Don waited just long enough to avoid suspicion, then, he made his move.
By the ti Don reached the elevator, the doors had already closed behind Daniel and Natasha. He pressed the call button and waited, tapping a finger lightly against his wrist as the soft chi signaled the elevator's return.
The doors slid open, and he stepped inside, quickly selecting the sa floor Daniel had gone to.
As the elevator began its descent, Don leaned against the back wall, considering his next move. If security was present, he'd have to play it smart—perhaps ntion Charles if necessary.
But the goal here wasn't to create a scene; it was to gather leverage, sothing he couldn't do if he got himself kicked out. If needed, he could rely on Charismatic Presence to smooth things over.
The elevator soon ca to a slow halt, and the doors opened with a soft **ding**.
The mont Don stepped out, his concerns about security faded.
This floor looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel, not a stadium. The lighting was dim, warm-toned, creating an almost intimate atmosphere.
The walls were lined with wooden panels, accented with golden fixtures that glead under the soft glow of overhead lights. Plush, navy-blue carpeting stretched down the corridor, muffling any sound of footsteps.
The entrance hallway branched into two separate paths, both lined with identical doors. Each door bore a small, illuminated plaque with a number and a na written in a fine cursive script. Private rooms. The kind reserved for VIPs who wanted sothing more than just a good view of the match.
Don didn't linger on the décor. He closed his eyes briefly, tuning into his enhanced hearing, filtering out the soft murmur of distant conversations and the hum of ventilation until he caught what he was looking for—Daniel's voice.
"Madam Annette's room is just here."
Don turned his head in the direction of the voice. Right hallway. He moved forward without hesitation, his footsteps soundless against the thick carpet.
As he drew closer, he picked up another voice—Natasha's. But sothing was off.
Her tone had shifted, sluggish and unsteady, her words dragging. "Uhm… hold on, can I just catch my breath a little? I think my nerves are getting to …"
No. Not nerves.
Don recognized the signs imdiately. The pill was working through her system. "Well shit," Don muttered under his breath, his pace quickening slightly.
Daniel played it off smoothly, still maintaining his charming tone. "No worries, we're almost there," he assured her.
Don slowed his approach, staying in the shadowed edge of the hallway as he spotted them in front of a door. A soft electronic **beep** filled the air as Daniel swiped a card over the keypad, unlocking the room.
Natasha, now leaning against the wall, exhaled unsteadily. "I really don't feel so well, uhm, I'm sorry… can you he… uh—"
Her words slurred further, and she wobbled, barely able to hold herself upright.
Daniel moved in, placing a hand on her waist as if to steady her. "It's okay, let help you," he said, using his foot to nudge the door open.
The way he spoke—soft, reassuring, like he was offering her comfort rather than dragging her sowhere she had no say in—made Don's fingers twitch slightly.
But Don didn't move just yet. He simply watched.
This alone was incriminating, but it wasn't enough. He wanted leverage, sothing airtight.
Daniel struggled slightly to maneuver Natasha, her weight sagging against him. Even though she was petite, he clearly wasn't used to lifting anything heavier than a champagne glass. He took slow, dragged steps, half-carrying, half-guiding her inside.
As soon as Daniel crossed the threshold, the door began to swing shut behind him.
Don extended his hand slightly and activated his Telekinesis.
The door slowed. Then stopped.
Daniel didn't even notice.
Don stepped forward, smoothly slipping his fingers against the edge of the door, pushing it just enough to keep it from latching shut.
He remained outside for now, standing just beside the fra, listening.
Inside, Daniel moved further into the room, his steps uneven as he shifted Natasha's weight.
Don exhaled quietly, his expression unreadable.
The soft thud of a body hitting a cushioned surface reached Don's ears in the next mont. He didn't need to see it to know—Natasha had been placed on either a sofa or a bed. The details didn't matter.
What did matter was what happened next.
Moving slowly, Don nudged the door open just enough to peek inside.
The room was exactly what he expected—a private viewing suite, but tailored for intimacy rather than business.
The lights were low, casting a dim golden glow across the plush interior. A modern sofa sat against the back wall, facing a large glass window overlooking the field below. A small bar lined the opposite side, stocked with expensive liquors and fine glasses.
The décor scread exclusivity, designed for those who wanted to enjoy the spectacle of the arena in a more… personal setting.
And there, standing in front of the sofa where Natasha lay, was Daniel.
Her dress had ridden up slightly, exposing the smooth curve of her legs, unblemished and still, like a doll placed on display.
Daniel, now believing himself to be alone, finally let his carefully crafted persona slip. His features twisted into sothing ugly—lust driven hunger mixed with arrogance as his gaze swept over Natasha's unconscious form.
"Fuck, she's so hot," he muttered under his breath.
His hands moved quickly, almost frantic. First, his shirt—yanked off and tossed aside. Then his fingers fumbled at his belt buckle, hurried and clumsy in his eagerness.
Don didn't even bother suppressing the small smile that appeared on his lips. 'This alone is enough.'
Whether or not the footage would hold up in court was irrelevant. Reputation-wise, this could destroy Daniel. If not through the dia, then through social pressure—sothing far deadlier for people like him. And if that sohow wasn't enough, well… there was always the Charles card.
With that in mind, Don saw no reason to stay silent any longer.
"You're a different kind of pathetic, you know that?" His voice was calm, indifferent.
But to Daniel, it might as well have been a gunshot.
His body froze mid-motion, his fingers still gripping his belt buckle. His breath caught in his throat, and a wave of cold terror swept over him, his skin prickling with dread.
Slowly—stiffly—he turned his head toward the doorway.
And there stood Don, leaning casually against the fra, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle slightly in front of the other. His expression was unreadable, made even more so by the aviators on his face.
To Daniel, he looked like sothing out of a nightmare.
"Don—! Uhm, Mr. Don…"
Daniel's voice cracked as panic set in. He scrambled for words, blurting out the first thing his mind could grasp.
"This isn't what it looks like—"
Don scoffed. "It's not?"
He took a step inside, letting the door swing shut behind him with a soft click.
"So the video I have of you spiking a girl's drink and leading her into a private room unconscious is fake?"
Daniel visibly paled. His mouth opened, but no words ca out.
It was over.
There was no talking his way out of this.
His breath grew rapid, his entire body trembling with the weight of his impending downfall. His father… his connections… none of them could help him if this got out.
Don watched the realization dawn on him, watched the shift from denial to sheer, undiluted fear.
Then ca the next phase—desperation.
"Okay, please—" Daniel's voice wavered as he raised his hands slightly, as if physically begging. "It was a mistake! I'll never do it again, I swear! Just—please—anything you want, I'll do it! Just please, don't do anything rash."
Don tilted his head slightly, as if considering.
The display in front of him was almost amusing.
Seeing a man like Daniel—soone who walked around with the confidence of soone untouchable—reduced to a shaking, pleading ss was… quite the sight.
"Is that so?" Don muttered, his tone light, almost conversational.
He took another step forward, watching as Daniel instinctively backed away, his breathing uneven.
Now, it was ti to see just how much Daniel was willing to give.
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