The Heiress Gambit-Chapter 23- Bruise

REOMEN

The walk across the marble floor of The Met’s Temple of Dendur felt like crossing a minefield in six-inch heels. I kept my hand firm on the small of Paige’s back, a deliberate, unbreakable point of contact.

I could feel the tension thrumming through her, a live wire threatening to snap. Good. Let her be tense. Let her be furious. It made her sharp.

And I needed her sharp for this.

We found them near the ancient stones, holding court. Shunsuke Rimestone, a monument to cold, traditional power in his Kiton tuxedo.

Barbara, his impeccably dressed enabler in a severe, black Alaïa gown. They were speaking with a couple of other silver-haired titans of industry, their smiles as genuine as a three-dollar bill.

The conversation died the second we stepped into their orbit.

Shunsuke’s eyes, cold and assessing, flicked from my face to my hand on his daughter’s waist. His smile didn’t falter; it just solidified into something harder, more brittle.

Barbara’s gaze was a laser, first taking in the devastating black Valentino gown I’d bought for Paige, then the possessive way I held her. Her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

The tension wasn’t just palpable; it was a physical entity, thick enough to taste. It was the smell of old money meeting new, of parental disapproval crashing against outright rebellion.

Paige went rigid under my touch. I could feel every muscle in her back tighten. She was a bowstring, drawn taut and ready to fire.

I just smiled, my grip on her waist tightening infinitesimally. A reminder. A claim.

"Shunsuke. Barbara," I said, my voice smooth as the champagne in their flutes. "What a surprise."

Shunsuke’s eyes finally left my hand and met my gaze. "Daki," he acknowledged, his tone implying I was a stain on his otherwise perfect evening. His eyes cut to Paige. "Paige." Her name was a dismissal.

Barbara’s smile was a terrifying thing. "You look... well, Paige." Her eyes did another swift, insulting inventory of the dress. "That’s quite a... statement."

Before Paige could retort—and I could see the venom poised on her tongue—I gave her a slight, almost imperceptible squeeze. My move.

"Doesn’t she just?" I agreed, my tone dripping with smug condescension. I looked down at Paige as if she were a prized possession I’d just polished. "But then, she was always meant to stand out. Wasn’t she?"

The unspoken words hung in the air, louder than the string quartet. You just never saw it. You tried to bury it.

I saw Shunsuke’s jaw tighten. Barbara’s perfectly manicured hand tightened around her clutch.

And I just stood there, my hand branding Paige’s waist, smiling like the cat who’d not only got the cream but owned the entire damn dairy.

AUTHOR

The air around the Rimestones was so cold it could have preserved the ancient stones of The Met. Reomen didn’t bother with more pleasantries. He cut straight through the frost.

"Shunsuke," he began, his voice all business, a stark contrast to the glittering gala around them. "I received your proposal."

Shunsuke’s eyes, which had been frostily dismissive, sharpened with interest. This was his language. Deals, proposals, leverage. "And?" he prompted, his tone implying he expected immediate capitulation.

"It’s an interesting play," Reomen said, his tone neutral, giving nothing away. He kept his hand firmly on Paige’s waist, a constant, possessive anchor.

"Leveraging your new New York assets. Ambitious." He paused, letting the false compliment hang. "I’ll have my team look at the numbers. We’ll see if the risk aligns with my current strategy."

I

Across from him, Shunsuke barely suppressed a smug look. He saw Reomen’s measured response as a victory, the first step toward a deal he was certain he controlled.

He had no idea the proposal itself was a trap he’d walked right into—a plan Reomen and Paige had crafted specifically for a mind like Payton’s, all flashy opportunity and no substance, designed to make her push for it with her characteristic lack of foresight.

Paige, who had been a statue of tension, felt a strange calm settle over her. Watching Reomen expertly feed her father exactly what he wanted to hear, she saw the first move of their plan click into place. It was working.

She could feel her mother’s stare intensify, a laser of pure hatred and suspicion burning into the side of her face. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Barbara wasn’t fooled by the business talk; she saw the alliance, the intimacy of Reomen’s hand on her daughter.

But for the first time, the weight of that judgmental glare didn’t crush Paige. It just... evaporated. A quiet, steely resolve hardened within her.

Barbara’s disapproval, her silent threats, they were relics of a past life. A life where she was a pawn in their games.

She wasn’t that girl anymore. She had a plan. She had a partner in revenge. And her mother, for all her cold fury, was not going to stand in her way.

Barbara Rimestone’s composure was a sheet of ice over a raging river. One could almost hear the subtle, precise tick of her jaw, a tiny metronome counting her fury. One. Two.

The social smile she had pasted on for the other business people didn’t slip, but it became a terrifying, frozen thing. Her eyes, cold and sharp as shards of glass, remained locked on her daughter.

