#donaka mark

In all honesty, you didn't get it... didn't fully understand, but he was your husband and you loved him and you were more than willing to go to the ends of the earth to support him in his passions.

Most days he was so wrapped up in his work that he was often coming home late or sometimes not coming home at all, which is why you were surprised when you woke up one morning to beautiful classical music and a bouquet of soft, white roses by your bedside.

You rubbed your eyes before hoisting yourself up in bed to admire the gorgeous flowers, pushing your nose against the petals and enjoying the deep floral scent.

Your heart swelled so big it hurt.

"Good morning my darling," Donaka's voice came from the bathroom as he walked out, already dressed in a sleek black suit. "How'd you sleep? I hope you like the roses. I know they're your favorite," he added with a smile so faint that only you would notice he even was smiling.

This is the Donaka that was only reserved for you. No one else got to feel this warmth. They may have got a taste of the more jovial side of his professionalism, but he never let them see any further past his mask. He had to stay hard. He wanted to stay hard. You were his one and only exception and for a good reason.

You accepted him with all the love in your heart and without hesitation, even when he showed you the darkest parts of himself. He couldn't help but fall in love, and he swore he would tear open the earth for you if he had to.

"Don't pull the car around just yet," he said into his earpiece. "Get ready. I've laid out your favorite dress on the day bed. Come downstairs after," he told you before exiting the room.

As you showered and did your hair, you couldn't help but feel giddy the whole time. It was very rare that you got to spend the whole day with Donaka. Usually he was gone while you were still sound asleep and you'd wake up to an empty bed and one of the house staff bringing you a tray of fluffy pancakes topped with fresh fruit.

You put the final touches on your hair and threw on a pouty nude lip, then slipped on the pink babydoll summer dress he'd laid out for you and headed down the large staircase and to the door that was already being held open for you.

"Madam."

"Thank you very much," you told him with a bright smile before making your way to the white Lamborghini.

You were surprised to see Donaka opening up the passenger side for you, and even more shocked when he got in the drivers side and started her up.

"No driver today?" You asked curiously as you placed your bag in floor by your Dolce and Gabana clad feet.

If you were completely honest, you didn't really care for expensive, showy brands, but Donaka refused to buy you anything else. Not because he wanted you to look any certain way, but because he thought you were worth every penny plus more. It was also his love language, especially given the fact that he was gone most of the time. He thought hopefully when you recieved his gifts you could feel how much he truly did love you despite his absence.

You glanced over at Donaka who was keeping his eyes fixated on the road ahead as his foot put even more pressure on the gas. He loved going fast with you... in more ways than one.

"I know you hate when we have a driver and I thought you'd like it being just us today," he said simply.

You thought your heart was going to explode.

"Really? Just us! Oh my gosh! It hasn't been just us in so long," you squealed with excitement as you placed your head on his shoulder, unable to keep your tiny, excited giggles under control.

"You're ridiculous," He commented through a audible chuckle.

The two of you rode in comfortable silence all except for the radio that was set to some talk radio that you weren't really paying attention to.

Finally the two of you arrived at an upscale strip mall full of designer shops and complete with a classy fine dining restaurant. The idea of eating there with him made your stomach turn nervously.

You weren't exactly the classiest of women, but that was okay with him. He didn't marry you to be some sort of perfect doll for him to show off, not that he didn't enjoy people seeing you in his arm. You were sweet and beyond beautiful. The one innocent thing in his life that he had no interest in ruining. He found your awkwardness and sheepishness when it came to the finer things cute and endearing to say the least.

He was a point of helping you adjust little by little and you were much better at handling his tastes now than your were when you two first married.

He escorted you into the first store, keeping his arm firmly at the small of your back and only letting go when you decided to run off on your own, admiring every pretty thing you saw.

"Look at this purse! Isn't it just the cutest little bag ever? I wish they had it in blue..."

"Order this in blue and make sure it gets to my house by four thirty this afternoon," Donaka told the employee firmly.

"Very good sir."

And that's how your day went, the two of you going store to store. Donaka keeping a watchful eye on you as he saw you hop from item to item happily.

Your adorable smile and eyes sparkling with wonder for everything was enough to make his heart stop.

"Aww Donaka look! This hairpin matches my dress!" You sang excitedly, showing it off to him cheerfully.

He came over to you and plucked the pin gently from your hand.

"Let me see, darling," he murmured, as he pulled a strand of your hair back and placed the pin in it. God you looked absolutely stunning. "You're absolutely right. Here, go take a look at how beautiful you are in that mirror over there."

