The Heiress Gambit-Chapter 37- Tennis Court

PAIGE

The car glided to a stop, crunching softly on the pristine gravel driveway.

Paige stared out the window, her cheeks still warm. In her mind, she was cursing the smug, infuriating, impossibly attractive man beside her. Smug bastard.

The car door was opened by a uniformed valet. The destination was huge—a sprawling, modern estate with glass walls reflecting the perfectly manicured lawns. In the distance, the gentle thwock of tennis balls echoed from pristine courts.

Reomen stepped out first, the picture of casual elegance in his designer jeans and cashmere sweater. He looked utterly at home in this world of quiet, extreme wealth. A faint, amused smirk played on his lips as he watched Paige’s frustrated profile still turned away from him. He enjoyed this. Her struggle was his favorite sport.

He turned and offered her his hand, a gentlemanly gesture that was anything but.

She ignored it. She made to step out on her own, chin held high.

But he was faster. In one swift, fluid motion, his hand shot out. His fingers closed around her wrist, not hard, but with a certainty that stopped her completely. He used the momentum to spin her gently to face him right there in the driveway. His other hand found her waist, his touch firm and possessive, anchoring her against him.

The smirk was gone from his face now, replaced by an intensity that made her breath catch. His dark eyes held hers, and for a split second, it wasn’t a command. It was almost a plea. But Reomen Daki did not plead.

"Black Cat..." he said, his voice low, the words for her alone. The usual sarcasm was stripped away, leaving something raw underneath.

She stared back, her own defiance melting into confusion under his unexpected seriousness.

"Just stay close," he said, the words quiet but absolute. "Please."

He leaned in then, closing the small distance between them. His lips brushed against hers in a brief, surprisingly soft kiss. It was over before she could even process it.

When he pulled back, his intense gaze never left hers. The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips, but his eyes were dead serious.

"I don’t want to have to burn this place down for you."

Paige gave a slow nod, the confusion still swirling in her eyes. His sudden intensity, the soft kiss, the quiet plea—it was a side of him she hadn’t seen before, and it left her off-balance.

Without another word, he took her hand. His grip was firm, his skin warm against hers. He didn’t give her a chance to pull away, simply lacing their fingers together as he turned and led her toward the grand entrance of the estate.

The huge glass doors slid open silently, revealing a buzzing, sunlit atrium. The air was cool and smelled of cut grass and expensive perfume. The gentle thwock of tennis balls was louder here, mixing with the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses.

Almost immediately, they were spotted.

A man in a crisp polo shirt broke away from a small group, a wide, familiar smile on his face. Paige recognized him—Mr. Silverstein, the hedge fund patriarch from the gala. The one she’d impressed with her sharp analysis.

"Reomen! There you are," Silverstein said, clapping Reomen warmly on the shoulder. His eyes then landed on Paige, and his smile widened with genuine recognition. "And the brilliant Ms. Rimestone! A pleasure to see you again. I trust you’re keeping this one on his toes?"

Before she could answer, a woman glided over. She was the wife of the tech CEO from the charity dinner, her diamond earrings catching the light. "Oh, it is you! That dress you wore to the Met was just stunning. Absolute fire."

Small talk was deployed like a weapon. Paige smiled, nodded, and offered polite replies, her mind racing.

These people knew her. They remembered her.

Not as Shunsuke Rimestone’s disgraced daughter, but as someone sharp, someone memorable. Someone on Reomen Daki’s arm.

Reomen kept her hand firmly in his, his thumb making slow, absent circles on her skin. It felt less like affection and more like a brand, a constant reminder of his presence and his claim. He would interject with a dry comment here, a sarcastic agreement there, steering the conversations effortlessly.

With every introduction, every shared glance of recognition, Paige felt a piece of her old identity falling away. Here, in this lion’s den of her family’s enemies, she wasn’t an outcast. She was Reomen’s secret weapon. And everyone, it seemed, was eager to get a closer look.

Paige’s eyes scanned the crowd as Reomen guided her through the atrium. She recognized more faces now, not just from recent events, but from a lifetime spent in these circles.

A shipping magnate from Singapore her father had swindled in a merger. A tech investor Shunsuke had publicly humiliated at a conference years ago. The daughter of a rival family whose engagement Payton had supposedly "stolen."

So these are the gasoline carriers, she thought. The air wasn’t just filled with small talk and perfume; it was thick with old grudges and quiet resentment. She was burning with curiosity. Why did he betray you? What did my family take? But she didn’t ask. She just watched, and listened, and stored every detail away.

Then she saw him.

The venture capitalist from the business dinner. The one whose hand had lingered too long on the small of her back, whose business card she’d crumpled and tossed away. He was standing near a potted olive tree, a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes fixed on her. More specifically, on Reomen’s hand holding hers. His gaze was not friendly. It was calculating, and slightly annoyed, as if a toy he’d wanted had been taken by someone else.

Reomen followed her line of sight. A low, almost imperceptible growl rumbled in his chest. His grip on her hand tightened infinitesimally, a silent, possessive warning to the man across the room. The VC seemed to get the message, offering a tight, fake smile before turning away.

Just then, a tall man with a commanding presence clapped his hands together. The gentle hum of conversation died down.

"Well, now that everyone’s here," the man announced, his voice booming through the space. He was the one who had organized the event. "Let’s get this started, shall we? The courts are waiting. Partners, choose your weapons."

