Its All A Game

The Bentley rolled to a stop in front of Clara’s estate just after eight that evening.

A steady rain had started, streaking the windscreen and turning the driveway into a slick mirror. Damon stayed in the car for a moment, his fist clenched and eyes as dark as a storm, fixed on the gates leading into the mansion.

The house looked like it had been lifted out of a glossy magazine: a marble portico, the faint smell of wet roses drifting in the damp air.

One of Aaron's many properties that Clara had forcefully claimed as hers..

Lewis leaned forward from the driver’s seat. “Do you want us inside with you?”

“No,” Damon said without looking at him. “Wait in the car. If you hear shouting, then you come in.”

He stepped out into the rain. By the time he reached the front steps the shoulders of his coat were wet. He pressed the doorbell once. Footsteps padded on marble inside, quick and eager. The lock turned and the door swung open.

Amanda stood framed in the doorway in a silk wrap, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes widened when she saw who it was.

“Damon,” she breathed, and for a second her face lit up like a girl’s. “You’re here…”

She reached for him, arms half-open as if to hug him. Damon stepped back, letting the rain drip from his coat to the welcome mat.

“Where’s your mother?” His voice was flat.

Amanda’s smile faltered. “Inside. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Move.”

The single word snapped like a whip. Amanda froze, then stepped aside. Damon strode past her into the foyer. The house smelled of polish and gardenia, the same scent Clara always wore. Light from a chandelier glinted off black-and-white marble tiles.

“Damon…” Amanda’s voice followed him, hesitant now. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer. He was already moving through the wide corridor, boots silent on the carpet.

In the living room Clara was sitting on a cream sofa with a glass of red wine, a magazine open on her lap. She looked up as he entered, one perfectly arched brow rising.

“Well,” she said, setting the glass aside. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

Damon stopped a few feet from her. Rainwater dripped from his coat to the Persian rug. “Someone pushed Naomi down the stairs at the office today.”

Clara’s eyes flickered for just a second but her expression smoothed into polite concern. “How terrible. Is she all right?”

“She’s in hospital.” His voice was low and hard. “Bruised. A few fractures. She could have broken her neck.”

Clara leaned back against the sofa cushions, fingers steepled. “You think I had something to do with it.”

“I don’t think.” He took a step closer. “I know you’ve been circling her for months. You and your daughter. You’ve been whispering to board members and now Naomi is a target! You're going to tell me what you know!”

Amanda had followed him into the room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Mother wouldn’t…”

Damon snapped without looking at her. “This is between me and Clara. Stay out of this.”

Clara tilted her head, studying him. “You’ve always been dramatic. I detest Naomi, yes. I’ve never hidden that. But pushing her down stairs? That’s not my style.”

“You know who did it,” Damon said.

Her lips curved faintly. “Do I?”

Damon’s hands clenched at his sides. “If you’re involved, if you’re protecting someone, now is the time to tell me.”

“I’m protecting no one,” she said coolly. “If your wife is clumsy, that’s hardly my fault.”

He moved closer until he was standing over her, rain still dripping from his coat, his shadow falling across her lap. “This isn’t a game, Clara.”

Her eyes met his, calm and unreadable. “Everything’s a game to you, Damon. Business. Marriage. Even Naomi. You play at protector but you’re just like the rest of us. Why should I tell you anything?”

Amanda shifted uncomfortably by the doorway. “Mother….”

“Enough,” Clara said without looking at her daughter. “Go upstairs.”

Amanda hesitated, glancing from one to the other. “But…”

“Go.”

Amanda fled, the sound of her slippers fading up the grand staircase. Silence settled over the room, heavy as the rain against the windows.

Damon bent slightly, bringing his face level with Clara’s. “If you so much as breathed in the direction of whoever touched her, I will ruin you.”

Her smile widened a fraction. “That sounds like a threat.”

“It is.”

“You think you’re the only one who can threaten, Damon? Jack’s been whispering too. Did he tell you he visited me last week?”

She picked up her glass and took a slow sip, eyes never leaving his. “We have more in common than you think.”

He didn’t blink. “What did he offer you?”

“A future without Naomi in it.” Her voice was soft, almost a purr. “Tempting, isn’t it?”

Damon’s jaw flexed. “So you admit you know something.”

“I admit nothing,” Clara said, setting the glass down. “But let me give you some advice. If Jack wants something, he’ll take it. He doesn’t need me.”

“I’m not interested in your advice.”

“No, you’re interested in control. That’s why you married her, isn’t it?” Her smile sharpened. “Pearl was always too big for you to resist.”

For a heartbeat Damon thought about reaching for her glass, smashing it against the hearth just to break the smugness in her voice. Instead he straightened, forcing his fists to unclench.

“This is your only warning,” he said quietly. “Stay out of my way.”

Clara tilted her head back, exposing the pale line of her throat. “Or what?”

“You won’t like the answer.”

He turned on his heel and strode toward the door. In the hall Amanda had come halfway down the stairs again, peering around the banister.

“Damon,” she called softly. “What happened to Naomi…”

He didn’t even glance at her. “Ask your mother.”

The front door slammed behind him, the sound echoing through the marble foyer. Outside the rain had stopped, leaving the air sharp and clean. Damon walked back to the waiting car without looking over his shoulder. Lewis opened the rear door.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Enough,” Damon said, sliding into the seat. He stared out at the glowing windows of Clara’s house as the car pulled away. In one of them a shadow moved, Clara, perhaps, watching him go.

In his pocket his phone buzzed. A message from Patrick: CCTV logs corrupted. One technician missing since afternoon. Will update soon.

Damon closed his eyes for a moment, letting the fury settle into something colder. Jack’s face rose in his mind, the cynical smile, the measured voice.

How well do you think you can protect her?

He opened his eyes again. “Drive,” he told Lewis. “And keep driving until I say stop.”

Rain-slicked streets blurred past. Somewhere behind him Clara was sitting on her sofa with her wine and her secrets. Somewhere ahead, Jack was already two moves further into his game.

Damon rested his palm on the phone in his pocket, thinking of Naomi asleep in the hospital bed. He had left her with doubled security, but it didn’t feel like enough. Not anymore.

“Find out where Jack is tonight,” he said suddenly.

Lewis looked back. “Now?”

“Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the car sped into the dark, Damon let his head fall back against the seat. For the first time since Naomi’s accident he felt a flicker of clarity. Clara might be lying. Jack might be using her. But the attack had been a message meant for him.

And he intended to answer it.