Chapter 3 — The Velvet Room Invitation

Lucian D’Artois

The Velvet Room was everything Lucian had promised himself it would remain—a sanctuary within chaos, a haven where time felt irrelevant, its heavy crimson walls absorbing the weight of centuries. Descending the narrow stone staircase hidden behind the unassuming brownstone façade, his polished leather shoes brushed against worn steps, the faint scrape echoing in the quiet. The familiar scent of aged whiskey greeted him first, mingling with the smoky undertone of cigars and the low, melodic hum of a jazz piano. It was a symphony of the past, layered with the faintest trace of something newer, sharper—the undercurrent of human ambition.

The door at the bottom swung open without a knock. The bouncer, a hulking figure with a face like chiseled granite, inclined his head in silent recognition. Lucian returned the gesture, his fingers brushing over the cool surface of his signet ring—a habitual motion that steadied him. Here, his presence was unquestioned. It wasn’t merely his wealth or bearing that assured his authority in this enclave; it was the weight of his reputation, the centuries of negotiation and quiet influence that had carved his name into the unspoken rules of the city’s underworld.

Tonight, however, was not a night for indulgence in nostalgia or reaffirmation of dominance. Tonight, he had a purpose.

The room unfolded before him like an opulent secret, its dim lighting casting a warm glow over plush velvet furnishings and dark mahogany tables. The jazz quartet in the far corner played languidly, their music weaving through the low murmur of conversation. Eyes turned as Lucian entered—some curious, others wary, and a few recognizing him with an unreadable flicker of deference. He let them fade into the periphery, his focus narrowing to a singular point.

Alexandra Pierce stood near the bar, a solitary figure amidst the muted opulence. Her posture was sharp, unyielding, a steel blade honed to perfection. The tailored steel-gray suit she wore mirrored the precision in her movements—deliberate, controlled. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair, pulled back into a sleek ponytail, framed the sharp angles of her face, and her piercing gray eyes scanned the room with a vigilance that spoke of a woman who trusted no one. Her fingers rested lightly on the rim of her glass, but there was a tension in her grip—a readiness, as if she might crush it should the need arise.

Lucian allowed himself a faint smile as he began his approach, his pace measured, unhurried. He observed her with the precision of a predator studying a potential adversary—or perhaps an ally. Her tension was palpable, radiating in waves, yet her composure remained intact, a fortress he found both impressive and intriguing.

“Ms. Pierce,” he greeted smoothly, his voice carrying a warmth designed to disarm without betraying anything deeper. “I’m pleased you accepted my invitation.”

Alex turned to face him, her expression a study in neutral control. “Mr. D’Artois,” she replied, her tone clipped but professional. “I’ll admit, I was curious. Though I can’t say I expected… this.” She gestured subtly to the room, its lush elegance a stark contrast to the sleek, sterile world she commanded.

Lucian inclined his head, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “The Velvet Room has a way of defying expectations. Much like its guests.”

Her gaze sharpened at the comment, a flicker of wariness crossing her features. “Why don’t we skip the pleasantries and get to the point? You’re not the typical investor, Mr. D’Artois. And this,” she gestured again, her eyes briefly darting to the faint glow of his signet ring as it caught the dim light, “hardly feels like a standard business meeting.”

Lucian chuckled softly, the sound rich and low. “Direct. I appreciate that about you, Ms. Pierce. Very well, let’s discuss the point.” He gestured to a secluded booth in the corner, where the shadows gathered like a second layer of privacy. “Shall we?”

She hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before nodding and following him. Her movements were precise, calculated, as though she were stepping onto a battlefield rather than into a conversation.

Once seated, Lucian leaned back against the velvet upholstery, his posture relaxed but commanding. Alex, in contrast, sat rigidly, her hands resting on the table, fingers interlaced. Her gaze didn’t waver, though he noted the slight tension in her shoulders—an unspoken readiness to strike if necessary. The hum of the jazz quartet shifted, the melody growing subtler, more haunting, as though echoing the tension settling between them.

“I’ve reviewed your research,” Lucian began, his tone measured, almost conversational. “Impressive doesn’t quite capture it. The potential applications of your work in regenerative medicine…” He allowed the sentence to linger, his blue eyes locking onto hers, the faintest glow within them catching the light. “It borders on the miraculous.”

Alex’s expression didn’t falter, though he caught the subtle way her posture shifted, her frame squaring slightly as if bracing for impact. “I didn’t realize you had a background in biotechnology.”

“I don’t,” Lucian admitted, his smirk returning. “But I’ve always had an interest in transformation. In the moments that redefine existence.” He let the words settle, watching her carefully, noting how her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the phrasing.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Mr. D’Artois,” she said evenly. “If you’ve come here to question the ethics of my research, you’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. I’ve heard all the arguments.”

“Have you?” he asked, his tone softening, though his gaze remained unyielding. “What about the argument that some things are meant to remain… untouched?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “If you’re suggesting that progress is dangerous, you’re wasting your time. Every breakthrough in history has been met with resistance. Fear of the unknown is hardly a new phenomenon.”

Lucian tilted his head slightly, studying her. “And yet, history is littered with cautionary tales. I’ve seen the cost of ambition untempered by caution. It’s not fear I speak of, Ms. Pierce, but perspective.”

Her eyes narrowed further. “Is that what this is? A warning? Or just another investor trying to impose his outdated worldview on my work?”

For the first time, Lucian allowed a flicker of irritation to surface, a crack in his otherwise composed exterior. “I’m not here to impose anything, Ms. Pierce. I’m here because your work intrigues me. And because I believe you’re intelligent enough to recognize the weight of what you’ve created.”

Her gaze didn’t falter, though he noted the faint tension in her jaw, the way her fingers tightened just slightly. “I don’t need a lecture on responsibility, Mr. D’Artois. I’ve spent my entire career navigating the risks and rewards of innovation. I know exactly what’s at stake.”

“Do you?” he countered, his voice dropping, the weight of centuries threading through his words. “Because I’m not convinced you’ve fully considered what happens when your technology falls into the wrong hands. Or perhaps,” his tone sharpened, just enough to cut, “you’ve chosen not to think about it.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with unspoken challenges. Alex’s gray eyes bore into his, unflinching, and for a moment, Lucian wondered if he’d overstepped. But then she exhaled slowly, her composure sliding back into place like a polished mask.

“Every choice I’ve made has been deliberate,” she said evenly. “Every risk calculated. If you think you can intimidate me into doubting my work, Mr. D’Artois, you’ll find I’m not so easily swayed.”

Lucian leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. “I don’t doubt your resolve, Ms. Pierce. In fact, it’s one of the qualities I admire most about you.”

The words hung between them, unexpected and deliberate. Alex blinked, a flicker of surprise breaking through her guarded expression before she masked it once more.

“I’m not looking for admiration,” she replied firmly. “I’m looking for investors who understand the value of what I’ve built and are willing to support it without interference.”

Lucian smiled faintly, leaning back. “Then perhaps we’re not so different after all. I, too, value what you’ve built. And I suspect our partnership may prove… mutually beneficial.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring anew. “Partnership?”

“You’ll find,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, “that I’m not the kind of investor who sits back and watches. When I commit to something, I see it through. Completely.”

Alex studied him for a long moment, the tension between them thick enough to cut. Finally, she stood, her movements deliberate.

“Thank you for the drink, Mr. D’Artois,” she said, her tone cool but polite. “I’ll keep your… commitment in mind.”

Lucian watched her as she walked away, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. His faint smile deepened as the jazz quartet shifted into a darker, more haunting melody.

Yes, he thought, as his fingers brushed his signet ring. This partnership would indeed prove very interesting.