Dangerous Affairs

Peacock seventeen was alive with the pulse of London nightlife, its atmosphere thick with the tantalizing promise of reckless abandon. Perched atop the Brighton Hotel Radisson, the tallest rooftop bar in the city offered a haven for the elite, where the worries of the day dissolved like sugar in champagne.

Emma sat at the bar, her gaze lost in the panorama of lights spread out beneath her. The bartender handed her another glass of their signature cocktail, a small nod acknowledging the regular who seemed out of place with her somber aura tonight.

"Thanks," she murmured, not really seeing him, her fingers tracing the delicate stem of the glass. She could almost forget why she was here almost, but not quite. The bitter taste of betrayal still lingered, stronger than any drink could mask.

"Care for some company?" The voice cut through her reverie, and she turned to find a man taking the stool beside her. His confident posture and the casual elegance of his suit spoke volumes before he even flashed her a cold smirk.

"Depends on the kind of company you're offering," Emma replied, her tone light but her eyes guarded. She wasn't in the mood for flattery or hollow conversation.

"Nothing more than a shared view and perhaps a shared silence," he said, gesturing towards the cityscape. "Sometimes it speaks louder than people."

"Sometimes people don't say what they mean anyway," she retorted, taking a sip of her drink.

"Ah, a cynic. That's refreshing." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and Emma found herself drawn to the enigma of his expression.

"Disappointment tends to have that effect on people," she confessed, wondering why she was even sharing this much with a stranger.

"Disappointed in love or life?" he probed, ordering a drink for himself.

"Is there a difference?" Emma challenged, her bravado slipping as she met his penetrating gaze.

"Perhaps not for someone sitting alone at the top of the world, contemplating the abyss below." His words were soft, yet they resonated with Emma as if spoken directly to her fragile state of mind.

"Contemplating? No. Just... appreciating the fall," she clarified, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded as if understanding her far better than she'd expected. "Then may your fall be a dance rather than a descent."

"Cheers to that," she lifted her glass, clinking it gently with his.

Their conversation ebbed and flowed with an unexpected ease, and Emma found herself laughing for the first time in days. There was something disarmingly familiar about him, though she couldn't quite place it. It was only when he leaned in closer, his voice dropping an octave, that she felt the ground shift beneath her.

"By the way, I'm Bryce," he said, introducing himself at last.

"Bryce?" Emma's heart skipped a beat, her buzz from the alcohol suddenly giving way to a sobering clarity. It all clicked, the familiarity, the guarded presence, the fleeting glimpses of recognition.

"Mr Bryce," she breathed, the realization hitting her like a punch to the gut. Her hand trembled slightly as she set down her glass, the implications of their encounter dawning on her. Her fiancé's uncle, the very man she should be avoiding at all costs, was the stranger she'd found solace in tonight.

Emma was under the influence and could barely gather her thoughts, let alone her act, although she could still remember a few that seemed blurred.  

"Surprised?" His tone was unreadable now, his earlier warmth replaced by something much cooler.

"Understatement of the year," she managed to say, her mind racing. What would happen next? Would he use this against her? The balance of power had shifted so subtly, she hadn't even noticed it until now.

"Let's just call it fate," Bryce suggested, his lips quirking up in a wry smile. "It has a penchant for irony, after all."

"Or cruelty," Emma countered, feeling the weight of her choices pressing down upon her.

The delicate clinking of glasses filled the air of Peacock 17, mingling with the ambient music that set an intoxicating rhythm. The rooftop bar, known for its opulence and exclusivity, was abuzz with the city's crème de la crème, all there to revel under the cover of night. Among them, seated with an aura of subdued allure, was Emma Anderson. Her figure was draped elegantly over the plush lounge chair, and the moonlight kissed her face, illuminating her ruby-red lips which glistened with an inviting sheen.

"Tell me," she said, her voice soft yet carrying a hint of mischief, "is it the sight that has you so captivated tonight, or is it something else?"

The man across from her, tall, broad shouldered with impeccably styled hair that caught the glint of the stars above, leaned back, his gaze never wavering from her face. A cold smirk played upon his lips, contrasting sharply with the warmth that had previously graced his features.

"You want to kiss me?" he asked, the challenge evident in his tone. "Do you not know who I am?"

Emma tilted her head slightly, allowing herself a small laugh, though it did little to mask the undercurrent of tension between them. "Should I? Are you someone I'm supposed to be aware of, Mr...?"

"Mr. Robert," he said, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Bryce Robert."

"Ah," she breathed out, recognition flashing across her expression like a shadow. "The infamous Uncle Bryce. I suppose that does change the stakes somewhat, doesn't it?"

