The Game of Revenge

Emmanuella didn’t sleep. Every time she drifted off, she saw Matthew’s face, not the version she had loved but the stranger from the dining room. She kept replaying the moment she slapped him. She didn't regret the sting of her palm against his skin; she regretted that she hadn't seen through him sooner.

The next morning, the uniformed woman brought tea and toast, but the food felt like ash in Emmanuella’s mouth. Her stomach was a mess of nerves and adrenaline.

"Mr. Romeo is waiting in the study," the woman said. "He says it’s time to begin."

Emmanuella stood up and smoothed her black dress. She caught her reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back didn't look like a victim anymore. Her eyes were hard, her posture straight. She followed the woman through the labyrinth of the house until they reached a room lined with thousands of leather-bound books. Romeo sat behind a massive oak desk, lit by the morning sun.

"Sit, Emmanuella," he said, not looking up from a folder.

She sat, her hands folded in her lap to hide their slight tremble. "You said you’d teach me how to get revenge. Why? Matthew is your man. Why help me destroy him?"

Romeo closed the folder and looked at her. His gray eyes were as sharp as a blade. "Matthew is a traitor. He stole from me, then tried to use you as a bargaining chip to buy his way back into my good graces. I don't tolerate thieves, and I despise men who play games with me."

He leaned forward, the shadows of the room making him look even more imposing. "Matthew thinks he’s the smartest person in the room. He believes he can find the drive he stole, hand it over, and walk away with the money he’s made on the side. But he needs you. He’s convinced the key is hidden somewhere in your shared history."

"I’ve already told you," she said, her voice steadying. "I don't know where it is."

"I believe you," Romeo said calmly. "But we are going to make him believe you’ve changed your mind. We’re going to make him so desperate that he stops thinking clearly. When a man is desperate, he makes mistakes. And when he slips, I get my drive, and you get your justice."

"What’s the plan?"

"You stop being the girl he remembers," Romeo said. "He thinks you’re soft. He thinks if he whispers the right lies, you’ll cry and tell him everything. From now on, you stay by my side. You eat at my table. You look at him like he’s a bug you’re about to step on."

Emmanuella felt a spark of dark satisfaction. Making Matthew feel small sounded like the best medicine in the world.

That afternoon, Romeo took her to a private club in the city. He didn't push her into the car; he held the door open, treating her like a queen rather than a captive. Inside the club, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and hushed secrets.

As they walked through the room, the conversations died. Romeo kept his hand on the small of her back, a possessive, grounding weight. Emmanuella kept her chin up, looking straight ahead.

She spotted Matthew in a corner, nursing a drink. When his eyes landed on her, dressed in silk, standing with the most powerful man in the city, his face turned a sickly shade of white. His glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor. He started toward them, but one of Romeo’s guards blocked his path with a single, silent step.

Romeo didn't even acknowledge him. He led Emmanuella to a velvet booth.

"Watch him," Romeo whispered, his breath warm against her ear. "See his hands? He’s shaking. He expected you to be in a cell, broken and begging for him. Seeing you like this is stripping away his power."

Emmanuella looked. Matthew looked frantic, his eyes darting between her and Romeo. For the first time, she felt like she was winning.

That night, back at the estate, Emmanuella was walking toward her room when a figure stepped out from the shadows of a hallway. It was Matthew. He looked dishevelled, his eyes bloodshot.

"Emma! Emma, wait," he hissed, reaching for her arm.

She pulled back as if his touch were poisonous. "Don't."

"You don't understand," he whispered, his words tripping over each other. "Romeo is a monster. He’s using you to get to me. If you just tell me where the drive is, I can get us both out. I did all of this to keep you safe, I swear!"

Emmanuella looked at him, and for a second, she saw the man she thought she loved. Then she remembered the smell of smoke and the sound of her door exploding. "Safe? You burnt my life down, Matthew. You treated me like a piece of luggage."

"I had to!" he cried softly. "Please, Emma, think back. The bag I gave you at the park was six months ago. The one I said was gym clothes. Where is it?"

Emmanuella froze. She remembered the bag. It was blue and heavy, and she’d tucked it into the very back of her closet under a pile of old coats. It was probably still there, or rather, it was in the ashes of her apartment.

She looked at Matthew’s pleading face and realised Romeo was right. He didn't want her. He wanted the bag.

"I don't remember any bag," she said, her voice like ice.

"Emma, please."

"My name is Emmanuella," she snapped, stepping around him. "And if you ever approach me again without Mr Romeo's permission, I’ll tell him exactly what you just asked me."

She marched away, her heart thumping. At the end of the hall, she saw Romeo leaning against a pillar, watching. He didn't say a word, but the slight tilt of his head told her everything. She had passed the test.

As she entered her room, a terrifying thought struck her. The drive wasn't in the ashes. She had moved that bag to her mother’s basement a week before the fire. She was the only person in the world who knew where it was, and now, she was the most dangerous person in the house.