You did.

"Put that on my card," he said, handing the clerk his card while you were distracted.

After a day full of shopping and a car full of gifts, Donaka and you sat down to a lovely dinner where he ordered you a little bit of everything off the menu.

"Donaka, this is too much," you told him with a deep blush as you looked at the table full with so many plates that they had to bring a second table.

"You said you couldn't decide. This way you can try everything and eat which one you like the best," he said as if it were obvious.

You ended up settling in the filet bluefin with roasted parsnips and a white wine that you were sure roasted several thousand dollars. Donaka bought it as if he were purchasing a pack of gum.

He placed his hand on yours across the table and offered you a small smile, which for him might as well have been a full on grin.

"You know I love you right?" He asked you. The weight and earnestness in his voice were palpable to you and it made you heart skip. "... only because I know I'm not around enough and I know I don't say it very often."

"Of course I know, Donaka," you responded softly, trying not to tear up at his words. How could you not know? You see it in the way he looks at you. You feel it in his touch and his kiss. It's so strong that you sense it even when he's not around. "I love you too."

"Good."

Later that evening, the two of you arrived back home and Donaka had everything unloaded and brought up to your shared room. All except the pin that remained in your hair the entire evening.

"Don't forget this, my darling," he said, handing you the purse hat you fell in love with earlier.

"Oh Dona! And it's blue!" You jumped up on him, flinging your arms around him tightly. "Thank you, thank you thank you!!!"

He hugged you back warmly and kept you there for several minutes as he buried his face in your shoulder.

"Of course, angel."

The reality is that he'd give you every cent in his bank account if he could. He only needed it to fund the fighting, beyond that it was useless to him. Well, not completely useless. He was able to spoil you silly with it, so he guess it had to at least be good for something.

The two of you got ready for bed and as you slipped under the covers, he pulled you close to him, peppering kisses from you lips to your collarbone.

"Do...naka," you moaned softly as his teeth nibbled your tender flesh.

"Mhm... I'm right here darling girl," he said barely above a whisper as his hands made their way down your body, making you shiver.

He paused for a moment to look down at you and caught your eyes shimmering back up at him in the golden lamp light.

He couldn't believe how unbelievably lucky he was. Somehow in this moment with you underneath him, it hit him more than ever. He was all yours and tonight you were both going surrender everything to one another.

Your eyes drifted over his lips and down to his now, bare arms and torso that were incredibly strong and toned for businessman(you knew better, of course), and you felt like you were gonna die of starvation if he didn't give himself to you soon.

"Donaka... make love to me," you pleaded up at him, running your fingers through his short, dark locks.

That's it. You were going to kill him, but it would be the sweetest death on the planet and worth every aching second.

Tomorrow he'd get up for work, watch people beat each other senseless, maybe even kill someone but none of that mattered tonight.

You can't voice the real question you want to ask here in public. "Did you just pick a fight with the 14k Triad?"

Even though you're in an intimate seating for two with a sweeping view of Victoria harbor, so close you're practically tangled up in his long legs under the table, you have a feeling that wouldn't go over too well.

"Why…bother heckling your brother, after all this time?" you decide to ask instead. "I assume he was just a child, when all those things happened?"

"You think I'm punishing my innocent half-brother for the sins of my father?" he asks with a smirk, reaching for a braised shrimp with his chopsticks.

Yes, you do wonder if there's displaced resentment from the child who was left behind, for the child who was The Chosen One.

"I…don't know."

"Believe me, he's no innocent. We'll leave it at that here."

He says it in that tone that should end it for you, if you're smart—but you've already established that you're an absolute idiot when it comes to this man.

"But are they…still connected?" You don't know how else to ask about the Triads in veiled terms in public.

"Are you afraid, bunny?"

You chew your lip a little, sensing you're treading dangerous ground.

"I'm afraid…of things I don't understand." That's the truth, at least.

"Hmm. I thought that maybe you were thinking about the prospects of the future," he taunts you with that infuriating curl of lips that equally lights you up and makes you want to smack him. You shift in your chair, aware for the umpteenth time that this man still has your panties in his pocket.

"I mean, tangling with a south Asian crime syndicate isn't exactly on my bucket list," you feel safe saying, sotto voce. It's certainly not a problem you ever dreamed you might have to seriously consider.

"Do you think I'm not already a target for the unsavory elements of this city?"

"I…"

Oh boy. He doesn't sound angry, but you feel like your walking into a trap all the same.

"Do you think I can't protect you? My cherished mistress who I cosset in my fortress of a home?"

