The ballroom glittered with chandeliers, their crystals dripping light like icicles. Gold, wine-red, and black—the colors of power—draped the walls. Every seat was filled, every eye watching. It was a gathering of the clans, a council masked as a celebration.
At the center of it all, Isabella shone.
Her gown was spun from midnight velvet, cut to reveal just enough skin to tantalize but tailored to remind everyone she was no mere ornament. A serpent of diamonds coiled around her throat, its jeweled head resting just above her pulse. She had chosen it deliberately: the crowned snake.
When she moved, conversations stilled. Men turned their heads. Women studied her with envy or suspicion.
But it was when Damian entered the hall that Isabella’s smile truly sharpened.
He was late, as always
