CHAPTER 299: CHEYENNE’S TACTICS

It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected this. He had.

From the very onset when the drafting of this plan, he had identified Cheyenne as the major target amongst other women. Not that she was more important than any of them—definitely not. But she was the horse of a different color.

He had not at all expected her to be amongst the women, but she was there. And since the system warned of possible risks and punishments if he didn’t straighten the relationship with them all, he knew he had to put a lot of work in getting a woman of Cheyenne’s status to agree to all of this.

This entrance of hers: The throaty purr of the Rolls-Royce Phantom. The amount of luggage she brought with her. The dress she had on in fact. All of it was a declaration of how different she was compared to the other women Darren had in his roster.

As the chauffeur held the door, Cheyenne Lamb Bordeaux emerged not like a guest, but like a sovereign surveying newly acquired territory. The setting sun glinted off her oversized sunglasses and the stark white, architectural lines of her couture jumpsuit. Every inch of her screamed a privilege so ingrained it was practically genetic.

She didn’t glance at the breathtaking villa or the panoramic ocean view. Her eyes, hidden behind the dark lenses, were locked solely on him. A slow, appraising smile touched her lips—, it was less of warmth, and more like the satisfaction of a collector finding the final piece for her gallery.

"Darling," she purred, her voice cutting through the warm silence of the villa. She finally removed her sunglasses, revealing eyes sharp enough to cut diamond. "I do hope you saved the best room for me. I’d hate to have my luggage sent back."

Darren gave her a taciturn stare. One he didn’t really mean, he had merely let his thoughts slip into his expression. He had to find a way to get Cheyenne to settle, to become part of the team— HIS TEAM. He couldn’t have her running around with the other women, thinking she’s boss.

Quickly, he schooled his face, making it a mirror of her own cool amusement. "Cheyenne. Only the best could ever hope to contain you." He gestured, and a team of staff materialized to attend to the parade of Louis Vuitton and Goyard trunks being extracted from the car. "Shall we?"

He offered his arm.

Cheyenne gazed at him for a while and smiled, clearly impressed. "Who taught you how to be so kind?"

Darren raised a brow. "Would you prefer me any other way?"

She shrugged. "I guess chivalry isn’t dead after all."

With a queen’s grace, she looped her hand through the crook of his elbow, her touch light but possessive. They began a slow procession through the courtyard.

"I must admit," she said, her voice a low, confidential hum, "when you said ’resort,’ I pictured something dreadfully common. Sand everywhere, tacky floral prints. This is... acceptably tasteful. You have a surprisingly decent interior designer on retainer."

Darren looked at her. "So you knew this was mine then?"

"Of course," she almost chuckled. "You invite me to a resort to stay the weekend, did you not expect that I would do a background check?"

"Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag now."

"Silly Mister Duckling." She shook her head softly. "So assured in himself. You think that you know everything."

"I’ll be sure to pass your approval along to myself," Darren replied dryly, ignoring her remark. "There was no interior designer. I drew the plans."

"Did you now?" She cast a sidelong glance at him, a genuine flicker of interest in her eyes. "A man of many talents. It seems my investment continues to yield fascinating dividends."

"Is that what I am? An investment?" he asked, leading her through the main living area, past where Kara was already setting up a gaming console with infectious glee.

"Everything and everyone is an investment, Darren. Some are merely more... volatile... than others." Her gaze swept over Kara with a flicker of distaste before returning to him. "Speaking of which, this little gathering is your most volatile play yet. I’m intrigued to see if the yield will be worth the inevitable chaos."

He led her to the east wing, to a suite directly opposite Rachel’s. Where Rachel’s was dark silk and modern power, Cheyenne’s was pure, unadulterated old-world opulence. He pushed the door open.

The room was a masterpiece of gilded-age glamour. The walls were covered in a deep, damask silk wallpaper the color of burgundy wine. The enormous four-poster bed was a dark, carved mahogany monstrosity, heaped with pillows of velvet and raw silk.

A crystal chandelier hung from the coffered ceiling, scattering tiny rainbows across the room. The balcony offered a view not just of the ocean, but of the entire coastline, a position of supreme oversight. It wasn’t a room; it was a statement.

