Alaric ★ Politics

The restaurant was an embodiment of understated elegance—dim lighting, soft golden hues casting long shadows across polished wooden tables. It wasn’t the kind of place where people came for quick meals, but rather where slow-burn deals took shape and careers were made or broken over carefully chosen words. The clinking of silverware, the hum of quiet conversations, the subtle aroma of fine food in the air—it all created the perfect atmosphere for the kind of meeting Alaric Duvall had carefully orchestrated.

Alaric was already seated, his posture impeccable, a sharp contrast to the soft, warm ambiance around him. His black suit—perfectly tailored—fit him like a second skin. His sharp eyes, however, were the centerpiece of his focus, glinting in the low light as they studied the empty chair across from him. He hadn’t needed to look at his watch; he knew it was just about time. He was always punctual—always in control.

He surveyed the surroundings briefly. The waiter passed by, eyes down, careful not to interrupt. The pristine table was set before him with military precision—glass of water at the right angle, napkin folded just so. Everything had to be perfect, because perfection was what people expected when they crossed paths with someone like Alaric. But perfection, like power, wasn’t something you ever flaunted too openly. It was something you wielded quietly, subtly. Tonight, it would be a different kind of battle, and he was prepared to win.

He ran a finger around the rim of his glass, the soft, rhythmic tapping betraying his otherwise composed demeanor. He’d already been briefed about her—about her reputation, her family’s legacy, and most importantly, the fact that Ward had pulled her into the case. Alaric couldn’t help but smirk. Ward thought himself clever, didn’t he? Hiring her because of her name, because of her family’s history, as if that would guarantee a win. But Alaric wasn’t so easily impressed by the weight of names. He wanted to know what made her tick. What drove someone who could have stayed safely in the shadows of her family’s expectations to step into the fire of the courtroom. He was about to find out.

His gaze flicked to the door just as it opened, and in she walked—effortlessly, casually, almost as if she didn’t realize the significance of the moment. She wasn’t what he’d expected. Of course, he hadn’t expected much—most people who came with a family name like hers didn’t live up to their reputation. But this... this was different. There was no stiffness in her posture, no air of calculated control. Instead, there was an ease about her, a sort of recklessness that drew his attention the moment she entered.

He let his gaze slowly drift from her face down to her outfit, taking in the sharp contrast between her free-spirited demeanor and the stiff professionalism he expected from someone with her background. His lips twitched into something between a smirk and a frown, as though he’d just witnessed a slight deviation from the script he’d already written in his mind.

When she made her way to the table, his eyes remained fixed on her, assessing every step, every movement. She was brash, yes, but there was a confidence in the way she walked, as though she was well aware of her own worth, even if she didn’t dress like it.

Alaric waited until she had seated herself before finally speaking, his voice smooth, but carrying the bite of someone who’d been in politics long enough to understand the weight of every word.

“Let me guess,” he started, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk on his lips. "You didn’t have time for a quick wardrobe change before this meeting? Ward must love the...unpredictability.”

He gave her a once-over, his gaze sharp, but not unkind. “I can see why Ward was drawn to you. After all, there’s nothing like unpredictability to keep things... interesting.” His tone, though professional, held an edge of sarcastic amusement.

Alaric leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed yet still commanding. “Ward must really think the world of you to bet so heavily on your... unique brand of ‘skill.’”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp and calculating. “I’ve heard a lot about you—about your ‘skills,’ your ‘charisma,’ and most of all, your ability to get things done in your own way. And I’m not going to lie—it’s impressive.” His tone was measured, professional, but with a subtle edge of sarcasm.

“But here's the thing,” he continued, his voice lowering slightly, “Ward thinks you’re the key to winning this case. But I wonder... do you think he really understands what you’re capable of? Because if you ask me, you’re wasting your time with him. You belong on a side that’s willing to appreciate your... unconventional methods.”

Alaric paused, his eyes locking with hers, and then he let the offer hang in the air. “Why don’t you come work for someone who sees your potential? Someone who can give you the freedom to truly play the game the way you want. You don’t have to be tied down to Ward’s predictable little world.”

He let the words settle before he added, his voice smooth, “Think about it. You’re too good for this, and I know it.”