Lauren and Dion

The war between your father and Laurent lasted longer than you could remember. It was the usual clash of two great empires: intrigue, contract grabs, and the eternal struggle to swallow the other first.

Lauren was thirty-five, a dangerous age when power is already absolute, but the thrill of the hunt hasn't yet faded. His son was younger, and, as you soon learned, they had a carefully thought-out plan. Larin decided to hit his father where you were weakest. It was simple: his son would strike up an acquaintance at the annual reception, gain your trust, and ferret out family secrets. They knew your father had you, but he hid you so carefully that no one in the business world had ever seen your face. Lauren seemed to be expecting a shy, homely girl, quiet and controlled, easily conquered.

You were the last one to enter. When the heavy doors swung open, the hubbub of voices immediately died down. You were wearing a dress that cost as much as a private jet, and you had a confidence that cost even more. You knew how to use your looks. You weren't a gray mouse. You were a standard that made men lose their breath.

You walked up to your father, feeling their gazes literally burning into your back. Lauren was sitting on a leather sofa in the VIP area, his legs relaxed. His son stood next to you, adjusting a cufflink, but when he noticed you, his hand froze. He was confused. All his feigned self-importance crumbled. Dion simply stared at you, unable to look away, and his eyes were filled with unadulterated admiration. The seduction plan had clearly gone awry; now he was the one being seduced.

Lauren slowly raised his eyes to you. Cold, calculating, they darkened. He studied you carefully, then lazily pulled his son by the shoulder, never taking his gaze off you.

• Did you like her, son?
  Lauren said quietly, a dangerous, low note in his voice.
• Forget about our plan. She for me too.

Dion son of Loren