Rose
The silk curtains whispered against the floor as I adjusted the strap of my dress in front of the mirror. Black — always black. My reflection stared back at me, equal parts elegant and lethal, the kind of woman people prayed not to cross. The world saw beauty; I saw armor.
"Don't tell me you're wearing that to my opening ceremony," Mama's voice snapped behind me, sharp as the crack of a whip. Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she entered the room, her eyes narrowing at my choice of attire. "It's beautiful, no doubt, but this is a ceremony, Rose, not a funeral."
I smirked, keeping my gaze locked on my reflection. "I'm wearing it for safety measures."
Her hand waved dismissively, frustration pouring from her like perfume. "What safety measures? The whole hall will be surrounded by heavily armed men, even if I didn't want that." Her tone rose with each word until it echoed through the room.
I finally turned to her, the corners of my mouth curving in that smile she hated—the one that meant I was already two steps ahead. "Mama, what if I got blood on my dress at your ceremony, hmm? Black hides everything perfectly."
For a moment, silence stretched between us. Her jaw tightened, her eyes searching my face as though I might be joking. Then she gasped softly. "Are you planning to kill someone at my ceremony, Rose?"
I took her hand gently, lifting it to my lips and kissing it with the reverence of a dutiful daughter. "You look breathtaking, Mama."
The compliment caught her off guard, softening her expression for just a fraction of a second. That was all I needed. I slipped away before she could scold me further.
The grand hall of the Varela Hotel gleamed with crystal chandeliers and marble floors polished to a mirror's shine. Tonight was Mama's victory — her empire finally immortalized in stone, glass, and steel. Guests mingled in diamonds and tailored suits, sipping champagne as the orchestra played a soft waltz. To them, this was a celebration of wealth and success. To me, it was a battlefield.
"Apart from the men your father placed for your mother, I've added our own," Mica murmured at my side, her sharp eyes scanning every corner. My most trusted confidante and enforcer, she moved like a shadow, her dark suit cut for both elegance and violence.
"Good," I replied, my gaze sweeping over the crowd. Power attracts envy, and envy attracts snakes. I was ready for either.
The ceremony began with Mama standing at the podium, thanking investors and guests, her speech polished and poised. The audience smiled politely, raising their glasses in honor of her success.
I, however, wasn't listening. My eyes had caught movement near the edge of the crowd — a man. A stranger. He didn't fit. His posture was too rigid, his gaze too sharp. He wasn't one of ours, nor was he on Mama's guest list. He wasn't even on my hit list. Which meant one thing: he was dangerous.
As if sensing my scrutiny, he looked up, and our eyes locked. A slow thrill curled through me. Tonight would not be boring.
When Mama gestured for me to speak, I accepted the microphone with a smile that could have frozen blood. "Hello, everyone," I began, my voice soft, almost sweet. The kind of sweetness that warned of poison underneath. "I'd love to formally introduce myself."
The hall fell silent, breaths caught in throats. They knew me, of course. They whispered my name like a legend, a curse. But they had never heard me claim it aloud.
"My name is Rose Varela," I said, my smile widening. "The new Lord of the Vipers Clan. But you can call me Chaos."
The words dropped into the room like a blade. Whispers erupted instantly, fear spreading like wildfire. I could taste it in the air, bitter and intoxicating. I let them squirm, let the weight of my name sink into their bones, before I tilted my head playfully.
"Please, enjoy your evening," I finished softly. "And let's all try to leave here in one piece."
A polite smile, a gentle nod, and I handed the microphone back to Mama as though I hadn't just declared war. Then I turned and walked out of the hall, leaving terror in my wake.
"Mica," I said calmly as we exited into the quiet corridor. "Would you be a darling and find out about our little snake?"
She nodded immediately, already pulling her phone from her pocket to make the necessary calls. I made my way upstairs to the penthouse, the one with glass walls that overlooked the entire city. The skyline glittered like a sea of stars, but it gave me no comfort. Instead, it reminded me how empty the world felt, how even a city on its knees could not fill the void inside me.
I closed my eyes, leaning against the cool glass.
"What is it?" I asked without opening them.
Mica's footsteps approached until she was standing directly before me. "Asher King," she said simply. "And the woman with him was Emma Miller."
My lips curved into a slow smile. So that was him. King. The so-called nightmare of the underworld, the cop who hunted monsters and wore his scars like a crown. I had heard the name whispered before, always with a mix of awe and hatred. Now fate had brought him to my doorstep.
"Ticket was Mama's doing?" I asked.
"Yes," Mica confirmed. "She arranged a contest. The winner was Inspector Bran."
"Tsk," I hissed softly. A clever move on Mama's part, but one that could cost us.
"Where are they now?"
Mica hesitated. I opened my eyes and pinned her with a sharp look.
"Fifty grand says they're still at the ceremony," she smirked.
"One hundred grand says they're in the parking lot, waiting to ambush us." Gambling ran in the blood of every Varela. It was our curse — and our pleasure.
We made our way down the quiet stairwell, every step measured, every breath controlled. In the shadows of the parking lot, the trap sprung.
One… two… three.
Click.
Guns leveled at us from all sides.
Mica cursed under her breath, not at the weapons pointed at us but at the fact that she had just lost the bet.
The man at the center stepped forward. His voice was deep, smoky, carrying authority and something darker. "We're taking you to the station."
I tilted my head, studying him. Those eyes — black orbs from the abyss. They held secrets, and I wanted them.
"And if I don't?" I asked lightly.
Before he could respond, Mica moved like lightning, disarming the blonde woman beside him with brutal efficiency and turning the weapon back on him.
"We'll go with you," I said sweetly, and his jaw tightened.
The ride to the station was quiet, charged with unspoken tension. They thought they had won, but they hadn't realized they were already playing my game.
Inside the interrogation room, I leaned back against the chair, calm and unbothered. Mica stood by the wall, arms crossed, glaring at anyone who looked her way.
"Pay up, Mica," I teased under my breath.
"Tsk." She hated losing.
The door opened with a soft creak, and an older man entered. Brown eyes, streaks of gray in his hair. His presence commanded respect even before he spoke.
"Hello, Bran," I said softly, my smile dangerous.
The real gamble had just begun.