Watching Peter walk away from Nocturne was the most exquisite pain Akanbi had ever felt. It wasn't rejection it was ignition. The boy had looked at him with pity. Pity! It was an insult so profound, so utterly new, that it bypassed his anger and went straight to a cold, crystalline focus. Peter had thrown his offer back in his face and called him empty. A parasite.
Good.
A fragile conquest would have been boring. This? This was a masterpiece in the making. He would not just own Peter's body; he would dismantle his pride, his family, his peace, brick by brick, until the defiance in those gold-flecked eyes was replaced by shattered desperation. Only then, when Peter came crawling to him, would Akanbi consider taking what he wanted. And then, he would discard him.
The plan formed in his mind with surgical precision. He didn't need to rage. He needed to act.
His first call was not to a business associate, but to Rachel. She answered on the second ring, her voice a blend of hope and wariness. "Akanbi?"
"Meet me at the penthouse. In an hour," he said, no greeting. "Wear the black dress I bought you in Milan. The one with the low back."
He hung up before she could reply. Rachel was a useful tool, pliable and connected. And she harbored a delicious, petty jealousy towards anyone who held his attention.
Next, he called his lawyer. "The Dantata pharmaceutical contract. The bid from Emmanuel & Sons Limited. I want it disqualified on technical grounds. Find a reason. A paperwork irregularity, a missing certification. Something small, bureaucratic, and irrevocable. Do it by tomorrow afternoon."
"That's aggressive for a mid-tier contract, Mr. Onobanjo. Any particular reason?" his lawyer asked carefully.
"They offended me," Akanbi said simply, and ended the call.
An hour later, Rachel was in his penthouse, swirling a glass of wine, the back of her black dress dipping perilously low. She was beautiful, a perfectly maintained ornament.
"You've been distant," she pouted, walking over to where he stood by the floor-to-ceiling window.
"I've been preoccupied," he said, not looking at her. "With a problem. A stubborn, prideful problem."
Rachel came to stand beside him, following his gaze out to the city lights. "Who is she?"
Akanbi let a slow, cynical smile touch his lips. This was the bait. "Not a 'she.'"
Rachel froze. He could feel the shock radiating off her. In their world, this was a seismic revelation. Akanbi Onobanjo, the legendary conqueror of women, looking at a man?
"What?" she breathed.
"His name is Peter Emmanuel. You wouldn't know him. His family has a little import business." Akanbi finally turned to look at her, seeing the curiosity and scandalized thrill warring in her eyes. "He's… resistant. Thinks he's above the game. Thinks he's better."
Rachel's jealousy instantly refocused from a hypothetical woman to this unknown man who dared resist her Akanbi. "The audacity. Who does he think he is?"
"Exactly," Akanbi murmured, trailing a finger down her bare spine. She shivered. "He needs to learn his place. And I think you could help me teach him."
"Me? How?"
"He has a brother. Michael Emmanuel. The heir. More conventional. Ambitious." Akanbi's voice was a hypnotic whisper. "I want you to meet him. Charm him. Let him think he's caught the eye of Rachel Adisa. Get close. And then, when the time is right… let him know that his family's troubles began the moment his little brother decided to insult me."
Rachel's eyes widened, then gleamed with malicious understanding. This was a game she knew the game of social ruin. Hurting a man by hurting his family's reputation. It was twisted, and it appealed to the part of her that Akanbi had long ago corrupted. "And what do I get?"
Akanbi cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. "My undivided attention. For a while."
It was a lie, and they both knew it. But it was a lie she was willing to live in. She nodded, a wicked smile on her lips.
The next afternoon, as predicted, Peter's family received the formal, crushing notification: their Dantata bid was disqualified due to a "non-conforming submission format." A technicality. A death by a thousand paper cuts.
Akanbi waited. He knew the reaction would come. He was in his office when his assistant announced, "Mr. Peter Emmanuel is here. He doesn't have an appointment. He's… insistent."
Akanbi felt a thrill shoot through him. So soon. The first crack. "Send him in."
Peter entered like a storm. He didn't look defiant now; he looked incandescent with rage. He bypassed the chair in front of Akanbi's vast desk and planted his hands on the polished surface, leaning forward.
"You," he seethed.
Akanbi leaned back, steepling his fingers, the picture of calm. "Peter. This is a surprise. I thought you said everything you needed to say at Nocturne."
"The Dantata contract. You killed it."
"I did nothing of the sort," Akanbi said mildly. "The committee found irregularities. It's a competitive process. These things happen."
"Don't!" Peter slammed a hand on the desk. "Don't play your fucking mind games with me. You did this. Because I said no to you."
Akanbi let the silence hang, savoring the fury in Peter's face. "You have a very high opinion of your own influence, Peter. To think I would move mountains just because you bruised my ego." He stood up slowly, walking around the desk until he was standing too close, looking down at him. "But since you're here… let me be clear. The Dantata contract is gone. That was lesson one. Lesson two will be more painful. And lesson three…" He reached out, slowly, and brushed a non-existent piece of lint from the shoulder of Peter's jacket. Peter flinched as if branded. "…will break you."
Peter jerked back, his chest heaving. The rage was still there, but Akanbi saw it now the first shadow of fear. The dawning realization that he wasn't dealing with a jilted suitor, but with a force of nature with infinite resources and a bottomless capacity for cruelty.
"What do you want?" Peter's voice was a ragged whisper.
Akanbi smiled. It was not a pleasant sight. "I told you. I want to break you. I want you to come to me when there's nothing left of your pride, your family's business, or your peace. I want you to beg. And then, maybe, I'll consider stopping."
He saw the color drain from Peter's face. The scorpion's sting had met a hydraulic press.
"You're a monster," Peter breathed.
"I'm the king of this jungle," Akanbi corrected softly. "And you, Peter Emmanuel, are now my favorite prey. You can run. It will make the hunt more satisfying."
He turned his back, a dismissive gesture more powerful than any shout. "Now get out of my office. We'll speak again when you're ready to be more polite."
He listened to the sound of Peter's retreating footsteps, heavy with defeat and fury. Akanbi didn't turn around. He poured himself a drink, the ice clinking softly in the silent, triumphant room.
The game was advancing. The first cut had been made. The bleeding had begun.