"Infamous?" Bryce raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "Is that what they're calling me now?"

"Only those who know better," Emma quipped, shifting in her seat to face him more directly. Her eyes locked onto his, daring him to look away first. "But let's not pretend this is about reputations. You're here, I'm here. The night is young, and we're both adults, aren't we?"

"Indeed we are," Bryce conceded, his voice lowering to a velvety timbre that sent a shiver down Emma's spine. "Adults are capable of making our own decisions, no matter how... questionable they might be."

"Questionable?" Emma echoed, her smile turning coy. "Now, isn't that just another way of saying interesting?"

"Perhaps." His own smile grew, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath the aloof exterior. "But one might also say it's a synonym for dangerous."

"Then it's a good thing I've always had a penchant for danger, Mr. Robert." Her words were a whisper, yet they carried a boldness that matched the intensity of the city that sprawled beneath them.

"Emma," Bryce said her name as if tasting it, considering the weight of the syllables. "I find myself at a crossroads with you. One path leads to restraint, the other to recklessness. Which would you advise?"

"Since when does Bryce Robert seek advice from anyone?" she shot back playfully.

"Touché," he admitted with a grin. "But you see, I'm not seeking advice. I'm merely curious about your inclinations."

"Then let me satisfy your curiosity," Emma said, leaning forward so that mere inches separated them. "I'm inclined to do what feels right at the moment, regardless of tomorrow."

"Is that so?" Bryce murmured, his breath ghosting over her lips.

"Absolutely," Emma whispered back, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for him to close the distance.

"Then, Emma Anderson," Bryce began, pausing for a fraction of a second, "let us embrace the moment together."

The dizzying array of city lights from the Peacock 17 Rooftop Bar swirled into an impressionist painting as Emma tried to focus on the man before her. The alcohol in her veins turned her world liquid, each movement a languid drift through water. “Who are you?” she slurred, her voice trailing off like a note forgotten in a song.

Across the table, Bryce Robert watched her with an unreadable expression. His chiseled jawline was highlighted by the ambient lighting of P17, casting half his face in a seductive shadow. Despite her inebriation, Emma's heart skipped a beat; he had the kind of devastatingly handsome features that transcended the fog of alcohol.

"Does it matter?" Bryce's voice was smooth, almost velvety, but carried an edge of amusement. "You seem quite determined regardless of my identity."

Emma squinted, trying to bring his face into clearer focus, yet it seemed only to sharpen his god-like profile, strong nose, high cheekbones, and eyes that felt like they could pierce through the haze that filled her head. "I think I'd remember meeting someone like you," she mumbled, her hand reaching out to trace the line of his jaw, wanting to confirm if he was real or just another trick played by the evening’s libations.

"Ah, but we have met, Emma." Bryce caught her wrist gently, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cool night air. "Though perhaps not as memorably as one would hope."

"Is that so?" A small giggle escaped her, bubbles rising through the champagne of her delirium. "Then, Mr. Mystery Man, enlighten me."

"Very well," Bryce leaned back, his silhouette merging with the skyline. "Consider me... a ghost of engagements past."

"Engagements past?" Emma echoed, a frown creasing her brow. Her mind stumbled over the words like cobblestones. "Sounds like a bad Dickens novel."

"Perhaps," Bryce conceded, his eyes never leaving her face. "But life often writes stranger tales than any novelist could conjure."

"Life..." Emma let out a huff, her gaze drifting away from him and towards the endless city below. "Life is just a series of missteps and stumbles at the moment."

"Would you say tonight falls under that category?" Bryce's question cut through the noise of the bar, sharp and direct.

"Tonight..." Emma paused, searching for honesty amidst the swirling thoughts. "Tonight is an escape hatch. A break from the script."

"An admirable pursuit," Bryce said, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "And how does the story of Emma Anderson go from here?"

"Hopefully to a place where the room stops spinning," she admitted, resting her head in her hand as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

"Allow me to assist with that," Bryce offered, standing up with a fluid grace that made Emma envious. "A breath of fresh air might do you some good."

"Or it might send me over the edge," she quipped, but allowed him to help her to her feet.

"Trust me," Bryce said, guiding her toward the terrace that wrapped around the rooftop. "I'm quite adept at preventing falls."

"Are you now?" Emma looked up at him, her vision clearing ever so slightly. "What else are you adept at, Mr. Ghost of Engagements Past?"

"Many things," Bryce replied, a mysterious glint in his eye. "But for now, let's focus on getting you some fresh air, shall we?"

