The Heiress Gambit-Chapter 32- “The trap is set”

PAIGE

I pushed weakly against his chest, the protest sounding pathetic even to my own ears. "I’m not yours."

He didn’t budge. Instead, a slow, devastatingly smug smile spread across his face as he crawled over me, caging me in with his arms.

His body hovered just inches above mine, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the clean sweat from his workout.

"Really?" he purred, his voice a low, intimate rumble. His eyes dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, holding me captive. "Because last night, you were begging me to ruin you. You were screaming my name. You came apart in my arms. That sounds an awful lot like mine to me."

His words were a physical touch, branding me with the memory of my own surrender. He dipped his head, his lips brushing against mine in the faintest, most teasing hint of a kiss before pulling back, denying me the contact.

"It doesn’t make me yours," I insisted, but my voice was breathless, lacking any real conviction. My body was traitorously arching toward his, seeking the pressure he was so cruelly withholding.

He chuckled, a dark, rich sound that vibrated through me. "It does," he argued softly, his lips ghosting over my jawline, down the column of my throat, never quite landing, never quite giving me what I desperately wanted. "Every gasp, every moan, every time you clawed at my back... that was you signing the deed over, Black Cat. You can protest all you want now."

He finally brought his mouth back to hover over mine, his breath warm against my lips. "But your body remembers who it belongs to."

The air was so thick with tension you could taste it. His lips were a breath from mine, his dark eyes holding me captive, promising a world of sin. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, every part of me screaming for him to close the infinitesimal distance.

Then, a soft, precise knock sounded at the door.

The spell didn’t break; it tightened.

Reomen didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. His eyes, still locked on mine, actually seemed to glitter with a fresh wave of amusement.

He was enjoying this—the interruption, my frustration, the sheer control he had over the moment.

"Come," he called out, his voice a low, steady command that gave nothing away.

His gaze never left mine, as if the person entering the room were utterly insignificant compared to the silent war being waged between us on the bed.

The door opened. The housekeeper entered, her eyes carefully averted from the bed, carrying a large silver tray laden with two covered dishes, a carafe of coffee, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

The smell of eggs, bacon, and toasted bread suddenly filled the room, a stark, domestic contrast to the illicit energy crackling between us.

She set the tray quietly on a low table near the window.

"Will that be all, sir?" she asked, her voice perfectly neutral.

Reomen finally moved, but only his head. He glanced over at the tray, then back at me, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across his face.

"Yes," he said, his voice dripping with a meaning only I could understand. "We have everything we need. Thank you."

The housekeeper gave a slight nod and retreated, closing the door softly behind her, leaving us alone again.

The second the door clicked shut, his full attention snapped back to me, more intense than before.

"Now," he murmured, his thumb brushing my lower lip. "Where were we?"

He leaned in, finally closing the distance, and captured my mouth in a deep, claiming kiss that tasted like victory and sweat.

His hands began to wander, sliding down my side, and my own fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer.

But then, a loud, traitorous growl erupted from my stomach, so violent it vibrated between us.

Reomen broke the kiss instantly. He pulled back just enough to look down at me, a low, deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. The sound was equal parts amusement and pure, unadulterated mockery.

"Sounds like someone needs to eat before she croaks," he teased, his thumb stroking my cheek. His eyes, dark and glittering with mischief, flicked over to the clock on his nightstand. "We leave for the office in thirty minutes. So you’d better fuel up, Black Cat. Can’t have you fainting at your desk. It’s bad for morale."

He gave me one last, quick, hard kiss before rolling off the bed with an effortless grace that was utterly irritating. He headed not for the food, but for his ensuite bathroom. "Don’t wait for me," he called over his shoulder before disappearing inside. "Eat. I can hear your stomach from here."

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the massive silver tray of food. The scent of bacon and coffee was now overwhelming.

With a frustrated groan that was aimed at my own body’s betrayal, I pushed myself up and trudged over to the tray. I was starving, he was insufferable, and we had to be at the office in thirty minutes.

The glamorous life of a vengeful mistress was off to a roaring start.

I finished the breakfast—which was annoyingly delicious—and slipped back to the guest room.

A quick, efficient shower washed away the sweat from my ill-advised gym attempt, and I changed into another one of the impossibly perfect outfits from the walk-in wardrobe: a cream-colored silk blouse from Equipment and a pair of tailored, dark-wash jeans from Rag & Bone. Armor for the day ahead.

I found the car idling at the curb, but it wasn’t the usual Mercedes-Maybach.

Today, it was a sleek, black Lexus LS sedan, its windows tinted to near opacity. I slid into the back seat.

Reomen was already there, his phone pressed to his ear. He was dressed in another impeccable Kiton suit, looking utterly unaffected by the morning’s events. He didn’t look at me as I got in.

"...the opportunity is too significant to ignore, Shunsuke," he was saying, his voice smooth and persuasive, the perfect picture of a confident CEO. "The returns we’re projecting are... aggressive, I’ll admit. But with Rimestone Co.’s capital and Daki Tech’s strategic oversight, it’s a calculated risk I’m willing to take myself."

He paused, listening. I could almost hear my father’s measured, arrogant responses through the phone.

"Of course," Reomen continued, a slow, calculated smirk spreading across his face that was meant for me, not the man on the phone. "I understand the need for discretion. We’ll keep the circles tight. Your daughter was quite insightful during our meeting yesterday. She grasps the potential."

The compliment towards Payton was a masterstroke, a deliberate twist of the knife designed to make Shunsuke feel in control, all while Reomen led him right to the precipice.

He listened for another moment, his eyes meeting mine. They were cold, sharp, and utterly focused on the game.

"Excellent," he said, his voice dripping with false camaraderie. "I’ll have my team send over the finalized terms by noon. I look forward to building this together, Shunsuke."

He ended the call and finally turned his full attention to me, the smirk still firmly in place.

"The trap is set," he said, his voice dropping its professional cadence and returning to its usual taunting purr. "And the mouse is about to take the cheese."