Page 38 of Shadow Waltz

“What kind of interest?”

“Whether you truly understand who you belong to.” I held out the knife, handle first. “Take it.”

Ash stared at the blade, then back at my face. “Luka, what are you asking me to do?”

“I'm asking you to make a choice,” I said quietly. “About who you are, who you belong to, and how far you're willing to go to prove it.”

Ash's fingers closed around the knife's handle, testing its weight. “And if I make the wrong choice?”

“Then we'll both learn something important about the nature of loyalty.” I moved toward the door, expecting him to follow. “Come. It's time.”

We walked through the corridors in silence, Ash's tension radiating beside me like heat from a forge. When we reached the blue suite, I paused at the door, studying his face in the golden light.

“The man inside believes he's here to evaluate you for potential acquisition,” I said quietly. “He thinks I'm considering selling you to him. Play your part, learn what you can about his intentions, and then... make your choice.”

“What choice am I supposed to make?”

“You'll know when the moment comes.” I reached for the door handle. “Remember, Ash—in my world, there are only two kinds of people. Those who belong to me, and those who threaten what's mine.”

I opened the door and gestured for him to enter. “Mr. Mehta, may I present Ash Carter. Ash, this is Rajesh Mehta, a business associate from Mumbai.”

Ash stepped into the room with that dangerous grace he wore like a shield—unflinching, elegant, and far too aware of the eyes on him. Mehta rose from his leather chair, slow and deliberate, the kind of man who savored anticipation almost as much as possession. His gaze dragged over Ash, cataloguing every inch, every muscle, every flicker of defiance in those ice-blue eyes.

“Mr. Carter,” Mehta murmured, extending his hand. His smile was practiced, but his eyes were hungry. “I’ve heard remarkable things about your… versatility.”

Ash accepted the handshake, fingers firm, just professional enough to draw a thin line between courtesy and challenge. “Mr. Mehta.” His voice was polite, but under it ran a subtle current of warning. “I understand you’re interested in discussing potential collaboration.”

“Indeed,” Mehta replied, and there was something almost lascivious in the way he said it. “Your reputation for strategic thinking precedes you.” He gestured to the seating area, lingering too close, letting his hand brush Ash’s back as they moved to sit. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m eager to see exactly what you’re capable of.”

I stepped out, shutting the door softly, the one-way mirror offering me a silent vantage. Even from here, I could feel the shift in the air—a tension that curled like smoke, electric and predatory.

Inside, Ash seated himself with careful composure, crossing one leg over the other, back straight. “What kind of collaboration did you have in mind?” he asked, his tone calculated—measured to betray nothing, to invite nothing.

“Oh, a variety of possibilities,” Mehta purred, his smile slick with intent. “I oversee several operations across Southeast Asia. Intelligence gathering, strategic planning, certain… hands-on negotiations.” His gaze raked over Ash, the implication plain.“Someone with your particular talents would be an asset. On and off the field.”

“That sounds… comprehensive.” Ash’s voice was all polite distance, but his body was taut—ready to spring or endure, whichever the moment demanded. “What makes you think I’d be interested in relocating?”

Mehta’s laugh was low, intimate, rolling between them like velvet. “Because a man like you,” he said, voice dropping, “deserves to be appreciated. Not just displayed.” His eyes trailed over Ash’s form, lingering, devouring. “I know how Luka keeps his collection. I prefer a more… interactive approach.”

Ash’s mask didn’t slip, but I saw the slight tension in his jaw, the way his hand closed around the armrest—subtle, but not invisible.

“You seem to have strong opinions about my current situation,” Ash said mildly, eyes never leaving Mehta’s. “Based on what information?”

“Observation.” Mehta leaned in, invading Ash’s space. “Experience. And a certain appreciation for rare things.” His gaze dropped, slow, unapologetic. “Luka parades you as property, but I see potential for partnership—if you’re as… adaptable as I’ve heard.”

“Is that so?” Ash’s tone was soft steel. “And how would you reward such… adaptability?”

“With freedom,” Mehta murmured, his words brushing the edge of promise and threat. “With the power to operate independently. With compensation—if you’re willing to prove your value.” His eyes raked Ash’s body again, this time making no effort to disguise his interest. “I reward talent generously.”

Ash tilted his head—a calculated show of curiosity, but his whole body vibrated with tension, as if bracing for touch.

Mehta stood, moving closer, crowding Ash’s chair, his presence overwhelming. “A mind like yours shouldn’t bewasted on display. You should be challenged, respected—given authority.” His hand hovered above Ash’s shoulder, fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to claim.

I watched, every muscle in my body locked tight. This was the moment—the test of loyalty, of survival, of understanding exactly what it cost to play my game. The knife was still hidden beneath Ash’s jacket, and the question wasn’t whether he’d use it, but whether he remembered whose eyes were on him.

And whether, when push came to shove, he’d choose me… or himself.

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