"Gentlemen, if you’ll please excuse us for a moment," she said to the men, her voice a chillingly pleasant chime that didn’t match her eyes. "Reomen. A private word with my daughter."

It wasn’t a request. It was a command forged in decades of social tyranny. She didn’t wait for a reply.

Her hand, elegantly clawed and adorned with a massive, icy diamond, shot out and closed around Paige’s upper arm with a grip that was surprisingly, brutally strong.

"Come, Isumi," she said, using the formal Japanese name like a weapon, a reminder of heritage and duty that was meant to put Paige in her place.

She didn’t so much lead as she did extract, pulling Paige from the circle and from under Reomen’s hand with a force that brooked no argument.

She steered her away from the group, her steps sharp and quick on the marble floor, heading toward the relative privacy of a shadowed alcove near a display of ancient Egyptian artifacts.

The message was clear: whatever game Paige thought she was playing, she was still her mother’s daughter. And Barbara was reclaiming her pawn.

Barbara didn’t wait for the alcove’s shadows to fully envelop them. She spun on Paige, her voice a venomous hiss that was barely audible over the distant quartet.

"Is this what it has come to?" she seethed, her eyes raking over Paige’s Valentino gown as if it were something filthy. "Parading yourself on the arm of some... tech-baron? I’m sure you slept your way into that position. Don’t bother denying it. I always taught you to weaponize your beauty, but this? This is a vulgar display."

Her grip tightened on Paige’s arm, her nails digging into the silk. "You abandoned your duty to this family. You spat on our name, on our legacy, for what? To become some rich man’s... consultant?"

Paige felt the heat of her temper, a familiar, boiling pressure behind her eyes. Every instinct screamed at her to shout, to yank her arm away, to unleash the torrent of fury she’d held back for years.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she took a slow, steadying breath. She thought of Reomen’s infuriating smirk, his cool, calculating control. She let her own features settle into a perfect mirror of it.

A slow, sarcastic smile touched her lips. She looked down at her mother’s hand on her arm, then back up, her gaze cool and unimpressed.

"Funny," Paige said, her voice a low, mocking purr. "You taught me to weaponize my beauty, and now you’re criticizing the caliber of the target I chose." She gave a slight, elegant shrug, a movement that made the expensive silk whisper. "If my methods are ’vulgar,’ Mother, then you must be a terribly disappointed instructor. Though, to be fair," she added, her eyes glinting, "the payoff is significantly better than an arranged marriage to a cousin."

She leaned in slightly, her smile never wavering. "But please, continue. Your lessons on duty and legacy are always so... enlightening. Especially coming from someone who married into both."

Barbara’s face went pale with a rage so pure it was almost silent. Her grip fell away from Paige’s arm as if burned.

She had expected a fiery tantrum she could easily dismiss. She was utterly unprepared for this cold, smug blade slipped perfectly between her ribs.

Paige walked away from the shadowed alcove, the ghost of her mother’s grip still burning on her arm.

The cool air of the main hall felt like a balm. She didn’t look back. She just focused on the dark, waiting silhouette of Reomen across the room.

As she got closer, she saw his eyes, which had been watching the entire exchange with detached amusement, suddenly sharpen.

His gaze dropped from her face to her arm. His smirk vanished, wiped away as if by a hand.

She stopped in front of him, saying nothing. She just slowly, deliberately, turned her arm to expose the inside of her bicep.

There, against the pale skin, were four livid, red marks from her mother’s nails.

The beginnings of a bruise were already blossoming around them, a stark violation against the beautiful Valentino silk.

Reomen’s face went utterly still. The cool amusement that was his permanent armor shattered. For a heartbeat, there was nothing there but a terrifying, blank coldness.

His eyes, usually so full of mocking light, darkened into something flat and dangerous.

He reached out, his movements slow and deliberate. His fingers, which had been so possessive moments before, were now feather-light as they hovered just above the bruised skin.

He didn’t touch her. It was as if the mark itself was too vile to make contact with.

When he finally looked up at her, his expression was transformed. The sarcasm was gone, replaced by a quiet, simmering fury that was far more frightening.

"Did she," he said, his voice low and devoid of all its usual taunting melody. It was a simple, flat statement, but it carried the weight of a promise.

Paige just gave a single, slight nod.

Reomen’s jaw tightened. He finally let his fingertips brush the edge of the darkest mark, a touch so gentle it was at odds with the storm in his eyes.

"Okay," he murmured, the word a vow spoken against the gala’s noise. He looked over her shoulder, toward the alcove where Barbara had retreated.

His gaze was no longer that of a businessman assessing a rival. It was that of a predator sighting prey.

He looked back at Paige, his hand gently covering the bruises, shielding them from view. His thumb stroked the unmarked skin beside them once, a silent apology.

"The game just changed," he said, his voice still dangerously soft. "Let’s go say goodnight to your parents."