The music shifts, darker beneath its elegance, as the ballroom's attention centers on the man in the deep red suit. His presence is a stain on the shimmering gold atmosphere—bold, deliberate, entirely unwelcome.
Mira doesn't know who he is.
But Elias and Riven do.
Their tension is instant.
Elias steps slightly closer to her, posture straightening with razor precision. Riven's expression doesn't lose its smirk, but something sharp and dangerous flickers beneath it, coiling like a blade ready to be unsheathed.
The man in red gives a smile that looks like it was carved with a knife.
"Good evening," he says, his voice smooth but tainted with condescension. "I trust the Ward family is enjoying the night."
Conversations die completely. The room freezes—not with admiration, but fear.
Mira feels it.
The shift.
The threat.
She instinctively moves back, but Elias's hand—light, barely touching—catches her elbow.
"Careful," he murmurs, so low only she hears. "There are eyes everywhere tonight."
His touch is warm.
His voice colder than the chandeliers above them.
Riven steps forward, crossing his arms loosely. "Valente," he drawls. "You weren't invited."
The man—Valente—shows no reaction to the insult.
"I extend my condolences," he says smoothly. "For the Ward family's… recent complications."
Elias's jaw twitches.
Riven's smirk drops entirely.
The room seems to inhale.
Complications? What is he talking about?
Valente continues casually, as though discussing the weather. "A shipment lost. A territory contested. A rumor of betrayal."
Mira's stomach knots.
This isn't a business world she recognizes. This is the underworld its prettiest dresses try to hide.
Valente's gaze drifts across the crowd, then lands on Mira.
And stays there
His eyes narrow slightly, curious.
Don't look at me. Please don't look at me.
But he does—long enough that Elias shifts his body subtly, blocking the view.
Riven's voice snaps like a whip.
"Pick someone else to stare at."
Valente raises a brow. "Is she important?"
"No," Mira blurts.
But her voice is too soft, too quick.
Idiot. Why did you answer?
Riven steps closer—not enough to touch her, but enough that she can feel the heat radiating off him.
"That's not your concern," he says, his tone deceptively lazy. "And you know it."
Valente smiles again, amused. "Relax. I prefer battles with equals."
Elias's gaze sharpens. "Then you came to the wrong room."
The verbal Exchange is icy, polite on the surface but dripping with threat underneath.
Valente finally turns away. "Enjoy your party. I won't stay long."
He moves off the stage, disappearing into a cluster of guests who pretend they aren't terrified.
The moment he's gone, the tension breaks—quietly, subtly, but enough to restart the room's heartbeat.
The music resumes.
People breathe again.
But nothing feels the same.
Mira tries to steady her own inhale.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I didn't mean to—"
"You didn't do anything wrong," Elias says, cutting her off gently.
Riven, on the other hand, gives her a side glance, amused. "You practically answered his question for him. Not very subtle."
"I panicked," Mira snaps before she can stop herself.
Riven grins. "Cute."
Elias shoots him a warning look.
Mira's cheeks burn. "Look, I don't want trouble. I just came here because I had to help my boss. And she left me—again."
Elias's gaze softens a fraction. "You'll be safe."
Safe? Here? With them?
How can anyone be safe in a place like this?
A waiter bumps past, jolting her slightly. Instinctively, Elias steadies her again with a hand at the small of her back.
The contact sends a rush of heat through her body—unwelcome, unexpected, impossible to ignore.
She steps away quickly, clearing her throat. "I should find Mrs. Bianchi."
"You should eat first," Elias says. "You look like you might faint."
"I'm fine."
"You're pale," Riven adds. "Even paler than my brother's social skills."
Elias shoots him a cold glare.
Riven shrugs innocently. "What? I'm being helpful."
Mira resists the urge to groan. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
Riven leans in slightly. "Are you? Because this isn't a place where people like you walk in unnoticed."
Her pulse spikes. "People like me?"
He studies her slowly—not with disrespect, but with unsettling accuracy. "People who don't belong here. You stand out, in a way that makes dangerous men curious."
Elias's eyes narrow. "Riven."
"What?" he asks, unbothered. "She should know."
Mira swallows hard. Great. Wonderful. Exactly what I need.
"Come with me," Elias says softly.
Mira tenses. "Where?"
"To the quieter side of the ballroom. You shouldn't be at the center of attention."
"I'm okay—"
"Mira." His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. "Please."
His "please" is gentle enough that she gives in.
Riven falls into step beside them, hands in his pockets. "You're escorting her? How interesting."
"I'm ensuring her safety," Elias replies tightly.
"Mhm." Riven smirks. "Safety. That's what we're calling it."
Mira wants the marble floor to swallow her whole.
They reach a quieter area—an alcove near a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. The view is breathtaking, lights stretching endlessly across the dark skyline.
Mira presses a hand to her stomach, steadying her breath.
"Are you all right?" Elias asks.
"No," she admits softly. "I'm overwhelmed."
Honesty slips out before she can stop it.
Why did I say that? Why am I being honest with him?
Elias looks at her in a way that makes her chest tighten—calm, assessing, almost gentle.
"You handled yourself better than most would."
Riven, leaning against the wall, laughs under his breath. "She handled herself better than half the idiots we call allies."
Mira lets out a shaky exhale. "Who was that man? Valente."
"Trouble," Riven says simply.
Elias elaborates. "The head of a rival family. He enjoys making an appearance when he thinks it will unsettle us."
"And… did it?" she asks.
Elias doesn't answer immediately.
But Riven does.
"No," he says, his tone dark. "But he wants us to think it did."
Mira glances between them. "Why stare at me then? I don't matter in your world."
Elias's gaze flickers with something unreadable. "That's precisely why he stared."
Riven nods. "Because he's trying to guess why you caught our attention."
"I didn't!" Mira protests.
Riven's grin is slow, dangerous. "Oh, sweetheart… you did."
Mira's cheeks burn again. "Can you stop calling me that?"
"No," Riven says easily.
Elias sighs.
Mira turns back toward the window, trying to gather her composure. The city glimmers below, alive and oblivious to the secrets suffocating the room behind her.
She gives herself a silent command.
Just survive the night.
As she stares out at the skyline, she doesn't notice Elias watching her—carefully, quietly—like she's a puzzle he wasn't prepared to solve.
She doesn't notice Riven watching too, his gaze darker, hungrier, more immediate.
She doesn't see the way both brothers' postures shift subtly, as though forming an unspoken barrier around her.
But she does feel it.
A shift.
A pull.
A collision she can't escape.
When she finally turns back toward them, the air between the three of them feels charged—like something has already begun, even if none of them understand it yet.
"Can I go now?
" she whispers.
Elias answers first. "Not yet."
Riven's smirk returns. "Not even close."
And for the first time since entering the ballroom…
Mira realizes she's not the only one who won't be leaving this night unchanged.