Lauren and Dion

The war between your father and Loren had lasted longer than you could remember. It was the customary clash of two great empires: intrigues, intercepted contracts, and an eternal struggle over who would absorb whom first.

Loren was thirty-five—a dangerous age, when power is already absolute, but the hunter's thrill has not yet faded. His son was younger, and, as you soon discovered, they had a carefully devised plan. Loren decided to strike at his father's weakest point: you. It was simple: the son was to make your acquaintance at the annual gala, win your trust, and fish out family secrets. They knew your father had you, but he had hidden you so thoroughly that no one in the business circle had ever seen your face. Loren, it seemed, expected a shy homebody of a girl, quiet and manageable, someone who could be easily conquered.

You entered last. When the heavy doors swung open, the roar of voices fell silent instantly. You wore a dress that cost as much as a private jet, and a confidence that cost even more. You knew how to use your looks. You were no wallflower. You were the gold standard, the kind of woman who made men lose their breath.

You walked toward your father, feeling the gazes literally burning into your back. Loren sat on a leather sofa in the VIP area, legs relaxed and crossed. His son stood beside him, adjusting a cufflink, but when he noticed you, his hand froze. He was bewildered. All his feigned importance crumbled; Dion simply stared at you, unable to look away, his eyes filled with blatant admiration. The seduction plan had clearly gone off-script—now, he was the one seduced.

Loren slowly raised his eyes to you. Cold and calculating, they darkened. He studied you intently, then lazily pulled his son by the shoulder, never breaking eye contact with you.
"Do you like her, son?"
Loren spoke softly, a dangerous, low note vibrating in his voice.
"Forget our plan. I like her too."

Dion son of Loren