So that's how it is, huh? Even while you know he's gaslighting the shit out of you, rewriting whole chapters of your origin story with a single pretty sentence…there's still a tingling warmth that creeps through your bones.

Are you cherished? Because you're still having trouble shaking the thought that you were just elbow candy this evening.

He's merciful tonight. He doesn't make you answer—or he doesn't want to hear what you actually have to say. "You did well."

You feel yourself soften even more. You want to believe that you were just overreacting. Do you really think this man isn't already ten steps ahead of you, or for that matter, the rest of the world? Suddenly you feel rather foolish. Of course he has this well in hand. Do you really think you of all people could foresee a danger he didn't?

"So did you," you finally answer, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. "That was quite a game you ran tonight."

He takes your hand from across the table, pleased that you're finally coming around to see things his way. Pressing lips to your fingers, he nips lightly at your knuckles, smiling wider when you jump. "I think you're the one who told me to fuck him up."

You can't help but giggle, giving in to your baser instincts now that some of your fears are put to rest. "Did you see the look on his face?"

"It was priceless."

"Oh, you put a price on it."

He picks out another tidbit with a smirk.

"What would you have done, if he stuck you with the 100 million?"

Donaka just shrugs. "I would have paid."

You cant help but shake your head, reaching for a chiu chow dumpling. It's still so surreal to you, that your consort has that kind of hard cash on hand. "Seems like a big risk." You take a bite, loving the chewy texture, closing your eyes for the savory flavor bursting over your tongue.

He smiles a little, watching you enjoy the spread of food he'd ordered. "For large reward. That's how the game is played at my level, bunny."

You consider him again, looking over his handsome features with a discerning eye. Then it dawns on you, and you don't know why you didn't see it before.

"You got something more than revenge out of this operation tonight."

His smile is like the flash of a tiger's fangs. "You are a sharp little thing."

You wait, but of course he doesn't volunteer any extra information. You wonder if one of his security clients put him up to it. A rival tech guru perhaps, someone Security Systems Alliance has a big contract with, a job for the CEO himself to ruin a competitor.

If Donaka was willing to risk a 100 million like pocket change—how much was the reward?

It seems to please him, that you're catching on to the spirit of the op, even if you don't have the exact details. There's a heat in his dark eyes that goes straight to your loins, as he kisses and nips at your fingers again. He's so bitey when he's feeling amorous. Why does that sharp pain go straight to your clit?

That darkest primal heart of you that is not interested in logic or feminism is always volunteering to be devoured by this man.

You've long decided that your libido is an unhelpful bitch.

Donaka levels you with a weighty gaze, one of those piercing looks that makes you feel like all your internal workings are totally laid bare.

He likes it, that you're not a complete idiot about business and its related politics, so long as you don't defy him too much. It will serve him well, for the plans he's formulating for you.

You did well tonight. For the most part, you didn't flinch. Maybe he'd enjoyed it, when you hid behind him, when Dominic first made the scene. Your instincts are good there too. But even when you felt uncomfortable, you doubled down and backed his play. That is the kind of loyalty he requires of you, if you expect to be allowed out of the house at his side.

He dares to think his conditioning of you is turning out to be a success. He has to hand it to you. You've held his interest longer than any of the others, and you were certainly his toughest mistress to break. Despite your misgivings, he thinks he's managing to mold you into the type of companion he requires. However, even now, while you're lavished with jewels and draped in silk he knows the money isn't enough to hold you.

It's the less tangible things that forge his most effective weapon against you. Unfortunately…that's turned out to be a double-edged blade.

He still doesn't think he's a man who's capable of love, but whatever this is between you? It is singular, and consuming, a burning need, a ravenous craving that has yet to be satisfied—and he's finally decided to use it to his advantage rather than gnash his teeth over it.

🌃🌃🌃

Rather than make the trek back to Shek O, Donaka introduces you to the penthouse apartment he keeps downtown for late nights in the city. It's filled with sleek masculine luxury, dramatic lighting and more priceless art, but you can't help but think it's rather impersonal compared to the beautiful house where you live together. You wonder if this is a place where he can bring people, that won't reveal much about who he truly is.

You also wonder if he's brought other women here, and your stomach involuntarily lurches with the thought.

He lets you look around, rather than pouncing upon you like he so often does. He seems content for the moment to watch you, chucking his jacket over the couch and pouring himself a drink before taking a seat by the window. The lights of Hong Kong spread out behind him, a glittering tapestry of wealth and commerce sparkling as far as the eye can see.

