Chosen For The Game

The pulsating bass of the Onyx Lounge vibrated through the floorboards, matching the erratic heartbeat of the crowded room. Dominic Sterling sat deep in the shadows of a plush leather booth, projecting an aura of detachment as he lazily swirled a glass of amber whiskey. The dim, chaotic atmosphere of the club swallowed the high-society elite of Havenbrook, offering them a playground for their worst impulses. Dominic watched the crowded dance floor with a gaze devoid of any real interest.

Genevieve Ashford, his girlfriend, was putting on a show. Her glittery dress clung to her skin like a second layer as she shamelessly rubbed her body against a stranger under the flashing strobe lights. The idiot clearly had no idea who Dominic was, or he wouldn’t dare touch her.

Dominic took a slow sip of the burning liquid. He had an illegal, brutal underground fight scheduled in less than two hours. His knuckles practically itched for the upcoming violence, yet he remained anchored to this booth because tonight was Genevieve’s birthday. In their twisted world, Genevieve usually got exactly what she wanted.

She arched her back, grinding her hips against the stranger while casting a calculated glance over the man's shoulder to check Dominic’s reaction. Her desperate attempts to provoke his jealousy failed to ignite even a spark of anger. Their relationship thrived on endless chaos and emotional games. Normalcy bored them both. Right now, her antics didn't even manage to get under his skin.

Realizing her performance was having zero effect, Genevieve abruptly shoved the bewildered man away. She marched across the sticky floor, slid into the booth beside Dominic, and put her pout on full display.

"You don't even get jealous anymore," she whined, her tone dripping with deep irritation.

Dominic kept his gaze fixed ahead. "What do you want me to do, break some poor guy's nose?"

Her pout deepened. "When did you even start caring about people?"

"I don't."

"Exactly my point!" she shot back, accusingly pointing a manicured finger at his chest. "You're so boring now."

Dominic hummed a dismissive response, his attention already drifting away from her complaints. He scanned the busy bar area, searching for a distraction. The brief moment of apathy shattered the second his eyes locked onto a figure behind the polished mahogany counter.

A Wilder.

Visceral irritation flared in his chest. Elena Wilder stood there, wiping down the surface. Her modest, crisp uniform served as a stark contrast to the half-naked patrons flooding the venue. She was smiling politely at a demanding customer, and the mere sight of her gratingly innocent demeanor made his jaw clench. The name alone felt like a curse in Havenbrook. A family of leeches who had no business breathing the same air as the rest of the town's elite.

He remembered sitting in this exact booth weeks ago when she was first hired, suggesting to his friend—the owner of the lounge—that she should be fired purely on the principle of her notorious family name.

"Man, why would you employ a Wilder?" Dominic had asked.

"She's pretty," his friend had shrugged.

"Still a Wilder."

His friend had offered a crude laugh. "Won't be one when her pretty lips are wrapped around my dick."

"Seriously?"

"Come on, I want to have a taste of all of them."

Dominic blinked the memory away, the muscles in his jaw tight. His friend had flatly ignored the advice, leaving Dominic to deal with the irritation of seeing her here every night.

Genevieve let out a dramatic sigh, dragging his focus back to the table. "I feel like our spark is dying," she complained.

Dominic dragged a hand through his dark hair. "You say that every day, babe."

"I mean it this time. We need to invent more games."

He set his whiskey glass down with a heavy thud, questioning her logic. "Games? Genevieve, we did threesomes the entire month of October. What’s left?"

Undeterred, Genevieve leaned in close, a wicked gleam lighting up her eyes. She dropped her voice into a conspiratorial whisper, revealing her twisted new idea. "We break up. Officially. For a period of exactly one month."

Dominic stared at her, waiting for the punchline.

"During this time," she continued, her smile widening into something predatory, "we each date someone new. But here is the ultimate condition—you have to sleep with your chosen target, and I will sleep with mine."

He stared at her point-blank. "You have officially lost your mind."

"Oh, come on!" She grabbed his arm, shaking it. "It’ll spice up our relationship. It’s not like we don’t always find our way back to each other."

"And what is the benefit of this game?"

She framed the chaotic challenge as perfectly logical. "You’ll be rejecting my birthday present if you say no."

He rubbed his temple in exasperation, feeling a headache forming. "Thought you wanted a shopping spree in Paris?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Changed my mind. Do this, or my night is ruined."

He let out a long sigh. She knew exactly how to trap him. "Fine," he muttered, already beginning to regret the arrangement.

Bouncing with immediate excitement, Genevieve turned to scan the crowded lounge to personally select his target for the bet. Her predatory eyes roamed over the sweating bodies on the dance floor before locking intensely onto the bartender behind the counter.

She pointed decisively. "Her!"

Dominic followed her finger. He coughed, nearly choking on the burning whiskey still lingering in his throat. He set his glass aside and stared at Genevieve in pure disbelief. "A Wilder?"

Genevieve nodded enthusiastically, clearly thrilled by her choice. "Yup. I heard Elena Wilder actually rejected Tristan last week. Can you believe that? A modest little bartender turning down old money. She might actually pose a genuine challenge to your charm."

Dominic firmly shook his head, his voice dropping into a tone of steadfast refusal. "No, Genevieve. I’m not putting my dick into a Wilder."

But Genevieve knew exactly how to play him. She instantly began to sulk, dramatically staring at the ceiling and crossing her arms. "Fine. If you’re not going to play properly. I guess my birthday is officially ruined."

Dominic watched her pout. For a fleeting second, he wanted to walk out, head to the underground ring, and bleed out his frustrations. But he looked at the girl sitting beside him. As toxic and chaotic as their dynamic was, he realized he genuinely loved her. They had grown up alongside each other in this elite, twisted world. He couldn't imagine his life without her constant scheming.

His firm resolve slowly crumbled under the weight of her manufactured disappointment.

"Fine," he finally relented, his voice thick with resignation.

Delighted by her victory, Genevieve threw her arms around his neck, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. "Yes! Thank you, baby! Okay, now your turn. Pick the target for me."

Dominic untangled himself and leaned back against the leather cushions. His dark eyes scanned the room, bypassing the frat boys and trust-fund brats. A dark, wicked smirk slowly curved his lips as he locked onto a local businessman seated in a VIP section nearby.

He pointed smoothly. "Him."

Genevieve frowned slightly, her brow furrowing in confusion as she followed his gaze. "Jeremy? Isn’t he getting married next month?"

Dominic’s smirk deepened into something cruel as he replied with smooth, calculated precision. "Even better. Like you said, the game is sweeter if it’s harder to achieve."

Genevieve broke into a wide grin, thoroughly impressed by the sheer ruthlessness of his choice. "You’re twisted, Dom."

Dominic simply leaned back, swirling the last drop of amber liquid in his glass, fully embracing his identity. "I’m a Sterling, babes."