VEIL OF DECEPTION

The gala was alive with whispers, the kind that slithered through the air like venom. Deals were being made behind diamond-studded smiles. Promises were sealed with lingering handshakes. And in the middle of it all stood Ethan Cross.

Astrid led him deeper into the serpent's den. Every step was calculated. Every gaze held meaning. The power in the room was suffocating, but Ethan didn't flinch.

He wasn't here to survive. He was here to dominate.

A soft melody hummed through the grand ballroom, violins and pianos playing a delicate symphony that masked the undercurrent of danger. Couples swayed on the dance floor, but beneath the shimmering gowns and expensive suits, there were predators in disguise.

Astrid stopped near the bar, ordering a glass of whiskey. She didn't have to tell Ethan what was next.

The real test was about to begin.

—

A figure moved toward them. Slow. Confident. Deadly.

Donovan Pierce.

The billionaire with a grip on half the city. Old money. Ruthless. A man whose name was whispered in backroom meetings and feared by even the most powerful families.

Tonight, he was draped in an obsidian tuxedo, a silver cane tapping against the floor as he walked. A symbol of his legacy. A warning of his reach.

His lips curved into something resembling a smile. "Astrid, my dear, you always bring the most… interesting guests." His gaze slid to Ethan, sharp as a blade. "And this one? He looks like trouble."

Ethan met his stare without hesitation. "That depends. Are you afraid of trouble, Mr. Pierce?"

A flicker of amusement crossed the older man's face. "Oh, I don't fear it. I own it." He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, eyes never leaving Ethan. "But tell me, young man—what exactly do you own?"

Ethan smirked. "The future."

Silence fell between them.

Then, Donovan laughed. A slow, rich sound that sent ripples across the room. A few guests turned to watch. The tension coiled, unseen but undeniable.

"Interesting," Donovan mused. "We'll see if the future agrees." He lifted his glass in a mock toast before walking away, his silver cane tapping against the marble once more.

Astrid let out a breath. "Well. That was either brilliant or suicidal."

Ethan took a sip of his whiskey. "Let's find out."

—

The night deepened, and so did the stakes. Everything was a game here. And Ethan was learning the rules fast.

The silent wars.

The unspoken alliances.

The deals made in the spaces between words.

But then, something changed.

A sudden hush spread through the ballroom like a ripple. The music slowed. Conversations died.

And then, she appeared.

Seraphina DeLuca.

The diamond of the underworld. The woman who could turn a king into a corpse with a single whisper.

Draped in a crimson silk dress that clung to her curves like a second skin, she moved with the kind of grace that made men forget their loyalties. The daughter of the most feared mafia boss in the country. And perhaps, the deadliest one of them all.

Her eyes locked onto Ethan's. A challenge. A warning. A promise.

Then, she extended her hand.

"Shall we dance?"

Ethan didn't hesitate. He took her hand and led her to the center of the ballroom. The moment their bodies aligned, he felt it—the weight of a thousand unspoken threats.

"You don't belong here," she murmured as they swayed to the music.

Ethan's grip on her waist tightened slightly. "And yet, here I am."

Her lips curved. "You're either very brave… or very stupid."

Ethan leaned in, his breath brushing against her ear. "Maybe I'm both."

A soft chuckle. "I'll be watching you, Ethan Cross."

The song ended, and as they parted, Ethan knew one thing for certain.

This was no longer just a game.

It was a war.