"Do you…stay here often?" you fish, winning a twitch of a smile from this man who always sees straight through you.

"When I work late."

With a hand on your hip you watch him undo his tie, loosening the first few buttons of his shirt. The sight of him like this, relaxed and undone after your big evening, manspreading in his chair with an amber drink in hand…it does something to you, spreading like warm opium in your veins, and you're not sure why.

Maybe because it's only you who gets to see him this way.

Or at least…so you hope.

In a dizzying moment of lucidity, in this apartment high above the world while looking upon this heartbreakingly handsome yet oh so mysterious man seated half in shadow—you realize that you will probably never truly know Donaka Mark. Not all of him, at any rate. No matter what he gives you, his secret heart will always be something he keeps completely for himself.

There will always be something you do not know.

Perhaps this would not bother you so much, if you weren't falling so hopelessly in love with him, despite your better judgement.

He certainly knows every thing there is to know about you, and everything that makes you tick. It's not fair in the least.

He'd called you his cherished mistress…that still warms you inside, like a shot of high-proof liquor. Cloying. Heady.

Disorienting.

You're not sure you possess the mercenary detachment it takes to be a true mistress. And if he has other lovers who he brings here…you would lose your goddamned mind, no matter how he framed it.

Yet…especially after watching him work tonight, nor are you sure you have what it would take to be a public consort to this powerful man, either. Tai tai jokes aside, you know that deep down you are just a lost little gremlin who observes the foibles of life going by, preferring to leave the big moves to others.

You wanted to go out and about with him so badly—but did you really think you have what it truly would take to stand at this man's side amongst his peers, a pleasant smile on your face and a dagger hidden behind your back at all times?

You little fool.

What is it you want, then?

Safety from heartbreak, might be the real answer, but that is only an illusion for any of us, no matter what course we take.

All you really know for certain is that you control of none of this, and it makes your head spin.

He meets your introspective gaze with that little smile of his, giving you time or feeding you more rope to mentally hang yourself with, whichever.

"I liked having you with me tonight, bunny," he offers, as though he knows you are silently reeling, admiring him from a distance with those big watchful eyes. "I meant it, when I said you did well."

Damn him for knowing when a little praise goes a long way. Because the truth is you did enjoy yourself, even if the implications of the battle scared you.

"I like being with you too," you confess quietly, feeling ridiculously shy all of a sudden under the microscope of his gaze.

"You're safe with me, you know. You're mine, and I'll never let anything bad touch you. Do you believe me?"

Once you simply would have laughed with disbelief at this. Why is there such a lump in your throat now?

"I want to." That is the truth, though not exactly what he wants to hear.

That tear of a smile widens a little more for you. Maybe because whether you believe him or not…you're not getting any say in the matter. Not really. Not unless you grow a spine again and make another crack at escape—perhaps you both know you're not going to do it. Not now.

You're in too deep.

Maybe you're a fool, but you are not immune to that heat in his eyes. To be desired by this powerful man is a heady thing, and even if you know it's the catalyst to your demise, you can't fight it. Especially not now, after how many glasses of plum wine? And all the excitement of the evening, the high-stakes auction and even the element of danger…he couldn't have orchestrated your arousal any better by feeding you straight aphrodisiacs.

"Come here." The order is delivered in a throaty growl that floods your center, desire a sleeping dragon that coils in your loins.

You start to obey him, but you freeze for the scolding hiss of air from between his teeth. "Take that off," he demands, gesturing with one long finger. "I've wanted to see it on the floor since the moment you put it on."

You wonder vaguely how much of this man’s day goes to checking the cameras at home. How often does he watch you?

You never enjoyed the expectation of putting on a show for a lover. The demeaning aspects aside, you’ve just never felt that comfortable in your own skin. Yet there is something about this man who likes to watch everything, from your meagre day to day tasks to moments that are decidedly more intimate, and maybe this level of voyeurism has transformed you somehow. You relish the hunger in his gaze as you slide the strap of your dress from your shoulder, then the other, until the pretty silk is pooled at your ankles and you are wearing nothing but your cascade of black pearls and your Louboutins.

At the crook of his finger you walk to him with a slow deliberation—not just so you won't trip on your dress at your feet. Maybe you are learning to savor the anticipation in his little games; you want to remember the look on this man’s face forever. Someday, when he’s had his inevitable fill of you, you’ll hoard it in your memory like a dragon with a precious pearl...