A momentary flicker of confusion crossed her features, her brow furrowing in an attempt to process his words through the fog clouding her brain. "Uncle?" The word tasted strange on her tongue, laced with a hint of disbelief and a trace of mirth. "You're hardly... I mean, you don't seem old enough to be anyone's uncle."

"Age is relative," Bryce replied, his expression unreadable. "And regardless of how you perceive me, the fact remains, I am related to Ethan. And you were engaged to him."

"Engaged," she scoffed lightly, the warmth from his touch seeping into her bones, grounding her. "That's a rather optimistic way to describe what we had."

"Optimism isn't a crime," Bryce countered. "But tonight, Emma, I suggest you focus on something other than past engagements or failed relationships."

"Like what?" Her voice was faint, almost lost amid the rhythmic pulse of the music and the distant chatter of the bar's other patrons.

"Like the present," he suggested, releasing her wrist only to capture her hand in his, his thumb stroking the back of her palm in a gesture that was surprisingly tender. "The here and now. This moment on top of the world, where anything seems possible."

"Anything?" She echoed, leaning into the solidity of his presence.

"Anything," Bryce affirmed with a nod. "As long as it doesn't involve attempting to kiss your former fiancé's uncle on a rooftop bar."

"Even if he's d*mn s*xy?" A playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips, her earlier bravado reignited by the challenge in his eyes.

"Especially then," he said, the ghost of a smile dancing across his own features. "It complicates things unnecessarily."

"Complications can be... interesting," she argued, the word stretching out languidly between them.

"Interest isn't always advisable," Bryce pointed out. "Trust me, I know a thing or two about complications."

"Is that so?" Emma teased, her curiosity piqued despite the remnants of alcohol clouding her thoughts. "What else do you know a thing or two about, Uncle Bryce?"

"Many things," he responded, the enigmatic glint returning to his gaze. "But tonight, let's keep it simple, shall we? No more reaching for what isn't yours to take."

"Simple sounds... boring," she protested, yet there was no real conviction in her voice, only the playful banter of a woman who knew she was walking a fine line between desire and decorum.

"Sometimes, Emma," Bryce said, leading her back toward the safety of the plush seating area, "simple is exactly what we need."

Bryce released Emma's wrist gently, yet his grip had been firm enough to make a statement. She stumbled back onto the plush settee, her vision slightly blurred but her indignation sharply focused. He watched her with an inscrutable expression, leaning back against the cool glass railing that bordered the rooftop oasis of The Peacock.

"Did this girl really not know him?" Bryce muttered under his breath, more to himself than to the inebriated woman before him. He recalled the family gathering where he had first laid eyes on her; she was captivating then, and even now, amidst her drunken haze, she held a certain allure.

Emma's head snapped up at his words, her pretty face contorting into a frown. "Fiancé what! Your nephew is a cheat and a sorry excuse for a man!" she spat out, her voice carrying a sharpness that sliced through the din of surrounding conversations and clinking glasses.

Bryce felt a twinge of something unexpected, an irritation that someone could speak so ill of his family. It was one thing for him to acknowledge his nephew's shortcomings in private, quite another to hear them thrown about carelessly by someone else. "Emma," Bryce began, his voice low and controlled, "I understand you're upset, but let's keep the family grievances out of public spaces, shall we?"

"Public spaces?" Emma scoffed, pushing herself upright with a grace that belied her intoxicated state. "This is hardly a 'public space,' Mr. Robert. This is your ivory tower, high above the real world, where you can pretend that everything is as pristine as these ridiculous white couches."

"Careful, Emma," Bryce warned, though his tone remained even. "You're not exactly in a position to be making enemies."

"Enemies?" A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "What would the richest man in west London want with someone like me? I'm nothing to you, just a blip on your social radar, a problem you think you can solve with money and silence."

"Money and silence?" Bryce repeated, his eyebrows arching in genuine surprise. "Is that what you think this is about?"

"Isn't it always?" Emma retorted, her gaze defiant. "Money buys silence, silence keeps the peace, and the peace allows men like you to sleep.

Bryce's expression turned cold, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer to Emma. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" he said, his voice low and even. "But you have no idea what this is about. This isn't just about money or silence. This is about power, and control, and the fact that you're not as insignificant as you think you are.

Emma retreated and slowly walked out on Bryce Robert, while aimlessly walking on the streets, she decided to go to Ethan.

Emma stood in the opulent foyer of the Roberts' mansion, her posture rigid with barely contained fury. The grandeur that once felt like a second home now seemed to mock her with its cold indifference. She could feel the weight of Laila's gaze upon her, heavy with judgment and unsaid words.

"Laila," Emma began, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling within her. "Didn't you say you always wished I was your daughter?" Her eyes locked onto those of the woman she had once hoped