The air in the ballroom had grown thick—a suffocating blend of expensive perfume, spilled champagne, and the rot of old money. Evelyn felt the weight of the note in her sash like a hot coal against her skin. Julian Vane. The name alone was a curse in the New York financial world. He was the man who had tried to host a hostile takeover of Nightwood International three times, and the only man who had the digital footprint to track the movements of "V."
She glanced at Silas. He was currently surrounded by a group of investors, his expression a mask of bored arrogance. He looked like a king granting audience to peasants, his fingers drummed a slow, rhythmic beat on the armrest of his wheelchair. He didn't look at her, but she could feel his awareness of her presence, like an invisible tether pulling at her.
"I need some air," Evelyn whispered, leaning down so her lips almost brushed his ear.
Silas's drumming hand stopped. He turned his head just enough to look at her, his dark eyes narrowing. "The garden is a maze, Evelyn. And mazes are designed to trap little things that think they can find a way out."
"I just need five minutes, Silas. The heat is... a bit much."
"Five minutes," Silas said, his voice a low warning. "If you're not back by the time the next song ends, I'll send Marcus to fetch you. And he won't be gentle."
Evelyn didn't wait for a second warning. She turned and slipped through the terrace doors, the cool night air hitting her like a slap to the face.
The Vance Maze Garden was a masterpiece of topiary and cruelty. High hedges of boxwood rose ten feet into the air, illuminated by the occasional flickery stone lantern. It was a place designed for secrets and scandals. Evelyn hurried down the gravel path, the heels of her shoes crunching loudly in the silence. She followed the map in her mind, heading toward the center—the sundial where the "ghosts" of the manor were said to meet.
As she reached the center, the moonlight spilled over a clearing. Standing by the sundial, a cigarette glowing in the dark, was Julian Vane.
He didn't look like a businessman. He looked like a fallen angel. His golden hair was windswept, and his tuxedo jacket was unbuttoned, revealing a waistcoat that cost more than a doctor's annual salary. He smiled as he saw her, a slow, predatory grin that made Evelyn's stomach churn.
"Evelyn Vance," he purred, exhaling a cloud of gray smoke. "Or should I say... the legendary 'V'? I must say, the velvet suits you much better than the hoodies you usually wear behind your monitors."
"How did you find out, Julian?" Evelyn stood her ground, her hand instinctively going to the hidden pocket in her dress.
"You're good, Evelyn. One of the best. But you made a mistake three weeks ago. You shorted the Vane Energy stock through a shell company in the Caymans. I tracked the ping back to a server in Manhattan—one that just happened to be registered to a dead-end apartment you rented under a fake name."
Julian stepped closer, the scent of his expensive cologne—something spicy and aggressive—clashing with the smell of the damp earth. "I was impressed. I thought, who is this ghost trying to bleed me dry? And then I see you tonight, draped in Nightwood's diamonds, playing the part of the submissive little wife."
"What do you want?" Evelyn snapped. "Money? Because if you tell Silas, you get nothing."
"Money? No." Julian laughed, a dry, melodic sound. He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from her cheek. "I want the audit reports you're trying to steal. The ones that prove Silas Nightwood's father was the one who funded the illegal mining in the Congo. I want the head of Nightwood International on a silver platter, and you... you're going to give it to me."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I tell the world that the 'disgraced' Evelyn Vance is actually a corporate spy who's been infiltrating the Nightwood servers for months. Silas might love a trophy, but he hates a traitor. He'll crush you, Evelyn. He'll make sure you never see the light of day again."
Julian moved faster than she expected. He gripped her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. His hand was hot, his eyes burning with a mix of greed and lust. "Think about it. Partner with me, and we take him down together. I'll give you back the Vance empire. I'll make you the most powerful woman in this city."
"Let go of her."
The voice didn't come from the path. It came from the shadows behind them. It was a sound like ice cracking—cold, sharp, and absolute.
Julian froze. Evelyn turned her head, her heart stopping.
Silas was there. He wasn't in his wheelchair.
He was standing.
He was leaning against a stone pillar, his shadow stretching long and terrifying across the grass. He held a heavy black cane in his right hand, but his posture was that of a man who didn't need it. His tuxedo was impeccable, his face a mask of cold fury that made Julian's arrogance vanish in an instant.
"Silas," Julian stammered, his grip on Evelyn's waist loosening. "I was just... we were just catching up."
"I told you to let go," Silas said, his voice dropping an octave. Every word was a threat.
Silas took a step forward. The cane hit the gravel with a rhythmic, menacing thud. He didn't look like a man who had survived a car crash; he looked like a man who had survived hell and brought the fire back with him.
Julian scrambled backward, his hands raised in a mock gesture of surrender. "Easy, Nightwood. I didn't know you were... mobile tonight."
"There are many things you don't know, Julian. For instance, you don't know that if you ever touch my wife again, I will personally ensure that your family name is scrubbed from every building in this city. Now, get out before I decide that five minutes of conversation is worth five years of your company's life."
Julian didn't wait for a third warning. He shot Evelyn a look of pure malice before disappearing into the maze.
The silence that followed was heavier than the darkness. Silas stood there, his chest heaving slightly, his eyes locked onto Evelyn. He didn't look relieved. He looked like he wanted to burn the world down.
"So," Silas whispered, the word vibrating with a dangerous edge. "This is why you needed 'fresh air'."
"Silas, I can explain—"
"Explain what? That you were meeting my greatest rival in the dark? That you let him put his hands on you?" Silas moved toward her, his cane forgotten as he grabbed her arm and pulled her into his chest. His strength was terrifying. He didn't care about his "injuries" now. He pinned her against the sundial, his body a wall of heat and muscle.
"You are my wife, Evelyn. In name, in contract, and in the eyes of the law. You do not meet other men. You do not keep secrets from me. And you certainly do not let another man touch what belongs to me."
"I was trying to protect—"
"Protect what? Your little 'V' identity?" Silas leaned in, his lips inches from hers. His scent—woodsmoke and raw power—overwhelmed her. "Did you think I didn't know? Did you think I didn't see the traces of your hacks on my server? I've been watching you since the moment you signed that contract, Evelyn. I was waiting to see how far you'd go."
Evelyn's breath hitched. He knew. He had known the whole time.
"Then why?" she whispered. "Why let me stay?"
Silas's hand traveled up to her throat, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. His touch was no longer cold; it was possessive, almost desperate.
"Because I've spent my whole life surrounded by people who are easy to break," he hissed, his eyes burning with a dark, primal hunger. "But you... you're a wildfire. And I've always wanted to see if I could be the one to tame you."
Suddenly, he crushed his lips against hers.
It wasn't a romantic kiss. It was a claim. It tasted of whiskey, of dominance, and of a shared darkness that neither of them could deny. It was a collision of two predators, a war fought with tongues and teeth. Evelyn tried to push him away, then found herself pulling him closer, her fingers tangling in his hair as she succumbed to the raw, visceral power of the moment.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathless. Silas stared at her, a look of triumph and something like pain in his eyes.
"The gala is over," he said, his voice a gravelly command. "We're going home. And tonight, Evelyn... tonight we're going to talk about the fifty-third rule of this house."
"And what's that?"
"That you are mine. Completely. And I don't share."
He turned and began to walk back toward the house, his gait slightly uneven but his presence more commanding than ever. Evelyn stood in the moonlight, her lips bruised and her heart in ruins.
She had come here to destroy the Vances. She had come here to steal the secrets of the Nightwoods. But as she followed Silas back into the darkness, she realized she had made one fatal mistake.
She hadn't just married a monster. She had married the only man who could actually see her.