You climb into his lap, guided by his big hands upon your haunches that pull you into the cradle of his broad body. You are engulfed, caged, completely consumed—he explores the curves of your bare flesh with a gentleness that breaks your heart. Why is this man allowed to touch you as though he loves you? The sum you would pay to hear the words… Millions. A kidney. The deed to your very soul…

His full lips are soft yet demanding upon your mouth, your neck, the tips of your breasts…and as you writhe upon his rigid cock you fear you signed that last part of yourself away to him a while ago.

He stands with you in his strong arms as though you weigh nothing at all, his mouth never leaving yours as he carries you to his bedroom in a few long strides. As soon as you touch the mattress he is on you, more urgent now, his sharp teeth nipping the tender insides of your thighs before wrecking your center with his tongue.

You are his creature now.

The words appear in your mind as you arch beneath him, helpless against the storm of this man's passion, pursuing this pleasure that only he has ever managed to give you. He is like the typhoon that terrorize these shores in late summer; violent, awe-inspiring, inevitable.

The best you could ever really do is just try to hold on.

He abandons you at the very edge of your completion, smirking down at you with a warmth in his eyes that contradicts that cruel smile. Your whine of protest only seems to delight him more. "Hush, bunny," he quiets you, divesting himself of the rest of his fine clothes. "You're cumming on my cock tonight, or not at all."

You're floating in a golden daze as he guides you on top of him, teasing your wet folds with his blunt tip, making you moan and writhe with the unbearable madness of it all. In the morning there will be purple shadows upon your hips, where the tips of his strong fingers pressed into your flesh, guiding you upon him.

Perhaps he is the master of this torture, but he is not immune to it as you capture his tip in your weeping chanel, squeezing him greedily as he glides inside. The satisfaction of hearing him moan kindles a warm triumph inside you. Such hubris is a dangerous thing; he reads your satisfaction in this small victory, baring his teeth with a vicious delight that gives you chills all over.

It's rare that he lets you ride him like this, taking his cock at the pace of your own pleasure, savoring the ache of him filling you full before withdrawing again. But perhaps he's still running the show with his diabolical thumb upon your ripe bud, anticipating your rhythm with devastating precision.

He watches you riding him like a goddess of the sea in nothing but your ropes of pearls with a savage glee. Dripping in his wealth, taking his cock deep in that sweet pussy like you are meant to do; you were made for him. He's more and more certain of it with every minute that goes by.

You are his creature.

You think it again as the warmth builds inside you once more, as inevitable as the crash of the waves upon the shore. With your back arched tight as a bow and the strands of heavy pearls teasing your nipples, you break to pieces for this man. You scream as you milk every ounce of pleasure to be had from his hard cock and his clever hand, until you feel him shudder and spill his seed inside you with a roar.

You are his creature, but there are worse things.

That is what you tell yourself as you collapse upon his broad sweat-slicked chest, gasping for breath with his arms around you.

There are definitely worse things, than this.

“Donaka…” you giggle quietly as he kisses your neck, his big hand gripping your thigh through that convenient slit in your skirt. “You’re going to undo all Ava’s hard work…”

You realize that he must have picked the triple strand of pearls to hide some of the inevitable damage he would wreak upon your tender skin. It’s exhilarating, and embarrassing, and you don’t know what to do with this effervescence bubbling up inside your chest.

“Mmmm she did too well,” he muses darkly, nipping at your chest. “I can’t keep my hands off you, my pretty little pet.”

You tug at his tie greedily, just to smooth it down his chest again. You’ve been having your own crisis of lust since he came out of the closet dressed all in black earlier, your pearls dripping from his fingers in offering. The way he slid them across your cleavage before clasping them behind your neck was a diabolically exquisite torture.

The matching white gold and pearl drops he offered from a velvet box inside his pocket didn’t hurt either. Who knew you were such a magpie at heart?

“We’re going to look like horny teenagers at the drive-in when we get out of this car,” you laugh, praying your hair isn’t standing up in all directions after Isabel’s careful artistry.

“I don’t think I can pass for that anymore,” he states through a low chuckle. “Though the feeling of spiraling madness certainly rings true.” His clever fingers hook in the side of your panties, pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion that makes you yip in surprise.

“Donaka! No!”

Your horror surely delights him even more than the possession of that scrap of silk he tucks so deftly into his suit pocket. “I’ll take these for good luck,” he tells you with a wicked grin and a sharp glint in his obsidian eyes that dares you to argue.

“You are the worst,” you grumble, your face on fire.

“No unsightly panty lines, bunny. You should thank me.” You know that bullying you is his version of a playful mood–and you wonder what has him so riled up.

