Bloods and Violets

The scream shattered the night like glass. Hazel Ray didn’t flinch. She stood at the edge of her family’s rooftop garden, crimson silk dress fluttering in the city breeze, a glass of wine in her hand, and blood drying on her knuckles. The party raged behind her—music, laughter, the clinking of glasses—but inside her, there was only silence. Another threat had been silenced. “Hazel!” She turned slowly. Her sister stood in the doorway, flawless in a champagne gown, eyes wide with restrained horror. Violet Ray—the perfect daughter, the diplomat, the peacemaker. “You weren’t supposed to do that,” Violet whispered, stepping closer. “Father said we’d handle it quietly.” “I was quiet,” Hazel replied calmly. “He’ll never speak again.” “You don’t have to prove anything to him.” Hazel’s jaw tightened. That was the thing—she always did. Ever since she was ten and her father handed Violet a golden locket and Hazel a knife. He’d said it was “symbolic.” Hazel knew it was judgment. “You keep smiling, and I’ll keep cleaning up the messes,” Hazel muttered. Violet’s voice softened. “You don’t have to be this way.” But Hazel was already walking past her, back into the ballroom, where masks were worn more often than makeup. --- The Ray family was one of the oldest mafia houses in Evarra, a city built on trade, secrets, and bloodlines. Everyone knew the name. People whispered it at parties, officers erased it from reports, and enemies... they rarely got a second chance to speak it. Hazel had grown up in the velvet shadows of power—boardrooms and back alleys, fundraisers, and funerals. While Violet learned diplomacy, Hazel learned loyalty and knives. But no matter how many favours she secured or enemies she silenced, her father still looked at her like she was a weapon he couldn’t fully control. That night’s party was supposed to be a celebration of their father’s new alliance with the Grays, another powerful family in the city. Instead, Hazel had just killed one of their informants for trying to spike her drink and corner her in the corridor. She’d done it clean. No screams. Just instinct. But it still counted as a complication. --- Lucian Gray entered the ballroom late. Hazel noticed the silence ripple across the floor before she saw him. Tall, sharp-featured, dressed in black with an indifference that somehow drew attention instead of deflecting it. His eyes scanned the room with lazy precision. Hazel hated him instantly. And then his gaze landed on her. Their eyes locked. One second. Two. Lucian smirked. Hazel rolled her eyes and turned to the bar. She hadn’t seen him in years—not since he was shipped off to Paris after “that incident” everyone in their world pretended to forget. He was trouble wrapped in silk and sarcasm. Just her luck that he was now the heir to the Gray family and, rumour had it, her father’s preferred match for a “strategic union.” Like hell. “Red suits you,” Lucian said, appearing beside her with a glass of scotch. She didn’t look at him. “So does disappearing.” He chuckled. “Still sharp.” “And you’re still bored.” “Maybe. But now I’m bored with purpose.” Hazel finally turned, leaning into the bar’s edge. “If you’re here for business, then business better be worth my time.” Lucian’s smile faded a little, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What if I’m here for you?” “Then you’ve made your first mistake tonight.” She walked away before he could respond. But even with her back turned, she felt his gaze on her like heat. --- Later that night, in her father’s study, Hazel got the lecture she expected. “You’re impulsive,” he said, swirling whiskey in his hand. “That’s not leadership.” “And letting a Gray pig touch me without consequence is?” He didn’t answer. He rarely did when she made a point. Instead, he turned toward the wall of books, dismissing her with a glance. “You want power, Hazel? Then start acting like you belong to this family, not some back-alley syndicate.” “I want more than your approval,” she snapped. “I want control.” He chuckled. “You’ll never have that, not without discipline. Not without a husband to keep you—” She threw the whiskey glass across the room. It shattered against the bookshelf. He didn’t flinch. “You keep pushing me, old man,” she said. “One day, I’ll stop asking.” --- Outside, the wind had picked up. The city of Evarra never truly slept. Neon lights pulsed over rooftops. Sirens howled in the distance. And Hazel stood by her window, breath shallow, mind spinning. She didn’t want to be Violet. She didn’t want to be Lucian’s bride. She wanted something else. Her own empire. Her own name. And she would get it. Even if she had to burn down everything first. That night, she slipped out of the Ray estate and made her way through winding streets to the old theatre in Northside—a forgotten place the family once used as a front. She unlocked the rusted door herself. Dust floated in the moonlight like ash, and silence wrapped around her like a cloak. This place would be hers. A new headquarters, a space to build loyalty beyond her family’s chains. She’d already handpicked three trusted people—people loyal to her, not the Ray name. She ran her fingers across the velvet curtains and smiled. She wasn’t going to ask for a seat at the table. She was building her own.