61

61
— CLARISSA DEVOR —

Karl didn’t make me wait long.

By the time the guards shoved me back into my room, I could already hear his footsteps in the hallway — slow, deliberate, the kind of walk someone uses when they want you to know they’re coming.

The door opened, and there he was.

“Interesting performance this morning,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Not quite the one I asked for.”

I sat on the bed, arms folded. “You didn’t give me a script.”

His smile was thin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t need to give you one. You’re supposed to play your role without ad-libbing.”

“Maybe you should hire better directors,” I said.

He crossed the room, stopping just close enough to tower over me. “Do you think I’m joking, Clarissa? That little stunt you pulled? It wasted my time. It risked my plan.”

I tilted my head. “Sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”

The smile vanished. For a moment, his mask cracked — I saw the flash of temper behind his control. That was the part I wanted.

“You’re making this harder on yourself,” he said, his voice low.

“That’s funny,” I replied. “From where I’m sitting, you’re the one who’s frustrated. You didn’t get your perfect victim shot, did you?”

He leaned closer until I could smell the wine on his breath. “Keep pushing, and I’ll make sure the next video isn’t fake.”

I didn’t blink. “And ruin your leverage? No, Karl… you won’t. Because then you’d have nothing left to hold over him.”

That made him pause — just for a second, but it was enough.

“You think you know me,” he said finally, straightening. “But you don’t. And the moment you slip, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

“Then I guess,” I said, leaning back casually, “I just won’t slip.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint ticking of the radiator. Then Karl smirked, but it was tighter now, less confident.

“We’ll see,” he said, heading for the door. “Tomorrow, you won’t be so clever.”

He left without slamming it — which somehow felt more dangerous.

I sat there for a long time after the lock clicked shut, my pulse still racing. He was angry now, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Good.

The more he reacted to me, the less he was controlling the game.

And if I could keep him off-balance long enough, maybe… just maybe… I could flip it entirely.