“Where are we going that excites you this much?” you speculate aloud.

“Hmm. It’s the anticipation of a battle,” he tells you, pulling you close with his arm around your waist again. “I live for a good fight.”

“Are we…going to see a fight?”

“After a fashion.”

“What–” He kisses you hard, nipping at your lower lip.

“We’ll be there soon. Just be patient.”

He looks out the window silently after that, though his grip on your waist varies in pressure, and you know beneath that inscrutable facade he’s thinking on something.

Fine.

You rest your head on his shoulder, and you can almost pretend the two of you are a normal couple, watching the lights of the tall buildings zip by. It’s hard to track from the back seat, but you think you’re in Wan Chai when the car slows, the dark waters of Victoria Harbor shimmering in the moonlight beyond. You see the undulating curves of the Hong Kong Expo Center ahead, lit up like a bioluminescent manta ray at night.

The car pulls to a stop before the dramatically lit entryway, crowded with obviously well-heeled people making their way inside. Here and there a camera flash goes off in the throng. By the time his man makes his way around to open the door you are holding Donaka’s hand with a death grip, suddenly so nervous you could die.

“You’re alright, bunny,” he soothes in a low voice. “I’ve got you.” Then you are bundled out of the car, into the throng.

📷 ✨✨

“The cameras are just for the film stars,” Donaka assures you, cutting through the crowd with the efficiency of a shark patrolling his reef. “The Tattler has to publish something tomorrow.” You realize he's talking about the Hong Kong society rag, and the thought of even being in the background of something like that feels too surreal for words.

"Oh my god. Is that Michelle Yeoh?"

"Probably."

You don't get a chance to gawk for long though. With your hand in his you are soon pulled through the door. It's still crowded, but somehow a little less chaotic. There are wine-red banners hanging everywhere declaring CHRISTIES in vertical script. “There’s an auction tonight?”

“The auction of the century, darling. You’ll see.”

The two of you follow the flow of the crowd, Donaka keeping you tucked against his side with an arm around your waist. You ride up an escalator, into a cavernous room filled with amphitheater seating. Hanging artfully above the raised dais below is a line of huge traditionally painted silk scrolls, dramatically lit, obviously the stars of this show.

They're gorgeous, depicting an ongoing bird's eye scene of a mountainous palace and fortification and all the well-heeled people and soldiers and servants going about their lives there. You relate too well to those little people drawn in such precise water color strokes, many bending over in some household task. There's a panel that shows ladies of the court primping and gossipping as they paint their faces and do their hair—it still doesn't feel real, that that could be your life now.

Any minute you're going to wake up in your attic apartment with your three little mice companions, the chariot turned back into a pumpkin and your glass slippers no where to be found…

"Can you imagine…" muses Donaka, peering at a panel depicting a detail of soldiers escorting a covered palanquin down a garden path. "A palace so vast you had to travel between the wings on horseback? What a time to have lived in."

"Feeling like you were born in the wrong century?" you tease him, noting his interest with the ornately armored soldiers.

He lifts an eyebrow at you, amused.

"I'm sure you were a fearsome warlord in a past life, dear."

This wins you a huff of a chuckle, and an affectionate squeeze at your waist that speaks novels more to you. He's enjoying himself, and you are too. The two of you make your way down the lineup of the scrolls. They span a good thirty feet, tower over your heads, and every square inch is filled with breathtaking detail. They're painted in such distinctive greens and turquoise tones with pops of red. For something so old the colors are so vivid, and something flips a switch for you.

"Donaka…are these…The Palace of Eighteen Perfections scrolls?"

"There's my little art historian."

It warms you to hear the pride in his voice, but you still shrug it off—just one of your many interests that never really amounted to anything. But you remember reading about a set of scrolls found in a steamer trunk in someone's attic in England a couple years ago, believed to possibly be the find of the century in Asian art if it could be proved they were, in fact, the missing royal scrolls written about in historical texts, but lost in the Opium Wars.

"Qing Dynasty," Donaka goes on. "Painted by Yuan Jiang in 1693. Once lost, now found and up for grabs to the highest bidder. Do you want them?"

He asks so casually—but you know the auction estimate must be millions.

You're proud of yourself for holding back some practical but asinine answer, like But where would we even put them?

These belong in a museum anyway. But you doubt any of the traditional museums will have the hard cash to acquire them. They'll go to some Saudi prince or Mainlander magnate, hidden away from the public eye forever…or just maybe your evil billionaire boyfriend, who possibly you could convince to lend them for display…

"I guess, if you have an extra 50 mil burning a hole in your pocket?" you ask with all the cool coyness you can muster, looking up at him through your lashes.

