Chapter 3 - The Dangerous Game
Beatrice could not just hand the drive to the local police. The Sterlings owned the police chief, the mayor, and half the state senators. If she walked into a precinct, she would be dead before the sun set.
She needed an outsider. She needed leverage.
For the next week, Beatrice played the perfect phantom. She scrubbed the marble until her knuckles bled. she remained invisible. But behind her blank, lowered eyes, her mind was a whirlwind of calculations.
She began to study the enemy. She memorized Arthur’s phone call schedule. She noted the exact times Evelyn took her sedative pills. But most importantly, she studied Damian. Damian was the weak link because Damian was arrogant. He believed he was untouchable.
One evening, Beatrice was assigned to turn down the bed in Damian’s private suite. As she fluffed the silk pillows, the heavy double doors clicked shut behind her.
"You missed a spot in the dining room today," Damian’s voice echoed in the massive room.
Beatrice froze. She turned slowly. Damian was leaning against the mahogany doorframe, a glass of scotch in his hand, watching her with a predatory amusement.
"I apologize, sir. I will rectify it immediately," Beatrice said, lowering her eyes.
"Stop it," Damian snapped, the sudden violence in his voice making Beatrice flinch. He walked slowly toward her, stopping inches away. He smelled of expensive cologne and alcohol. "Stop playing the invisible robot. I know you were at the study door. I reviewed the security footage of the servant corridors. There is a two-minute gap where you are unaccounted for. You took the drive."
Beatrice’s heart hammered, but she forced herself to look up, meeting his terrifying gaze. "I do not know what you are talking about, sir."
Damian smiled, a cold, terrifying expression. He reached out, his fingers tracing her jawline. "You're a very good liar, Beatrice. My father wants to drag you down to the basement and rip your fingernails out until you confess. He thinks you're a spy."
"And what do you think?" Beatrice asked, her voice steady despite the terror threatening to consume her.
"I think you're an opportunist," Damian whispered, leaning in so close she could feel his breath. "I think you found something valuable, and you're waiting for the right moment to sell it back to us. Because if you were going to the police, you would be gone by now."
Beatrice realized instantly what Damian was doing. He was offering her a narrative. He was giving her a way to survive, provided she played his game.
"If I had such a drive," Beatrice said carefully, choosing every word with surgical precision. "I would be very cautious about who I gave it to. Especially knowing that the heir to the empire might want to use it to force his father into early retirement."
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Damian’s eyes widened slightly, a flash of genuine surprise crossing his features. Then, he threw his head back and laughed—a dark, echoing sound.
"Oh, you are dangerous," Damian murmured, stepping back. "Very well, phantom. You want to play in the major leagues? Consider yourself promoted. As of tomorrow, you are my personal attendant. You go where I go. We will see how long you can survive the deep end."
