The Black Swan fire dominated the news cycle.
"Historic Theatre Destroyed in Midnight Blaze."
"Underworld Reckoning? Authorities Deny Mafia Feud."
No one mentioned the bodies pulled from the stage rafters. No one spoke of the shattered mirrors spelling VELVET BURNS in blood.
That silence was Nicolai Vex's first warning.
The second came when his chauffeur didn't show up for breakfast.
By noon, the man's corpse washed up on the riverbank with his tongue cut out.
In his penthouse overlooking the city, Nicolai sipped tea in perfect calm.
He had always admired control. That's why Alexander was his favorite protégé. Obedient, strategic, ruthless.
But now… the boy was restless. He saw it in the way Alexander handled the Black Swan aftermath — too many questions, too much improvisation.
And Isabella? The woman was a storm waiting to break.
Nicolai stirred honey into his tea and smiled faintly.
"Such a beautiful tragedy," he murmured to himself. "They really believe they're playing my game."
He wasn't wrong.
Except Isabella had no intention of playing fair.
She stood in front of the mirror in Evelyn's old room, fastening the last pin in her hair. Black silk clung to her like liquid, the neckline daring enough to be a declaration.
Tonight wasn't about beauty.
It was bait.
Alexander leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes scanning every inch of her.
His jaw tightened.
"Tell me you're not planning to walk into Vex's den like that."
She didn't look at him. "You want him to trust us, don't you? To believe I'm just the little wife craving power?"
"Isabella—"
She turned, her eyes like sharp glass. "He thinks I'm Evelyn."
Alexander blinked. "What?"
"He called her his favorite student. But he doesn't know what she did before she died." Her voice broke for the first time. "She left me a message. The night before the mission that killed her."
She handed him a flash drive, her hand trembling.
"When you see this… you'll understand why this isn't just revenge anymore."
They didn't have time to watch it.
Because the invitation came sooner than expected.
A single black card slipped under their door, embossed with silver lettering:
"La Mascarade. Midnight. Come masked."
Alexander read it twice before speaking.
"This isn't just a party," he said. "It's a purge."
Isabella smiled faintly, fastening a mask of black lace over her face.
"Good," she said softly. "Because I brought the fire."
Hours later.
The ballroom glittered like a cathedral of sin. Masks hid faces, but whispers betrayed allegiance. Deals were struck with a brush of silk gloves, alliances sealed in shadows.
And at the center of it all — Nicolai Vex.
Immaculate. Unshaken. A god dressed in ivory.
He raised a glass when he saw them.
"Alexander. And the bride."
His eyes lingered on Isabella in a way that made Alexander's blood turn to knives.
"Welcome to the end of the beginning," Nicolai said smoothly. "Shall we dance?"