The car's engine hummed beneath him, a low, steady growl barely audible against the silence in the backseat. Damien leaned back, one arm draped casually along the doorrest, the other hand tapping absently against his thigh as the cityscape whispered past beyond tinted glass.
Night pulled the world into a cleaner shape—cooler, quieter, less crowded. But his mind refused to follow suit.
The bet.
He could still hear the words ringing through that high-ceilinged room. Adeline's laughter, sharp and bitter. Dominic's caution, tightly measured. Vivienne's silence, weightier than either of their voices.
And through it all—his own voice.
Calm. Clear.
"One billion."
He didn't regret it. Not the number. Not the wager. Not even the fact that it had been a response born more of instinct than long calculation.
Because it felt right.
But instinct didn't mean unplanned.
Not anymore.
He lifted his wrist slightly, fingers flicking open his interface with a practiced twitch.
