Chapter 7: Poison your glass

~ Scarlett ~

The east wing salon had been stripped of its soft furnishings, leaving only a high-backed wooden chair in the center of the parquet floor and a discreet biometric sensor strapped around my left wrist.

"In our world, an amateur lies with her tongue," Madame Vane said, pacing a slow circle around my chair, her heels clicking like the ticking seconds of a bomb.

"A master lies with her pulse, her pupils, and the micro-twitches of her jaw. If a cartel boss asks if you know about his smuggled shipments, and your heart rate jumps by five beats a minute, you have signed your own death warrant."

A sleek digital monitor sat on a side table, displaying my real-time vitals:

Pulse: 72 bpm. Respirations: 14/min.

"Your goal is simple," Madame Vane instructed. "Maintain absolute flatline composure while I strip away your dignity. If your pulse exceeds eighty, we restart."

For two grueling hours, she pelted me with humiliating, intrusive questions about my family's ruin, my mother’s failing health, and the public shame of being sold like cattle.

I gripped the armrests, swallowed my humiliation, and forced my breathing into a slow, rhythmic cadence, keeping the monitor steady.

Then, the heavy oak doors at the far end of the room clicked open.

Nikolai stepped inside. He had shed his jacket, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing the dark ink of syndicate tattoos creeping past his wrists.

"Leave us, Vane," he commanded, his deep voice slicing through the quiet room.

Madame Vane didn't hesitate. She bowed her head slightly and exited, the heavy double doors shutting with a final, resonant thud.

Nikolai walked slowly toward my chair.

The air in the room instantly grew heavy, thick with his predatory presence. I held my breath, then quickly forced a smooth, controlled exhale to keep the monitor from spiking.

"Let's see how well you perform when the pressure is real," Nikolai murmured, coming to a stop directly in front of me.

He didn't stand over me like a interrogator; he dropped to one knee, bringing his dark eyes level with mine. The sheer proximity was suffocating. He smelled of cedar, bitter espresso, and raw power.

"Question one," Nikolai whispered, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Do you hate me?"

"No," I replied smoothly, my voice as calm as still water. "Hate implies you hold emotional power over me. You are merely an inconvenience I intend to outlast."

A faint beep sounded from the table.

Pulse: 74 bpm.

Nikolai’s lips twitched. He raised his right hand, his long, leather-gloved fingers reaching out to touch the side of my neck. His thumb pressed gently over my carotid artery, feeling the steady rhythm of my blood against his glove.

My skin inflamed beneath his touch, a sudden wave of heat rushing to my face.

"Question two," he murmured, leaning closer until his lips were inches from my ear. His hot breath brushed against the sensitive skin of my throat, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

"When you sat in that auction house and watched me drop a hundred million dollars on you... did a part of you feel relieved that it was me, and not a stranger?"

My heart slammed against my ribs.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pulse: 88 bpm.

"You're failing, Scarlett," Nikolai taunted softly into my ear, his glove sliding slowly down the curve of my neck to rest over my collarbone, his fingers pressing lightly against my skin.

"Your body betrays you. Tell me the truth."

I clenched my toes inside my slippers, forcing my eyes to lock into his obsidian gaze. I refused to pull away. I refused to let him win this mind game. I visualized my mind becoming a fortress of ice, blocking out the sensation of his thumb tracing my throat.

"I felt nothing," I whispered back, staring directly into his dark eyes, keeping my voice dripping with honeyed poison.

"Because to me, Nikolai... you are a stranger. A ghost from my childhood who grew up into a monster."

The monitor quieted, the steady cadence returning.

Pulse: 75 bpm.

Nikolai’s eyes darkened into pure pitch.

His hand slid upward, his gloved fingers locking tightly around my jaw, tilting my face back until I was forced to look up at his towering frame. He leaned in closer, his dark gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to meet my eyes.

"Liar," he rasped, his grip on my jaw firm, possessive, and dangerous. "You think you can wear an icy mask at the Supreme Gala and fool men who eat prey like you for breakfast?"

"I don't need to fool them," I hissed softly against his mouth, refusing to blink, refusing to break. "I only need to fool you."

A heavy, explosive silence settled between us. Neither of us moved. My body was boiling. but my face remained an unyielding, serene portrait of absolute defiance.

Slowly, a low, dark rumble of laughter escaped Nikolai's chest. He released my jaw, sliding his hand down my arm to unclip the biometric monitor from my wrist, dropping it onto the floor where it clattered against the wood.

"You're ready for your tea test tomorrow night," he said softly, standing back up to his full height and looking down at me with an intense, possessive glare.

"Let's see how cool that pulse stays when you have to trust my hand not to poison your glass."