"They're afraid of you," I observe quietly as we move toward the bar.
His mouth curves in what might be amusement. "Fear is more reliable than admiration in business. Admiration fades; fear endures."
"And which do you prefer from me?" The question slips out before I can censor it.
His eyes lock on mine, suddenly intense. "Neither. From you, I require only truth. Always."
The exchange is interrupted by Jameson, Dominic's chief of security, appearing silently at his elbow. "Mr. Madsen has arrived, sir. With unexpected companions."
Something dangerous flashes across Dominic's expression before it's quickly masked. "Escort Ms. Marlowe to the eastern lounge. I'll handle Madsen."
"I can stay with you," I begin, but Dominic's hand tightens slightly on my arm.
"Not for this conversation. Go with Jameson. I'll join you shortly."
The command brooks no argument. As Jameson leads me toward a less populated area of the venue, I glance back to see Dominic approaching a silver-haired man flanked by two younger associates—all three wearing expressions that suggest this isn't a social call.
The eastern lounge offers relative privacy—a smaller space with intimate seating arrangements and a wall of windows overlooking the city. I'm not alone; two other women wait here, both wearing the slightly bored expressions of those accustomed to being temporarily removed from business matters. Wives or girlfriends of Dominic's associates, I presume, though neither attempts conversation.
Restless, I move to the windows, ostensibly admiring the view while positioning myself near an alcove where voices carry from the adjacent corridor. I recognize Dominic's immediately, the controlled tone he uses when particularly angry—not raised, but precise and cutting.
"You've misunderstood our arrangement, Robert." His voice is soft in a way that raises goosebumps on my arms. "I didn't acquire Meridian's debt as a favor to you. I acquired it as leverage against Dover Industries. Your company was merely collateral damage in a larger strategy."
"You promised to restructure!" The second voice—Madsen, presumably—contains barely controlled panic. "My entire board is facing personal bankruptcy because of your manipulation. Families will be destroyed."
"Perhaps your board should have considered that before approving Dover's expansion into territory I explicitly marked as mine." Dominic's tone shifts to something colder, more clinical. "The terms are simple: provide me with Dover's proprietary drilling technology specifications, and I'll forgive forty percent of Meridian's debt. Refuse, and I call in the full amount by end of business Friday."
"That's corporate espionage," Madsen hisses. "It's illegal, and you know it."
A pause, then Dominic's voice, deadly soft: "As illegal as the environmental reports your company falsified last quarter? The ones my team has copies of? Make your choice, Robert. Betray Dover or watch Meridian burn. I don't particularly care which you choose, as long as I get what I want."
The conversation moves beyond my hearing range, but what I've heard freezes my blood. This isn't the calculated business strategist Dominic presents to me—this is something colder, more ruthless. A man willing to destroy lives and companies as pawns in a larger game.
Twenty minutes pass before Dominic joins me, his expression perfectly composed, no trace of the confrontation visible to casual observation. But I know him now, can read the lingering tension in the set of his shoulders, the slight tightness around his eyes.
"Everything okay?" I ask carefully.
"A minor business disagreement, nothing more." He takes my hand, bringing it to his lips in a gesture that appears affectionate but feels like reclaiming possession. "Are you enjoying the evening?"
I smile automatically, the perfect consort. "Of course. Though I admit I'm finding the political dynamics fascinating."
His eyes narrow slightly, assessing my meaning. Before he can respond, Jameson reappears, leaning in to murmursomething in Dominic's ear. Whatever the message, it transforms Dominic's expression into something I've never seen before—cold fury barely contained beneath his polished surface.
"We're leaving," he says, the words clipped and final. "Now."
Within minutes, we're in the private elevator descending to the parking garage, Dominic's security team mobilizing with practiced efficiency. In the car, with privacy screens raised, I finally dare to ask what happened.
"Someone attempted to access my private servers during the event," he says, fingers tapping a rapid rhythm on his knee—the only outward sign of his agitation. "A coordinated attack using the gala as cover."
"Corporate espionage?" I venture, remembering the conversation I overheard.
His gaze sharpens on me. "Among other things. My security team is investigating."
"Does this happen often?" I ask, trying to understand this new facet of his world.
"Attempts occur regularly. Successful attempts, almost never." His voice hardens. "Someone is getting bolder. Or more desperate."
Back at the penthouse, Dominic disappears immediately into his home office, the door closing with decisive finality. I change out of my gown, removing the diamonds he draped me in earlier, feeling suddenly like a child playing dress-up in a world far more dangerous than I understood.
