Ambessa Medarda has conquered nations, crushed enemies, and bent people to her will with nothing more than a look. And yet, Bell—known only as Bell—barely even glances her way.
At first, Ambessa assumes it’s ignorance. Then, arrogance. But the more she watches, the more she realizes—Bell isn’t indifferent. She’s simply unmoved. And for the first time in a long time, Ambessa finds herself intrigued.
Bell, on the other hand, knows exactly what Ambessa is. Dangerous. Consuming. Relentless. Attraction was never the problem—giving in to it is. Because Ambessa doesn’t chase. She hunts.
And Bell is not prey.
Ambessa Medarda was used to being the center of attention. Not because she demanded it—no, that was far too petty for her tastes—but because her presence made it impossible for people to look away.
Bell, however, seemed to have no such problem.
Lounging back in a chair, one arm draped over the backrest, she looked entirely at ease as she swirled a glass of something expensive between her fingers. Her posture was lazy, her smirk just shy of insolent, and her gaze—when she did bother to glance Ambessa’s way—held no fear, no reverence, not even acknowledgment of the weight Ambessa carried in a room.
It was… infuriating.
“You look at me as though you have no idea who I am,” Ambessa said finally, breaking the silence between them.
Bell exhaled a quiet laugh, tipping her head just slightly. “I know exactly who you are.”
Ambessa narrowed her eyes. “And you’re not impressed?”
Bell took a slow sip of her drink. “I didn’t say that.”
Ambessa leaned forward, bracing her arms on the table between them, and for the first time, Bell’s fingers twitched against her glass—so small a reaction that most would have missed it.
But Ambessa was not most.
“You act as if you don’t care,” Ambessa mused, voice dipping lower. “As if nothing I say or do will matter to you.” She tilted her head. “Yet I wonder… is that truly indifference, or is it something else?”
Bell didn’t answer right away. Instead, she let the silence stretch just long enough to feel deliberate. Then, lazily, she set her drink down and met Ambessa’s gaze directly.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Bell said, voice light, almost mocking. “For all your talk of power, you seem awfully concerned with what I think of you.”
Ambessa felt a slow, burning heat rise in her chest. Not from anger—at least, not entirely.
So, she does have claws.
And now Ambessa wanted to see just how deep they could cut.
Ambessa shouldn’t be this fixated.
She had walked away from battlefields unshaken, faced down warlords without blinking. But Bell—Bell, with her lazy smiles and quiet, knowing glances—was infuriating.
She was not loud. She was not obvious. She did not challenge Ambessa directly.
No, Bell did something worse.
She treated Ambessa as if she was nothing special.
And that… that dug under Ambessa’s skin like a blade twisting, because she knew—she knew—it was a lie. Bell wasn’t indifferent. She was measured. Controlled.
And that control made Ambessa want to break her.
Tonight, they met again. The same dim-lit room, the same unspoken battle.
Bell was leaning against a wooden pillar, rolling a cigarette between her fingers, her posture nothing but easy disinterest.
Ambessa’s patience was wearing thin.
“You’re playing a game,” Ambessa said finally, her voice low, sharp.
Bell’s gaze flicked to her, slow and amused. “Am I?”
Ambessa stepped forward. “You know who I am.”
Bell’s smirk didn’t waver. “So you’ve told me.”
Ambessa was close now, too close. Most would have flinched, would have shifted under the weight of her presence.
Bell simply exhaled, tipping her chin slightly, the barest flicker of amusement in her eyes. She was waiting.
“You like to act as if none of this matters to you,” Ambessa murmured. “As if I don’t matter to you.”
Bell let the silence stretch before answering.
“And you like to act as if you don’t care that I do.”
Something snapped.
Ambessa moved. Fast.
She grabbed Bell’s jaw—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to force her attention, enough to make her feel the weight of Ambessa’s strength.
Bell’s hand shot up just as fast, fingers locking around Ambessa’s wrist.
Their eyes met.
The tension, sharp and dangerous, hung between them, thick as a battlefield haze.
Mel Medarda had always been a woman of reason, a diplomat at heart. Raised in the shadow of her mother, Ambessa, she had learned early on the art of negotiation, the subtle dance of words that could sway even the most stubborn of minds. Her mother’s methods were direct, often brutal, but Mel believed in the power of persuasion, in the strength of intellect over force.
Yet, as she observed the growing tension between Ambessa and Bell, a gnawing unease settled in her stomach. Bell was an enigma, a woman whose true strength was veiled beneath layers of mystery. The subtlety of her power was both alluring and unsettling. Mel had seen the way Bell moved through the world—unassuming, almost invisible—and yet, there was an undeniable aura of danger that clung to her.
Mel had tried to warn her mother. She had attempted to convey the subtlety of Bell's strength, the way she could dismantle an opponent without a single blow. But Ambessa, ever the pragmatist, dismissed her concerns. "Strength is measured in victories, Mel," she had said, her voice cold and dismissive. "Not in shadows and whispers."
But Mel knew better. She had seen the way Bell’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous intelligence, the way she moved with a predator's grace. She had witnessed the subtle manipulations, the way Bell could turn a situation to her advantage without anyone realizing until it was too late.
And now, as she watched her mother and Bell engage in their dangerous dance, Mel couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to break. She had seen this before—the way two powerful forces could collide, each believing they were the stronger, until the inevitable explosion.
She just hoped she wouldn't be caught in the fallout.
It took days.
Days of tension. Of Bell smiling just a little too knowingly. Of Ambessa catching herself watching, waiting—hating that she was waiting.
And then, it happened.
They were alone.
The night was heavy, the air thick with unspoken things.
Bell leaned against the edge of a wooden desk, arms crossed, watching Ambessa with that same, infuriating expression.
"So," Bell drawled, "are we just going to dance around this forever, or are you going to admit you want me?"
Ambessa's pulse kicked.
She exhaled sharply, stepping forward. "You say that like you don't."
Bell laughed, low and easy. "Oh, I do." She met Ambessa's eyes. "I just don't think you know what to do with that."
That was it.
That was the breaking point.
Ambessa moved.
This time, when she grabbed Bell, she wasn't holding back.
She shoved her back against the desk, pressing against her, their breath mingling. Bell's pulse jumped, but she didn't flinch.
She smiled.
And that shouldn't have undone Ambessa the way it did.
But it did.
Bell leaned in, voice low. "What's wrong, Medarda?" she murmured, lips grazing Ambessa's ear. "Are you afraid?"
Ambessa's grip tightened.
Bell’s smile widened.
And then—
Bell kissed her.
Not soft. Not slow. Not yielding.
It was fire and teeth, sharp edges and power.
Ambessa expected to take control.
Instead—
Bell flipped them.
Ambessa's back hit the desk, breath punched from her lungs, Bell's hand on her wrist, pinning her. Holding her down.
And for the first time in her life—
Ambessa wasn't the one in control.
And it. Drove. Her. Mad.
Bell leaned down, smirk lazy, voice amused.
"I like you better like this," she murmured against Ambessa's lips.
Ambessa growled.
And yanked her down into another kiss.