Dear Reader - this is a slow burn story of betrayal and revenge. Of broken promises and broken people. I hope its as fun to read as it creating.
Claire Hart was the kind of woman who turned heads without effort. She carried herself with an elegance that came naturally--poised, graceful, every movement deliberate. At thirty-nine, she was still breathtaking, with high cheekbones, full lips, and sharp, intelligent eyes the color of aged whiskey. Her golden-brown hair, always impeccably styled, cascaded in soft waves just past her shoulders, framing a face that could shift from warmth to ice in an instant.
She was tall, just shy of 5'10", with a slender, toned figure that spoke of disciplined workouts and a dedication to Pilates. Unlike her sister Emily, who had been curvier and softer, Claire was all long lines and quiet strength, a woman who exuded control in every aspect of her life. She dressed the part, too--tonight in a silk blouse the color of Bordeaux, tucked into tailored black slacks that hugged just enough to be intriguing. Barefoot for now, but later, when dinner was served, she'd step into a pair of designer heels that only added to her commanding presence.
She was beautiful, yes--but there was an untouchable quality about her, something that had earned her the nickname "Ice Princess" among those who knew her well. Claire Hart did not fluster. She did not rattle. She was always composed, always in control.
Claire Hart was not expecting company when she heard the knock at the door. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, glancing at the clock on the wall--5:00 PM. Too early for Jonathan. Dinner wasn't until seven.
When she opened the door, she was greeted by the imposing figure of David Williams. His sheer presence filled the space--broad shoulders, piercing green eyes, the kind of man who commanded attention without asking for it.
She blinked in surprise. "David?"
He smiled, easy and confident, holding up two bottles of wine in one hand and a wooden charcuterie board in the other. "Hope I'm not too early."
She folded her arms, one eyebrow arching. "I thought dinner was at seven?"
"It is," he said smoothly. "But I figured you might like some help getting things together. And I happen to be a pretty damn good cook."
Claire hesitated. Her first instinct was to politely decline--she wasn't used to Jonathan's friends showing up unannounced, and David... well, David was something else entirely. But then he handed her one of the wine bottles, a 2005 Château Margaux, and her breath caught slightly as she read the label.
"Wow," she murmured, tilting the bottle in admiration. "You know, I'd do almost anything for wine this good."
David's smile was slow, knowing. Calculated.
"Then I suppose I made the right choice," he said, stepping inside, closing the door behind him with deliberate ease. "Shall we?"
Claire studied him for a moment--his calm confidence, the way he moved with effortless control. There was something about David that unsettled her, something that made her pulse beat just a fraction quicker.
But she stepped aside, letting him in. As he passed by her in the doorway, she felt his arm gently brush her breast, she wasn't wearing a bra, just a little bralette and the slight brush caused a shiver to run down her spine. Claire watched him walk into her kitchen, something deep in her chest shifted. Because if there was a man who could shake the unshakable, it was him.
David poured another slow stream of wine into Claire's glass before topping off his own, his movements measured, unrushed. The scent of oak and dark fruit lingered in the air between them, mingling with the faint trace of smoked cheese and charcuterie. The soft, low hum of jazz settled into the space like a third presence--smooth, steady, waiting.
Claire sat with the rigid elegance of a woman accustomed to control. Even as she accepted the wine, she didn't relax into the couch the way most people would. She held herself with an effortless poise, legs crossed at the knee, spine straight. Her tailored blouse was crisp, the silk catching the dim light in soft, expensive shimmers. Even in the comfortable setting of her own home, she remained composed--polished, untouchable.
David noticed.
He noticed everything.
"You know," Claire mused, swirling her wine, "Jonathan always said you had an uncanny ability to make people comfortable."
David smirked, resting his elbow on the back of the couch, his presence solid yet unintrusive. "Did he?"
Claire took a slow sip, her gaze level over the rim of her glass. "He said you could make a deal over a handshake and a glass of whiskey. That people trusted you before they even realized they did."
David chuckled, his green eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "It's not magic, Claire. Just a matter of understanding people. What they need. What they want."
Claire hummed in response, neither confirming nor denying the accuracy of his words. She set her glass down on the low table beside the charcuterie board, plucking a thin slice of prosciutto with precise fingers. "And what is it that you think I need?"
David watched her, amused. "That depends," he said, taking his own time selecting a piece of smoked cheddar. "Are we talking business? Or something else?"
Claire's expression remained impassive, but her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the delicate fold of meat. It was the smallest tell, but David caught it.
"Business, of course," she said smoothly, placing the prosciutto on her tongue and chewing with deliberate patience.
David exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Naturally."
They let the conversation lull, neither in a rush to fill the silence. It was a game of patience now, and David had more of it than most.
After a moment, Claire sighed and leaned forward, resting her forearm on her knee. It wasn't quite relaxation, but it was a shift. A loosening, however slight.
"It is strange, though," she admitted, "that our paths haven't crossed before now."
David nodded, taking a slow sip of wine. "Perhaps. Though, to be fair, my focus has always been more on the corporate side of things. I leave the real estate sector to my partner."
Claire arched a brow, intrigued despite herself. "And who is your partner?"
David smiled, "Alexandria McClear.".
Claire's expression remained cool, though there was a flicker of recognition. "Alex? Oh, she's very good."
David inclined his head. "She is. Thorough. Detail-oriented. She knows how to handle high-value clients."
"Mm," Claire murmured, reaching for her wine again. "Yes, she is very thorough."
David let the weight of the moment settle before adding, "She is that, but I like to think I can be just as thorough while still pushing deeper into the client's needs."
Claire's glass paused just before reaching her lips.
It was subtle, but he saw it--the hesitation, the shift in breath. She covered it well, setting her glass down with measured ease, but David didn't miss the way her fingers traced the rim, as if considering the weight of his words.
A small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips--more knowing than warm.
"Do you?" she asked, her voice a shade softer.
David didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached for a piece of cheese, took his time tasting it, and let the moment breathe.
When he finally met her gaze again, his smirk was slow, deliberate, he winked at her, "Oh, I know I do."
Claire held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary. And though her posture remained regal, untouched, David knew one thing for certain. He was going to win this game.
Claire turned toward the fridge, needing the distance, needing something--anything--to pull herself out of whatever slow-burning trap David was weaving around her. She could still feel the ghost of his breath at her ear, the weight of his presence behind her, solid and unshakable.
David, of course, was unfazed. He moved through the kitchen like he had been there a hundred times before, casually opening drawers, assessing the space with an ease that made her stomach tighten.
