The knock came at exactly 7:45 PM.

Aria was already dressed, not in the red gown laid out for her, but in the black one she'd found at the back of the closet. It wasn't defiance, exactly. More like a reminder to herself that she still has to choose something.

The butler didn't react when she opened the door. Just held out a black envelope between two gloved fingers.

"Dinner," he said, like it was a sentence.

Inside, the cardstock was thick enough to draw blood. The handwriting slanted sharply and precisely:

Dining Hall. 8 PM. Wear red.

Aria crumpled the note in her fist. The mirror across the room showed her reflection, eyes dark, jaw set. Good. Let him see exactly what he'd bought.

The dining hall stretched too long, the table polished to a cruel shine. Crystal glasses caught the chandelier light. At the far end, Damon Vasilis sat like a king holding court, his fingers tracing the rim of a wine glass.

He didn't stand when she entered. Didn't speak. Just watched as her heels clicked against marble, each step measured.

Aria pulled out her own chair. Sat without waiting for permission.

Damon's mouth twitched. "Shall we?"

Her water goblet remained untouched. The steak in front of her was perfectly seared, still bleeding.

"You wanted me here," Aria said. "Talk."

Damon leaned forward, the candlelight carving shadows under his cheekbones. "Tell me, Aria Monroe... when did you learn to lie so well?"

Her knife screeched against the plate as she adjusted it.

"When did you learn to ask questions like you already know the answers?"

A beat of silence. Aria's fingers tightened around her fork.

Damon sliced his steak with surgical precision. The sound of the knife against China was obscenely loud.

"What does loyalty mean to someone with nothing to lose?" Damon asked.

Aria set her fork down carefully. "It means everything. When you have nothing, loyalty's the only thing that's yours to give."

Something flickered in Damon's expression, too fast to name. Then it was gone.

"Poetic," he murmured. "But naive."

The wine was too bitter when Aria finally took a sip. She set the glass down harder than necessary.

"How many girls have sat here before me?"

Damon's eyebrow arched. "Curious?"

"Disgusted." Her voice didn't waver. "Does buying women make you feel powerful? Or just hollow?"

For a second, she thought she saw something crack just beneath the surface. Then he was leaning back, swirling his wine like they were discussing the weather.

"You think people are more than transactions?" His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Love. Dignity. Principles; they starve just like bodies do. Money is the only language that never lies."

Aria's chair scraped as she pushed back slightly.

"Not everyone has a price, Damon." His name in her mouth sounded like a challenge.

Damon actually flinched. Just once. Just barely.

"Some people," she continued softly, "would rather starve than sell their soul."

The laugh that escaped him was hollow. "Then you're either foolish... or dangerous."

He stood suddenly, his napkin discarded beside his plate. "I haven't decided which yet."

Aria didn't blink. "Maybe I'm both."

For a long moment, they just stared at each other across the ruined dinner. Then Damon turned on his heel.

"Enjoy the wine," he tossed over his shoulder.

His footsteps echoed down the hall, sharp, measured, retreating.

Aria didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just watched the candle between them gutter and sway.

Alone now, she reached for her wine glass. Held it up to the light. The liquid inside was the exact color of blood.

A slow smile curled at the edges of her mouth, not sweet, not kind. A predator's smile.

He'd wanted to intimidate her. To peel her apart with questions and silences.

Instead, he'd given her the one thing she needed—certainty.

Aria set the glass down untouched.

Game on.