Page 3 of His Dark Desires

The click of Mara's heels against the polished floor breaks my concentration. I don't need to look up—the image on my screen shows her stalking toward my desk, tablet in hand. Her fitted charcoal pantsuit cuts a sharp silhouette in the dim light, the fabric probably worth more than most people's monthly salary. But Mara wears it like armor, not decoration.

"Still on this, Adrian?"

I tap the screen, freezing Sophia's image mid-sip.

"She's been receiving concerning messages from her ex. I need to ensure he doesn't cause problems."

"Concerning messages?" Mara circles to my side of the desk. The subtle scent of her signature perfume—something expensive and understated—mingles with the sterile air. Her black bob swings forward as she leans in to study the displays. "Or messages that concern you?"

"There's a difference?"

"There usually is." She sets the tablet down. A single platinum bracelet catches the blue light from the screens. "What's the endgame here? Two years of... surveillance. That's what we're calling it, right?"

I catch the edge in her voice. Mara's dark eyes reflect the scrolling data, her expression a mask of professional detachment. But I know her well enough to see the tension in her jaw, the slight furrow between her perfectly groomed brows.

"I'm protecting her."

"From?"

"Everything." I gesture at the screens. "Look at her world, Mara. She's talented, pure, untouched by the ugliness we deal with daily. She deserves to be preserved, protected."

"Under glass? Like one of her paintings?" Mara straightens, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her tailored slacks. Her manicured nails—short, practical, but gleaming with a subtle polish—tap against the desk's surface. "You can't curate someone's entire existence."

The irony of her statement isn't lost on me. Mara herself is a study in careful curation—from her perfectly applied makeup that enhances without overwhelming to the way she carries herself with grace. Every detail serves a purpose, projects an image. The only difference is she curates herself.

I study her as she stands beside me. Light catches on the delicate silver chain at her neck—the only personal touch in her otherwise utilitarian presentation. I note her footwear—designer brand, but selected for practicality rather than show. The modest lift of the soles wouldn't slow her down, engineered to let her step without a sound whenever the situation demands it.

"I can try." I turn back to the screens. "That's why I have you, isn't it? To help manage the... curation."

"I manage your empire, Adrian. Managing your obsessions is a generous bonus that I offer." She takes a step back, standing just behind my chair. "But you're right. That's why you have me. To help. And to question when help becomes harm."

I look away from Mara's questioning eyes on the screen. "Your concerns are noted, but this is the only way. The art world would eat her alive without proper guidance."

The screens in front of me flicker with Sophia's daily routines—her morning coffee, afternoon visits to art supply stores, evening painting sessions. Each pixel tells a story I've memorized by heart.

"The gallery opening needs to appear organic," I continue, my fingers tracing the edge of my desk. "We've laid the groundwork for months. The 'chance' meeting will happen by the west wall, where her centerpiece hangs."

"I've ensured that itwillappear organic," Mara replies pointedly. "You don't think she'll find it suspicious that a tech billionaire just happens to be interested in emerging artists?"

Mara moves from behind me, calling my attention. Her hip rests against my desk as she faces me, her slim figure casting a shadow across my screens. The tailored cut of her pantsuit accentuates her athletic frame, and I notice how the soft lighting catches the sharp angles of her collarbones peeking from her silk blouse.

"I've ensured my attendance will seem natural. The press release mentions my company's new arts initiative." I drag my attention back to the surveillance feeds. "Every detail has been considered. The guest list, the timing, even the wine selection matches her preferences from her social media history."

Mara crosses her arms. "You've thought of everything except how she might feel about being manipulated."

I swivel my chair to face Mara fully, letting the screens fade to a soft glow behind me. Her words hit closer to home than I'd like to admit, but I keep my expression neutral.

"Manipulation implies malicious intent." My fingers drum against my desk. "Everything I've done—everything I will do—is to protect her potential. To give her the recognition she deserves."

"And the fact that you've orchestrated every detail of your first meeting? The way you'll 'discover' her art? That's protection?" Mara's eyebrow arches, her skepticism evident in the slight tilt of her head.

I stand, my height forcing her to look up at me. Once again, we're two figures locked in a familiar dance of question and justification.

"You've seen her work, Mara. The talent, the untapped brilliance." I gesture to the holographic display of Sophia's latest piece. "In this world, talent isn't enough. She needs someone who understands both art and power. Someone who can shield her from those who would exploit her gift."

"Someone like you?" Mara's voice carries a sharp edge.

"No. Not someonelikeme." I turn back to the main screen that shows Sophia sitting at her easel. "I'm the man she needs."

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