CHAPTER :12 VENUE OF MASKS
Zeyna Roman did not speak during the drive.
The city slid past the windows in ribbons of light and shadow, towers giving way to wider avenues as they approached the upper district. The car was quiet except for the soft hum of the engine and the faint click of turn signals. Juno sat in the passenger seat, relaxed, one arm resting against the door, gaze unfocused but alert.
Zeyna's emotions churned beneath her calm exterior.
Fear because she had just watched a man from one of the most entrenched families in the region lose face in a way that could not be undone.
Excitement because the man beside her had not only survived it, but dominated it without raising his voice.
She had spent her entire career reading rooms, measuring influence, predicting reactions. And yet Juno had slipped cleanly past every framework she knew.
At a red light, she finally spoke.
"You didn't have to do that," she said quietly.
Juno glanced at her. "Yes, I did."
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "You made an enemy."
"I revealed one," Juno corrected. "There's a difference."
Zeyna exhaled slowly. "Kingsley Arden doesn't forget humiliation. His family doesn't forgive it."
Juno smiled faintly. "Neither do mine."
That made her look at him.
Really look.
But the light changed, and the moment passed.
They pulled up to the venue minutes later.
The gala was being held at the Aurelius Spire, a monolithic structure of glass and ivory stone that pierced the skyline like a declaration of wealth. Valets lined the entrance. Security was discreet but unmistakable. Inside, chandeliers refracted light into a thousand fragments, each one catching on silk dresses and polished shoes.
Power gathered here not loudly, but densely.
Zeyna stepped out of the car, smoothing her dress, expression settling into practiced elegance. She hesitated, then looked back at Juno.
"Step out too," she said.
Juno complied, adjusting his cuffs as he joined her.
"This event," Zeyna continued, lowering her voice, "isn't just social. It's positioning. Alliances are formed here. Rivalries sharpened."
"I figured," Juno said. "There are too many smiles."
Zeyna allowed herself a brief smile. "I want to introduce myself to Martin Blanchard."
Juno's eyebrow lifted. "The Blanchard young master."
"Yes," she said. "He's… important."
"Do you want me there?" Juno asked.
She considered him for a second. "No," she said honestly. "Not yet."
Juno nodded. "I'll blend.".
She paused, then added, "And Juno?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For earlier."
He inclined his head slightly. "Anytime."
They entered the venue together, then separated naturally as the crowd swallowed them.
A Bitter Sight
Zeyna moved with confidence through the gathering, exchanging greetings, accepting compliments, dismissing subtle challenges with a tilt of her chin. Eyes followed her some admiring, some calculating.
Then she saw him.
Her brother.
Standing just behind Martin Blanchard.
Martin was tall, well-built, his smile easy and careless in the way of someone born into advantage. He laughed as he spoke, one hand resting casually on a glass of amber liquid.
And beside him, Zeyna's brother leaned forward slightly, nodding too quickly, laughing too loudly. His posture was wrong.
Submissive.
Like a dog desperate for approval.
Disgust curled in Zeyna's stomach.
She had warned him. Time and again. The Blanchards were not benefactors they were consumers. They did not elevate partners; they absorbed them.
Seeing her own blood reduced to this made her jaw tighten.
She considered turning away.
Instead, she straightened her shoulders and walked forward.
Among Predators
"Martin," she said smoothly as she approached, her voice cutting through the conversation.
Martin turned, surprise flickering across his face before he masked it with charm. "Zeyna Roman," he said. "I didn't know you'd be attending."
"I could say the same," she replied. "You've been selective lately."
Her brother glanced at her, relief and anxiety flashing in his eyes. "Zeyna...."
She didn't look at him.
Martin chuckled. "Business keeps me occupied. But events like this are… necessary."
"Of course," Zeyna said. "One must be seen."
Martin studied her for a moment, interest sharpening. "I've heard impressive things about you recently."
"I'm sure you have."
"Your company's recent moves bold. Risky."
"Only if you don't know where you're stepping," she replied.
Martin smiled wider. "I'd like to talk sometime. Properly."
Zeyna inclined her head. "I'd welcome that."
She turned away before her brother could speak again, merging into the crowd with a controlled grace that hid the tension in her chest.
She needed leverage.
And she needed to understand just how deep the currents were moving.
The Myles estate stood apart from the city, nestled behind iron gates and ancient trees. The mansion itself was old, built from dark stone that seemed to drink in light. Generations of power clung to its walls.
Inside the central hall, three figures knelt on the marble floor.
Their heads were bowed. Their hands pressed flat against the stone.
Before them stood a middle-aged man in a simple, perfectly tailored suit. His hair was streaked with gray. His expression was calm, almost bored.
The Myles patriarch.
"You failed," he said evenly.
One of the kneeling men swallowed. "We did, Patriarch Myles. But it was… unforeseen. Please grant us another chance."
The patriarch's gaze shifted to the second kneeling figure. "You were tasked with discretion."
"Yes," the man whispered. "We swear the matter has not reached the outside world. No rival family knows."
"And my daughter?" the patriarch asked.
The third kneeling figure spoke, voice shaking. "She… remains out of reach. But we have leads. Please. Allow us to correct our mistake."
Silence filled the hall.
The patriarch turned away, walking slowly toward the tall windows overlooking the estate grounds.
"You ask for a second chance," he said. "To retrieve what is mine. And to keep my shame contained."
He stopped.
"Do you understand what failure means in this house?"
The three men lowered their heads further. "Yes."
The patriarch turned back.
"Very well," he said. "You will try again."
Relief flooded their faces briefly.
"But," he continued, "you will not do so alone."
He raised one hand.
From the shadows along the walls, figures stepped forward.
Men and women dressed in dark uniforms, eyes cold, presence oppressive. His personal guard. Loyal not to the family name, but to him alone.
"They will accompany you," the patriarch said. "They will ensure success."
"And if we fail again?" one man asked quietly.
The patriarch smiled.
"You won't be alive to concern yourself with it."
The guards moved forward, silent and efficient.
"Go," the patriarch commanded.
As the kneeling figures were escorted away, the patriarch turned back to the window..
"Find her," he murmured. "Before others do."
Far across the city, beneath chandeliers and false smiles, Zeyna Roman navigated a battlefield of silk and glass.
And somewhere within that same gathering, unnoticed and unchallenged, Juno watched it all with calm, ancient patience aware that the currents were converging, and that soon, masks would begin to crack.