He smirks down at you like he reads all your thoughts between the lines, as usual.

"If you're a good girl, we'll see…"

With a hand on the small of your back he starts to guide you onwards, but a voice behind you makes Donaka turn.

"Would they even fit in that little cottage you've got up in Shek O?"

You feel Donaka's hand tense upon your back, even if his face betrays nothing.

"Dominic Chiao. I didn't know you had an interest in the arts." His tone is cool as winter in Siberia, and gooseflesh erupts across your arms; you sense something dangerous brewing between these two men, the hostility in the thick as the air before a terrible storm. You're not proud of it later, but in the moment you find yourself half hiding behind the bulwark of Donaka's steadfast form.

"I don't usually care for this old junk." The newcomer glances at his nails, as though bored. He is almost as tall as Donaka, dressed in an expensive suit, his short black hair neatly slicked back. There is something almost familiar in his features, the sweep of his eyes and the line of his jaw. "But these will be the score of the century."

Chiao seems confident that they're as good as his, but Donaka doesn't rise to the bait, merely inclining his head.

"May the best man win."

Chiao smirks and turns back to look at the scrolls, dismissing the two of you from his presence. You have never seen anyone dare to treat Donaka this way, and for some reason a fine tremor has started in your bones.

"Who was that?" you whisper as Donaka leads you away. You expect him to be livid, but when you look up you realize he is smirking with what you can only describe as wicked glee.

"Dominic Chiao, tech tycoon, certified asshole," Donaka answers quietly with a twist of his lips that resembles a snarl.

This doesn't really give you the information you want by half, but you remember you're supposed to be playing it cool. So you walk up the stairs with your arm in his, pretending your heart isn't racing at a mile a minute.

You're met at the top by a host who is polite to a fault, escorting you to a sumtuously upholstered loveseat from which the two of you get to watch the procedings of the auction from above. This cloistered balcony is outfitted with only a handful of these luxury arrangements. Very VIP.

"May I bring you something to drink, Mr. Mark?"

Donaka orders in quick Cantonese, and the two of you get settled on the velvet cushions. There's a little table with just enough room for a plate of gourmet canapés, of which your host brings with a tumbler of bourbon and a glass of white wine.

Seemingly pleased with himself again, Donaka pulls you close with an arm around your shoulders, nipping lightly at your ear. Whatever is about to happen, you can tell he's looking forward to it.

Not long after Chiao is seated at the next station beside yours. You can just see him out the corner of your eye around the wing of your fancy couch, and you feel Donaka's muscle-strapped torso practically vibrate with tension where you're pressed against him.

"So…have you been hating each other long?" you ask casually at a volume below a whisper, taking a sip of the drink Donaka ordered for you. It's crisp, and sweet, and you can tell immediately that it will go to your head if you're not careful.

"You think you're the only one with insufferable half-siblings?"

You blink at this, connecting the dots, fighting like hell not to lean over to ogle Donaka's sworn enemy. No wonder he's such a handsome bastard.

Brothers.

"Your father's second family?" you ask.

"You remember."

"But I thought you said…" That you destroyed him. You're smart enough not to say that outloud, even in a whisper in this crowded lounge. You realize you don't know what that means at all. Did you think Donaka slaughtered his father's whole family? Did you just accept this assumption without a second thought?

Donaka snorts at this, always able to sense the subtext with you. "I ruined their family fortune. A fate worse than death for people like them, I assure you. But he's clawed his way back into legitimate money. Word is Dominic has just come into a great deal of cash and is eager to show it off to the right people. We'll see how that goes for him."

You realize that this is the real reason the two of you are here. Donaka has been plotting all along. Maybe he heard through his spy security network that Chiao had his sights set on the scrolls, and probably intends to break his heart by outbidding him… Typical billionaire flex. And really…a childish playground game, at the heart of it all. You wonder what it will cost him. And you are already thinking about all that money, and the lives of normal people it could change, rather than blowing it on a bauble and sending it down the pipeline from one digital vault to the next, where it will accrue interest but never get used for any real good in the real world…

This all settles over you like a tar-black wave. You were having fun, in your pretty dress with your hair done and dripping with jewels on the arm of your handsome beau…but it's all very stupid. You doubt you'll ever manage to shake this way of thinking for long, no matter how many times Donaka tries to mindfuck you out of it. It's in the very heart of you, no matter how you're done up on the outside.

