The billiard room was lined with dark oak paneling, lit by a soft vintage pendant lamp that hung low over the green felt table.
The atmosphere was thick with the scent of fine cigars and aged bourbon.
Eric was chalking his cue stick with a practiced flick of his wrist, while Joe leaned against the leather sofa, holding his glass and grinning as Ethan took his opening break.
The loud crack of balls colliding echoed off the walls.
“Solid break, Ethan!” Joe called out with a warm, flirty laugh, raising his glass.
“Rain, you better watch out—if he plays like this all night, he’s taking all our money.” “I’m just getting warmed up, Joe,” Ethan laughed, stepping back and wiping his hands.
He turned to smile at me where I stood near the doorway, holding my camera strap loosely in my hand.
“Come sit down, babe.
You’ve been on your feet all evening.” “I’m fine, Ethan,” I replied, keeping my voice smooth, light, and perfectly composed.
“I’m just going to double-check the exposure settings for the gallery hall photos.” Tom was standing near the far corner of the room, leaning back against a high wooden cabinet with a glass of scotch held loosely between his fingers.
At thirty-nine, his dark tailored suit fitted his broad frame immaculately, radiating an icy, magnetic composure that made the room feel smaller whenever he moved.
He didn’t say a word at first; he simply watched me over the rim of his glass, his dark eyes smooth, sharp, and holding a quiet, dangerous amusement.
“Don’t let her work too hard, Ethan,” Eric chimed in, taking a shot and sinking a solid ball into the corner pocket.
“Although I have to say, Rain, those preliminary spatial layouts you sent over are brilliant.
Even Tom was impressed, and he usually finds flaws in everything.” “Tom is a critic of structure,” Joe teased, winking at me over his glass.
“He looks at a beautiful design and only thinks about how to breach the perimeter.
Right, Tom?” “Structure is only as strong as its weakest point, Joe,” Tom said softly, his low, velvety baritone carrying effortlessly across the room.
He took a slow, unhurried step forward, his polished shoes silent against the heavy rug.
“People spend so much time perfecting the facade, but it’s the hidden entryways—the parts left unguarded—that tell the true story.” His gaze drifted from Joe to Ethan, and finally settled directly on me.
The double meaning in his words was heavy, dangerous, and utterly thrilling, yet wrapped so flawlessly in his high-society charm that neither Eric nor Ethan suspected a thing.
“Speaking of unguarded,” Ethan said cheerfully, chalking his cue, “I was telling Tom earlier that we need to upgrade the digital locks on our studio in Brooklyn.
Tom offered to stop by next week to inspect the layout himself.” My breath hitched in my throat.
My grip tightened on the camera, but I kept my face an unreadable mask of cool elegance.
“Ethan, Tom is busy running a major firm.
We don’t need to bother him with our studio security.” “It’s no bother at all, Rain,” Tom murmured, his tone smooth as silk as he took a slow sip of his drink.
His lips curved into that subtle, devastatingly polite smirk that made my pulse race behind my collar.
“I take a personal interest in securing assets that are…
exceptionally valuable.” “See?
The man is a professional,” Ethan smiled, completely oblivious, as he lined up his next shot.
“I appreciate it, Tom.” “Anytime, Ethan,” Tom replied smoothly, his eyes locked onto mine with absolute, unwavering dominance.
A few minutes later, Joe stepped up to take his turn at the table, causing a burst of casual laughter as he missed an easy bank shot.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I quietly backed out of the billiard room and walked down the quiet, dimly lit corridor toward the main foyer to collect my coat.
The quiet hallway felt like a sanctuary, but the peace was short-lived.
Heavy, measured footsteps sounded behind me—slow, deliberate, and entirely unhurried.
Before I could turn around, Tom stepped into the narrow passage leading to the cloakroom.
He didn’t block my path aggressively; he simply stood there, broad and immaculate, radiating an intense, dangerous heat that filled the narrow space.
“Running away so soon, Rain?” Tom whispered, his low voice a velvety purr against the quiet hall.
“I am getting my coat, Tom,” I said, holding my chin high, keeping my voice icy and level despite the frantic hammering in my chest.
“Ethan and I are leaving soon.” Tom took one calm, calculated step closer.
He reached out with effortless precision, his long fingers gently catching a stray lock of hair that had fallen over my shoulder, brushing it back behind my ear.
His touch was feather-light, yet it sent a sharp wave of electricity straight down my spine.
“Let him take you home,” Tom murmured, his dark eyes burning with cool, absolute authority as he leaned in just enough for his warm breath to brush my cheek.
“Let him hold you tonight.
But while you’re lying next to him in the dark, you’ll be thinking about the wall in the study.
You’ll be remembering my hands on your skin.” “You’re overly confident,” I breathed out, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts to stay composed.
Tom’s smirk deepened, wicked and utterly unbothered.
He slid his hand down from my shoulder, his thumb pressing lightly over my racing pulse point on my neck for one fleeting, agonizing second.
“I’m not confident, Rain,” he whispered smoothly, taking a graceful step back just as the sound of Joe’s laughter echoed from the end of the hall.
“I’m just right.
See you next week in Brooklyn.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Patel_Palace “If you’re enjoying the story, please add it to your Library/Collection!”