God Of Desire

silent rivalries

Anastasia :

As the Rolls-Royce pulled up to the marina, the sleek lines of a massive private yacht came into view, illuminated by the soft glow of the evening lights. The yacht, a modern masterpiece of engineering and luxury, seemed to cut through the darkness with its glossy white hull. A small crew awaited their arrival at the dock, dressed in crisp white uniforms, ready to assist the guests aboard.

Dominic parked the car, and Ilya swiftly opened the door. My heels clicked against the dock’s wooden boards as I stepped out, followed by my parents. The salty sea breeze was cool against my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the late afternoon sun that was slowly sinking into the horizon. The yacht loomed ahead, its multiple levels gleaming under the ambient glow of the marina’s lights.

“I see Banks spared no expense for this one,” my father muttered as he straightened his jacket. He sounded more impressed than he’d ever admit aloud.

My eyes drifted to the upper deck of the yacht where a couple of figures were already visible likely the Torrance family, waiting for us. A subtle tension wound its way through my body, but I straightened my posture, reminding myself this was no ordinary meeting. This was a war of power and control, wrapped in the elegance of high society.

I glanced at my mother, Cecily, who gave me a serene nod. She was the picture of grace, her dress fluttering lightly in the breeze, yet her expression was focused. Even Winter Torrance, waiting on the upper deck with her sharp husband Damon, couldn’t look more poised.

“Ready?” my father asked, his voice a quiet rumble.

I didn’t answer, but the way I squared my shoulders said enough.

We stepped onto the yacht, the polished wooden deck gleaming under our feet. The soft hum of the engines vibrated through the floor, adding to the quiet anticipation that filled the air. A steward greeted us at the entrance, leading us through the glass doors into the yacht’s grand interior.

The room we entered was nothing short of stunning. Wide, open spaces with sleek white leather seating, contemporary sculptures, and custom artwork lined the walls. Massive windows offered an unbroken view of the dark sea beyond. A long, elegant conference table dominated the center, set for what would undoubtedly be a tense negotiation.

The smell of expensive cigars and fresh ocean air mingled as we walked into the room, the clinking of crystal glasses faint in the background. Kai Mori and his wife, Banks, were already seated, Kai’s sharp eyes scanning the room with his usual careful precision. Next to him sat Banks, her demeanor calm but undeniably intimidating. To her left, Damon Torrance paced slowly, his arms crossed, looking every bit the impatient predator. His sons, Ivarsen and Gunner, ugh that prick, stood off to the side, whispering quietly, while Madden Mori leaned back in his chair, cool and collected.

All eyes turned to us as we entered.

"Finally," Damon muttered under his breath, though loud enough for everyone to hear.

I exchanged a glance with my father, who gave me a slight nod.

Show time.

Damon and Kai were the first to stand , their expression a blend of professionalism and subtle dominance. They approached my father with a firm handshake that speaks volumes. "Mr Volkov" Damon said with smooth voice yet had edged with a challenge that hang in the air. Kai mirrored the gesture. His Demeanor calm and watchful.

As their hands released my eyes locked with Damon's black ones. an unspoken challenge, I held my ground refused to back down, 'wtf is wrong with this family?' I thought. 'Always looking size someone up.'