. I was precise and detailed as ever just as I practiced before coming.

When I finished, silence followed.

The team exchanged glances. Blakewood rested his chin on his steepled fingers, thinking.

“She’s… convincing,” said the woman, but her voice carried doubt.

The man in glasses frowned. “But Ms. Jenner, while your strategy is sound, we can’t ignore the fact that you’ve only just taken over as Chairlady. Your father was a giant in the industry. Forgive me, but… can you uphold his legacy? We can’t afford to invest if JJ Empire collapses under inexperienced leadership.”

There it was. Exactly what I’d expected.

“He's right,” The woman agreed.

“We've worked with newbies like you before and quite the number didn't end well. We only accepted this invitation because we thought Julio Jenner would be here, not you leading this yourself.”

I opened my mouth, ready to counter, but a different voice cut across the table, surprising me.

“I don’t see the problem,” Cesare said casually, leaning forward. His deep time carried a commanding attention.

“If anything, this deal benefits us more than it benefits her. The risk is minimal, and the returns, should her projections play out, are significant. Besides, if we don’t take this, our competitors will.”

All eyes were on him now. Including mine.

“She’s Julio Jenner’s daughter,” he continued, “and she didn’t inherit her father’s empire just to let it rot. We’d be foolish to underestimate her.”

My heart skipped.

I should be more worried about why he's actually defending me but I can't help but wonder how he came to know about my true identity.

On second thoughts, why didn't he question me when we met earlier? He certainly noticed I looked and sounded different but he didn't raise any questions?

Then my eyes darted to Blakewood. Right. He must have been informed beforehand.

I wonder how he reacted to hearing that the poor college girl he knew and hated wasn't who she cut out to be.

Blakewood seemed to consider what Cesare said then nodded slowly.

“Fair point. Very well. Ms. Jenner, you have your deal.”

“Thank you.”

I glanced at Cesare but he wasn't staring at me anymore.

The meeting wrapped up soon after, Blakewood and his team stood.

“The rest of the signing and contract finalization will be left to Cesare,” Blakewood said with a small smile.

“You’re lucky he's an old friend. You two will be seeing a lot of each other.”

Of course. Lucky me.

When the others left, silence fell over the now-empty dining room.

Cesare remained seated across from me, lounging back, watching me like a predator observing it's prey.

I slammed my pen onto the table and glared at him. “Why did you do that?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if amused. “Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Cesare. Why did you defend me? You hate me, remember?”

“Hate is a strong word,” he drawled.

I scoffed, “Oh, don’t get cute with me. Whatever scheme you’re planning, I’m not falling for it. So if you think—”

“Think what?” His tone sharpened, silencing me. He leaned forward now, elbows resting on the table.

“That I want something from you? Please, Rose. You should know me better than that. Also, I don't do kindness.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Then why?”

Instead of answering, he stood up. The scrape of the chair against the polished floor echoed in the quiet room.

He circled the table until he stood right beside me.

I stiffened as he placed one hand on the back of my chair, leaning down just enough that I felt his breath on my ear.

“You’re awfully suspicious for someone who’s spent years pretending to be someone she’s not.”

My chest tightened. I had hoped he wouldn't bring that up.

“How did you know?”

He chuckled lowly.

“Did you actually think you could deceive me the same way you deceived Blake? The same way you deceived everyone back then?”

I turned my head sharply, meeting his gaze. His dark eyes held mine, calm and certain. Too certain.

“I knew all along, Rose. I knew who you were. Unfortunately, your cheap car and bad clothes didn't fool me.”

A chill crept down my spine.

“No. It's not that. I hid it so well so if you knew, then you probably snooped around my business. How deep did you dig, Llewellyn? And why?”

What was he so interested in that he found out my biggest secret? Now I can't help but wonder, what else does he know?

After a long staring contest, he raised his hand to my hair and slid them to the back of my ear, brushing his hand against my skin.

I don't know why but it made my heart jump.

“I know more than you think, sweetheart,” the words left his lips lazily as he leaned closer until his face was just inches from mine.

I glared at him as my fists clenched on my lap. Try-something-stupid-and-I’ll-end-you, that was what my eyes promised him.

He only smiled wider, as if he understood.

“You look adorable when you’re angry, Rose.”

“Stop calling me that,” I hissed. “And don’t think for a second I’ll let you mess with me. Whatever you’re trying at, I’m not playing.”

He straightened finally, adjusting his suit cuffs and sliding his hands into his pockets as usual.

“You will eventually.”

And then, just as casually as if he hadn’t just ripped through my carefully built armor, he said, “You’ve exhausted me today. We'll just sign the contract tomorrow. Try not to be late.”

What? Did this asshole just postpone the contract signing so we can meet tomorrow?

He walked away, leaving me sitting there with my heart pounding either from anger or from the one single, terrifying question circling in my head.

What exactly does Cesare Llewellyn know?