"Have I displeased you, bunny?" Donaka asks, always aware of the slightest change in your weather.

You're smart enough to shake your head, taking another sip of your plum wine. You're going to need at least two more glasses of this to get through this night. But maybe you are finally learning a thing or two about subterfuge, and misdirection, and getting what you want the long way around. Maybe Donaka's lessons are taking root, in their way.

"Fuck him up, baby. You should donate the scrolls to the museum circuit for everyone to enjoy. That will really piss him off."

Donaka's smile for you is nothing less than a baring of teeth, pleased yet oh so predatory. This is the man you've taken into your bed. Into your heart…into the very fiber of your being—and this is his world. No matter your reservations or your little moments of enlightenment between the bouts of madness…you're in it now, and there's no going back.

💰💰💰

For a moment it seemed like you were right about your 50 mil evaluation on the scrolls. But then Donaka and Dominic blow right past it, locked in a bidding war that has everyone on the edge of their seats. There are others throwing their paddles up too at this level. One of the actresses who you'd seen being photographed outside, and some anonymous bidders attending by proxy over the phone. But every time Dominic offers a number Donaka is right there with the next highest increment.

The younger man is trying to keep his cool, but you can tell that he's livid, sweat beading down his brow. He periodically turns to glare daggers over at the two of you, a thing of which Donaka just meets with his trademark sneer. Maybe your boyfriend is enjoying the battle, but the hatred in his opponent's eyes gives you straight chills. You cannot shake the feeling that something bigger is at stake here.

60 million.

75 million.

Dominic argues heatedly on the phone with someone, somehow barking orders and keeping his voice down. There's a stall, but then he's back at 80.

Donaka doesn't relent, and you can't help but get caught up in the moment too. Even if deep down you know this is ridiculous—it's also exciting, and you can't help but squirm in your seat everytime he increases his bid. It doesn't help that his free hand is affixed through that slit in your skirt, squeezing the inside of your thigh every time he pledges another absolute fortune to acquire these old scraps of silk decorated with ink. His fingers are dangerously close to your center, and every nerve in your body sings to life, rendering you agonizingly sensitive to his smallest movement.

These numbers are so huge that they're almost surreal. Unimaginable to someone like you who has worked for hourly wages your whole life. But they're not imaginary, and they can't be fudged on later. Everyone here's been pre-approved by the auction house, and to go back on that isn't done.

It's a deal written in stone—or blood.

90 million.

100.

110.

"One hundred fifty million!"

Dominic Chiao throws down this insane number with the gleam of temporary madness in his eyes, so possessed that he has sprung to his feet, like he intends to leap at Donaka if the security CEO dares to utter one more figure. The attendants are startled, clearly torn as to what to do. Two shadows hover on the sides of the room, the security detail for Christies or Donaka himself ready to act if things get truly out of hand.

The whole room is holding its breath, waiting.

Watching.

You look to Donaka, wondering if he will escalate this madness further. It's crazy, but a part of you wants him to win after all this, if for anything just because it feels like he's truly fought for it. Every cell in your body is on pins and needles—he is inscrutible except for grinding his teeth, his lower jaw jutting as he thinks.

A slow, sly smile spreads on his lips as he looks Dominic Chiao in the eye, and bows his head magnaminously.

The chatter in the room erupts to a roar, excited auction-goers unable to contain themselves.

"Going once? Going twice? SOLD for one hundred and FIFTY million!"

You hear the auctioneer's excited declaration in the background, but it feels like white noise, all your attention affixed upon the man at your side, and the man staring him down from ten feet away.

For a starkly telling moment, Dominic Chiao looks like he isn't sure if he's happy or not to have won this priceless treasure on the auction floor. But then the younger man shrugs it off, turning his back on Donaka to converse with a group of female well-wishers who were seated behind him. He'll be the man of the hour, the toast of the town. This is what he truly purchased.

You put your hand on Donaka's, offering him a conciliatory squeeze. Only then does he turn back to you, a dangerous glitter in his onyx eyes, the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. He presses his lips to yours, pinching your thigh lightly, and you know.

This was all his grand plan, and you wonder if he just totally bankrupted his royally despised relative by losing—on purpose.

All warfare is based on deception.

Sun Tzu said that in a little book about the art of war, and wow was he right.

But there's something else you haven't forgotten about Donaka's father's second family, destroyed or not. If they had such unsavory connections back in the day…exactly whose money did your lover just light on fire with a prideful match and a shit ton of kerosene?

Dominic Chiao's…or the 14k Triad's?

TBC...