Stardust
and
Shadows:
A
Billionaire’s
Game
Elon
Musk
and
Ashley
St.
Clair
The
penthouse
of
SpaceX’s
private
suite
overlooked
the
shimmering
sprawl
of
Los
Angeles,
a
city
Elon
Musk
barely
considered
reality
anymore.
Below,
a
world
of
traffic,
tweets,
and
Tesla
owners
debating
over
autopilot.
Up
here—it
was
his
domain.
And
tonight,
Ashley
St.
Clair
had
invaded
it.
She
stood
in
front
of
his
floor-to-ceiling
window,
her
silhouette
cut
against
the
vastness
of
a
skyline
that
was
a
mere
prelude
to
his
ambitions.
“Let
me
guess,”
Ashley
mused,
swirling
a
glass
of
Scotch
that
had
probably
been
aged
longer
than
some
of
Musk’s
interns.
“You
invited
me
up
here
to
talk
about
the
future
of
humanity.”
Elon
smirked,
stepping
closer.
His
presence
was
a
gravitational
force,
subtle
but
impossible
to
ignore.
“Among
other
things,”
he
said,
voice
smooth,
laced
with
that
slight
South
African
tilt.
“I
like
to
make
investments
in
rare
assets.”
Ashley
turned,
raising
an
eyebrow.
Bold,
confident—she
was
a
woman
who
thrived
on
provocation.
“And
I’m
an
asset?”
His
eyes
flickered,
calculating
but
teasing.
“More
volatile
than
Dogecoin,
but
significantly
more
rewarding.”
She
let
out
a
laugh—the
kind
that
made
men
weak,
the
kind
that
had
been
weaponized
in
boardrooms
and
backchannels.
Ashley
St.
Clair
didn’t
do
passive.
If
she
was
in
the
game,
she
played
to
win.
“Alright,
Musk,”
she
leaned
against
his
desk,
crossing
one
leg
over
the
other—a
slow,
deliberate
movement
designed
to
test
his
restraint.
“What’s
the
pitch?”
His
fingers
trailed
along
the
edge
of
the
polished
wood,
not
touching
her—but
close
enough
that
she
could
feel
the
proximity
like
static
before
a
storm.
“The
world
is
a
failing
system,”
he
murmured.
“And
the
people
in
charge?
They’re
thinking
too
small.”
Ashley
tilted
her
head.
“And
you’re
thinking
about
taking
me
to
Mars?”
Elon
chuckled,
low
and
knowing.
“I
was
thinking
something
more
immediate.”
A
pause.
Heavy.
Charged.
Ashley
was
no
stranger
to
powerful
men.
She’d
dined
with
billionaires,
danced
with
senators,
turned
down
princes.
But
Elon?
He
was
different.
He
wasn’t
bound
by
the
limits
of
what
was
supposed
to
be
possible.
And
that
kind
of
man
was
dangerous.
“You
assume
I’m
interested,”
she
said,
her
voice
like
silk
laced
with
barbs.
Elon
leaned
in,
his
breath
warm
at
the
edge
of
her
jaw.
“Ashley,”
he
murmured,
his
voice
dropping
into
something
darker,
something
that
hummed
against
her
skin
like
an
engine
just
before
ignition.
“I
never
assume.
I
calculate.”
Her
breath
hitched—barely
noticeable,
but
enough.
He
smirked.
He
had
her.
But
she
had
him
too.
And
tonight,
they’d
find
out
just
how
much
power
they
could
handle.
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Author: Ingrid Gustafsson