Cheyenne stepped inside, a slow, approving smile spreading across her face. She ran a finger along the polished surface of a French antique escritoire. "Now this is more like it. You do pay attention." She turned to face him, leaning back against the desk. "It almost makes up for the insult of being invited to a... group activity."

"I know what you like," Darren said, plain and simple. "I know what almost every woman likes. Makes it easier to please you."

She looked at him abruptly and their eyes locked at each other that way, staring at themselves in silence. A slightly awkward silence.

"We should have sex sometime, Darren Steele, don’t you think?" she uttered at once.

Darren froze, caught off guard. "What?"

"All that talk about knowing what I like and how to please me with it," she smirked. "Are you trying to get me riled up, you naughty little duck."

"Why did you come?" Darren suddenly asked, ignoring her tease.

"Oh, I haven’t yet, but you can help me." Yet, she persisted.

"You didn’t have to come," Darren said, refusing to fall for it as he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, mirroring her relaxed yet powerful posture. "You’re an important, busy woman, and yet here you are. Why?"

"You thought I would miss the spectacle? Or the chance to see you humiliated when no one showed up? Perish the thought." Her smile was razor-sharp.

"That’s not the true reason. Or at least not the only one."

"Ohh. Maybe you’re right, Mr. Sherlock."

"Then enlighten me. Why would a woman of your status, your... unparalleled class... ever agree to something so common as sharing?" He was pushing her, deliberately using the word he knew would needle her.

Cheyenne laughed, a low, silvery sound that held no real humor. "Don’t be gauche, Darren. We’re beyond transparent flattery. You didn’t invite me because of my class. You invited me because you need my leverage. My influence. My name."

She took a step toward him. "This little ’consortium’ of yours is a fascinating idea, but it’s fragile. It needs protection. It needs... legitimacy. And I provide that."

"Don’t act like this is business, Cheyenne," he challenged, his voice dropping, becoming more intimate. "Maybe you liked my idea but you’re grasping at straws to hide your reason, and I think that I’ve figured it out."

"Oh have you now?"

"Yes. So go ahead and lie. Tell me there’s no part of you that’s here because you actually like me. Because the thought of being shut out of this... of me belonging to everyone but you... was utterly intolerable?"

For a fraction of a second, her mask of cool amusement slipped. Her eyes flashed with something raw and possessive before she expertly schooled her features. She looked away, feigning interest in the view. "You have a tiresomely high opinion of yourself."

"I’m a student of human nature, Cheyenne. And I’ve studied you." He took a step into the room. "You don’t invest in losing ventures."

She turned back to him, her expression now one of sly cunning. "Which brings us to the crux of the matter, doesn’t it? My investment. My... ROI."

"The deal," Darren said, his tone turning serious. The playful flirting evaporated, replaced by the cold reality of their arrangement. "You saved me from losing my bitcoins. In exchange, I owe you a debt. One you’ve yet to call in."

"A favor of my choosing, to be named at a time of my choosing," she recited, as if from a contract. Her eyes glinted. "It’s been such fun watching you wonder what it could be."

"Yeah, but at this point, I gotta tell you, Chey. The suspense is starting to lose its charm," he said, his voice flat. "Name it. What do you want?"

Cheyenne pushed off the desk and closed the distance between them until they were almost touching. She looked up at him, her expression a mix of triumph and dark promise.

"Gosh, it is so frustrating that you are this handsome."

Darren looked down at her, ignoring her large beautiful breasts that pressed onto his chest through the fabric of her clothes.

"Just tell me what it is. Name the favor."

Cheyenne grinned like a beautiful, cunning fox.

"All in good time, darling," she whispered, her breath ghosting across his lips. "The terms are still... maturing. But make no mistake, when the time comes, you will deliver."

She reached up and straightened his collar with a possessiveness that felt like a threat. "Consider that your one absolute certainty in all of this..." she gestured vaguely toward the rest of the villa, "...beautiful chaos."

She held his gaze for a long moment, letting the weight of her unnamed demand hang between them, a sword of Damocles woven from silk and old money. Then, she smiled again, all traces of the serious negotiator gone, replaced by the socialite.

"Now, be a dear and send up some champagne. I believe I’d like to unpack before I survey the rest of the livestock."

Darren narrowed his eyes.