Chapter 33 INTENSITY
\[OUTHOUSE\]
As expected, it was dark. The only single light in the room was a tiny yellow light that cast its warmth over a chessboard. Drexton sat at the side of the outhouse, far away from the door. A table was in front of him. A chessboard was on it. The other side was an empty chair, meant for Ixora.
The light only shone on that side, as for the rest of the outhouse, total darkness.
The place was silent, like an abandoned house. His eyes were closed as his fingers tapped gently on the chessboard. It was as if he was tracking the time with each tap he made. The bandage was still wrapped tightly around the palm, and that alone gave him the devil's look.
Suddenly, his nose caught her scent.
The scent he could recognize even if she was in the midst of a zillion crowds.
Velvet kiss.
Her slow footsteps began echoing in his ears, and he knew she was walking in. Her heartbeat was loud, loud enough to reach his ears from the entrance where she was.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, dead and emotionless as ever. His fingers were still tapping on the table, but this time, at each step she took. Deliberate, measured, unyielding.
He traced his gaze to her, and her eyes met his. He had tactile hypoesthesia, and that made all his other senses incredibly active.
She had nothing in her hand except for her phone. He could see she was trying to mask her fears. Little did she know that he saw right through her.
His eyes were fixed on her face. The face of his destroyer—Georgia Castellan.
From her long, wavy hair, spun from the same silken strands, to her rich crimson eyes that held the same fire. She was the perfect echo of the woman who ruined him. Her nose, lips, even the tilt of her chin were replicas of Georgia's.
Maybe that's why she was his target. To set out and destroy. The younger version and carbon copy of Georgia. Ixora.
Even her words, most of the time, were the same as her mother's. They took pride in their last names, and he was going to shatter them.
And then the words that ruined him.
"Take off your clothes, little urchin."
Those very words were the borderline between his hate and his condition.
His fingers tapped faster on the board, having realized it had taken Ixora over five minutes to get to the table, and he had used the time in analyzing the depths of their similarities.
Ixora, having reached the table, exhaled softly while trailing her gaze to the table. Her eyes caught the white bandage around his hand, and she couldn't help but wonder what might have injured him so deeply.
She shifted her gaze to the table. Her face seemed to light up on seeing the chessboard.
If he called her to play chess, then she wouldn't let him have his way this time around.
"Forty-five minutes late," Drexton whispered, but his voice still found its way to echo across the outhouse.
Ixora hid her hand behind her back, slowly balling it into a fist.
This jerk should be happy that she came without trying to disagree with him for the first time.
"You wanted me to come. Here I am. Why does it matter the time I spent getting her?" she replied, locking her gaze onto his.
Once again, the stupid bravery had come in. The type that always made her stand up to him amidst his dangerous aura. She was grateful he had helped her at the bridge today, but today's bravery was something she wasn't going to let him shatter.
She saw his upper lip twitch for a fleeting second before it disappeared. Was he trying to belittle her with that look? She would see his face when she beat him in his game.
She had mastered the game of chess from Nelly. Today, her skills were going to come in handy. When she finally breaks his spirit by defeating the devil, it will be so much fun to watch.
A smirk kissed her lips as her gaze got fixed on the piece he was setting.
He set the king, queen, pawn, rook and the rest of them. What mattered wasn't the fact that he was setting the game, it was how he was setting it—so slow—so mighty—so everything...and the worst or best part was—his eyes were on her throughout the whole setting.
She gulped.
How was that possible?
Finally done, he gestured, telling her to sit. She glanced between him and the chessboard before landing her butt on the chair.
His upper lip twitched again; she saw it.
"Play," he said.
She licked her upper gum before moving the pawn into the second line. Her strategic method of winning.
He played. Rook
She gave her full attention to the game. She knew he was smart, and to defeat him, she had to think.
She played.
He played.
She played after taking her time to calculate her movement.
He played.
Ixora shifted uncontrollably on the chair. He wasn't even thinking. He was playing at almost the same time as her, as if he already knew her next moves.
Her skin turned cold with a slight shiver, and her hair on her neck all stood out. It then dawned on her that his eyes weren't even on the game.
They were on her.
She raised her head, and her eyes met his gaze. She was right, he was indeed staring at her. His gaze was stripping her bare. She felt exposed, as if he was peeling back everything she used to protect herself. Not her clothes, but her thoughts. Her defenses and it was making her uncomfortable.
How was he playing without looking at the chessboard? It doesn't make sense.
How was she going to win under his hard stare? A stare that was going into her soul.
She tightened her jaw so hard that it began to hurt her. But she didn't care; she had to show him that she wasn't weak.
Her jaw loosened when she killed two of his pawns almost immediately. For the first time, she started the winning session.
But yet again, he played. Same calm demeanor. Same ease.
The game was getting so intense. And harder.
She was killing his army, and that alone brought so much satisfaction to her stomach. She couldn't wait for it to be over so that she'd rub it on his face.
She played, hardening her bones.
He played with the same calmness and eyes on her.
She played.
He played.
Until—
She killed the last army in his game, leaving just his king.
Then he smirked, cruelly, and finally, he turned his gaze to the game.
Ixora saw the smirk and wondered what he was smirking about when she already had the upper hand. If it reaches her turn, she is going to win.
His eyes were on the game, and she traced his gaze. Her eyes began widening as she saw he could kill her king.
It dawned on her, he didn't kill her army the whole time. She was too focused on killing his army while getting to his king, and he—
He was making his way to her king without touching her army.
And then—
He hit her king. Checkmate.
Game over.
He had won.
The smirk didn't leave his lips as he took his gaze back at her.
"Nice play," he said.
Ixora's eyes were still wide. And the mockery behind his words wasn't missed.
How could she? All the while, he was only playing smart. And her?
"Time for my price number two," he said, pulling her out of her thoughts.
She raised her brow. "I don't remember owing you anything."
He didn't reply but only stared at her with that usual emotionless expression. That stare seemed to have triggered some memories as she remembered the incident at the bridge.
When she asked him to hug her back, he said two...Does that mean he was referring to the 'I owe him' part?
Gosh, how could she have fallen for his trick? She could have been smarter than this, and now he wants a price.
"What is your price?" She asked, her voice coming out barely inaudible.
He was not normal, and whatever he was going to ask would be something she would not be able to do.
But what if he asks for...
That thought alone sent goosebumps all over her body as he locked her gaze onto his.