Page 29 of Summoned
Not a childhood legend. Not a nightmare from my sleep. Not a hallucination born of paranoid schizophrenia. He exists.
And if I don’t handle this right, I could end up in a psychiatric hospital—or his castle—well before the three weeks are over.
I open the text messages I received during dinner with Branimir.
Thinking about my riddle, Baroness?
I check the number they were sent from: 00290.
Goddamn bastard.
My jaw tightens. I resist the urge to hurl my phone at the wall and keep reading.
At times, I’m all you wish to see
At times, I’m what you wish to flee
But I’m mere shape, no true possession,
An entity formed at your discretion.
What am I?
What the hell is this supposed to mean?Athought… A shadow?Imagination? I pull out a notebook and start jotting down every answer that comes to mind.
I’ve scribbled down at least twenty by the time my brain starts to hum.My pulse quickens while I scan the list.
One mistake could be fatal…
I press the pen to the page before I snap the notebook shut. Should I tell someone?Should I say out loud that I might cease to exist in three weeks?
Eventually, I make my way to my father’s study.I knock, then enter at the sound of his familiar “Yes.”
He’s sitting at his desk, buried in paperwork, with his trophies shining on the tall bookcase behind him—glass plaques, gold nameplates engraved with awards, and a few tiny marble statues carved to show he’s achieved what few ever could.
There are more in his other office.All those accolades, displayed with surgical precision as proof that failure is not an option.In my father’s world, weakness has no place.
Which is why I choke up when I meet his steely gaze. My lips part for a second, but no sound emerges. Even the idea of coming to him with a problem I can’t solve myself feels like a misstep.
He puts down the document he was reading and peers at me over his glasses.“Yes, Nicole?” His tone carries that familiar hint of impatience.
I remain standing near the door, fingers twisting.“There’s a bit of an issue…”
He picks up the cigarette case that’s always on his desk and starts rolling it between his fingers.
My stomach knots up.This was a mistake. I can’t tell him about the Black Joker.I can’t admit how stupid I was. SoI straighten my shoulders and add, with forced confidence,“Actually, I can handle it myself.”
My father flashes a smile—one I recognize all too well. It’s the kind that wins clients, garners trust, and dominates boardrooms.Yet, it carries no warmth. Besides being ambitious, as sharp in business as a shark, and unnervingly clever, my father is also quite handsome. His only flaw? He lacks a heart.
“I’m glad you’re here, actually. I wanted to speak with you.” He gestures to the chair opposite his desk but doesn’twait for me to sit. “Your mother must have told you we’ll be attending the Deliberovs’ gala tomorrow. Deliberov is about to commission the most luxurious spa complex in the Balkans. I want the contract.”
“I’m sure that’s not going to be a problem,” I say.
He nods. “I’m hoping tomorrow evening we’ll seal the deal on his project. He’s been circling for weeks, weighing offers, playing the strategist. But I know how he thinks. He doesn’t just want the lowest price. He wants certainty. A name that guarantees not a single coin will be wasted.”
“He doesn’t honestly believe there’s a bigger name than yours in this industry, does he?” I smirk.
“Of course not. He’s just a cheap bastard.”My father leans back, fingers brushing the smooth edge of the desk.“This is one of those moments, Nicole, when good planning wins the game. In our field, it’s not all about building. It’s about persuasion. You don’t sell a service, you sell a promise. If I show him tomorrow that I’ve calculated everything down to the last bolt and brick, he’ll sign without asking a single question.” He pauses, then adds with a quiet, satisfied smile,“I have no intention of giving him any other choice.”