The crowd began to move, a river of linen and polo shirts flowing toward the courts. The games were beginning. And Paige knew, with a cold certainty, that the real game—the one she and Reomen were playing—was just entering a new, more dangerous set.

The sharp thwack of the tennis ball was a steady rhythm. Reomen moved on the court with a lethal grace that was almost annoying. He wasn’t playing; he was dissecting his opponent, point by brutal point.

Paige sat in a shaded wicker chair, sipping sparkling water, trying to look like she belonged there and not like a bomb waiting to go off.

She saw the girl approaching out of the corner of her eye. Suzume Yokimura. The daughter of the family rival, Payton had supposedly "stolen" an engagement from years ago.

They were about the same age, had been at the same parties growing up, but had never once had a real conversation.

The Rimestones and the Yokimuras moved in different orbits, their gravity fueled by mutual dislike.

Suzume sat in the empty chair next to her without a word. The silence was thick and uncomfortable. Paige focused intently on the game, refusing to be the one to break it.

After a long moment, Suzume finally spoke. Her voice was quiet, not rude, just... curious.

"Boyfriend?" she asked, gesturing with her chin toward Reomen, who had just slammed an ace past his floundering opponent.

The question was so simple, so blunt, and so utterly shocking that Paige inhaled her sip of water at the wrong time. It went down the wrong pipe.

A violent, choking cough ripped through her. She doubled over, eyes watering, gasping for air as the fizzy water burned her nose and throat. She fumbled for a napkin, her face turning a brilliant shade of red.

Through her watering eyes, she saw Suzume looking at her with a mix of surprise and mild alarm. The girl hadn’t meant to cause a medical event. She’d just been trying to make conversation.

But the question hung in the air, more potent than any answer Paige could have given. The force of her reaction was an answer in itself.

The sharp, precise thwock of Reomen’s tennis serve was the only sound Paige could focus on, a metronome counting the seconds of her humiliation.

Her throat and nose still burned from the sparkling water, her eyes were watering, and her cheeks were flaming with a blush that had nothing to do with the sun.

Suzume watched her with a mixture of amusement and mild concern before leaning forward and offering a crisp, white linen napkin. "Here," she said, her voice softer now. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you aspirate your Perrier."

Paige took it gratefully, dabbing at her eyes and mouth, using the action to buy precious seconds to formulate a reply.

Her mind was a frantic, screaming void. Boyfriend? The word was so absurd, so utterly foreign to whatever chaotic, hate-fueled, sexually explosive arrangement they had, that her brain short-circuited.

After a final, shaky breath, she managed to find her voice, though it came out hoarse. "No," she croaked, the denial automatic and perhaps a little too forceful. "God, no. We’re not—" She waved the napkin vaguely in Reomen’s direction. "He’s my boss. It’s... a professional relationship."

Suzume raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a silent testament to how completely unbelievable that statement was. A slow, knowing smile played on her lips.

"I saw you two at the estate entrance, Paige," she said, her tone gentle but insistent. She wasn’t being cruel; she was stating a fact, her eyes flicking back towards the distant figure of Reomen effortlessly volleying a return. "It didn’t look very... professional."

The kiss. She was talking about the brief, soft, devastatingly possessive kiss. Paige’s face, which had just begun to cool, ignited anew. She could feel the heat all the way to the tips of her ears.

Suzume’s smile widened into a full-blown, delighted chuckle. She leaned back in her wicker chair, crossing her legs. "Ah. So you’re not exclusive, then?" she mused, her gaze drifting back over to the court to openly appreciate the view of a sweat-glistening Reomen moving with predatory grace.

Paige’s mind screamed. We are not even a thing! We’re a transaction! A hostile takeover with benefits! He owns me for 1.8 million dollars!.

Suzume continued, her voice conversational, as if she were discussing the weather and not dismantling Paige’s entire understanding of her situation. "It’s just... it’s not every day you see Reomen Daki with a woman. In fact, it’s never–." She took a sip of her own drink, her eyes thoughtful. "He never, ever brings a date to these things. He shows up, conducts his business, and leaves. He’s a ghost. But you..." She turned her focus back to Paige, and her expression was genuinely friendly, if deeply intrigued. "...you’ve been on his arm at the Business dinner, the Met, and now here. Three times. That’s not a coincidence, Isumi. That’s a pattern."

She let that hang in the air for a moment, letting the weight of the observation settle. In their world, presence was power. Consistency was a message.

Suzume leaned forward again, her voice dropping to a confidential whisper, her eyes sparkling with genuine amusement. "Honey, look at him over there. I’ve known Reomen for years. I’ve seen him cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching." She gave a soft, incredulous laugh. "Whatever you’re doing... you’ve melted that man. And frankly, I’m dying to know how."

Paige just stared at her, the napkin clutched in her hand. The denial died on her lips. She followed Suzume’s gaze across the pristine lawn to the tennis court.

Reomen had just won the point. He wasn’t looking at his opponent. He wasn’t even looking at the score. His dark eyes were locked directly on her, his expression unreadable from this distance, but his attention was absolute. As if he’d felt the weight of their conversation.

And in that moment, with Suzume’s words echoing in her ears, Paige felt the last of her simple, comfortable definitions crumble into dust.