The Legacy We Burn

Chapter 2

I left the stage, cameras flashing, applause still echoing in my ear. As I worked my way through the crowd I put on the 'Beaumont smile', shaking hands, air-kissing cheeks, pretending like I wasn't suffocating. I couldn't get around without being stopped momentarily to be congratulated by business people, investors, and family friends; all power and alliance hungry. When they thought I was far enough, I could hear them whisper to one another, things like, " The Beaumont girl better be up to the task, her family's future is resting in her hands"... "Funny how the mighty Beaumonts found salvation in the Montclairs"... "Sebastian Montclair should take the lead in this. Montclairs know how to get things done, I'm not so sure about the young lady"... "Even with all this chaos I still wouldn't cross either of the families. They practically own this city, imagine what they could do together". Their whispers coiled through the room– amusing, predictable. They wanted me nervous, and I almost pitied them for thinking i would give them that satisfaction. I glanced across the room and caught Mr Montclair's gaze, thinly veiled disdain ridden in his eyes. I reached a corner of the ballroom and stood there, my eyes wandering and searching for Cat. They dashed around the ballroom, my head pounding slightly, my pulsed quickened, but I locked it behind my practiced smile. The people here were scared of us. They couldn't possibly measure up. They knew how dangerous we were. But the Montclairs... they were just as dangerous too. Trusting them was a mistake – of course it was. But that was fine, because fear sharpens strategy, and strategy was how Beaumonts survive. "Looking for someone?" , I turned, startled to find a man standing before me. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair, a neat close-cropped beard that traced the strong line of his jaw. He smiled easily–too easily for this world– and for just a moment it disarmed me. "You looked like you were about to vanish," he said, tilting his head slightly, as though he could read my mind. I blinked, regaining myself. "I'm fine. Just... distracted." "Then maybe I can help with that," he offered, extending his hand. "Dance with me." My senses came alive. The orchestra's swell reaching me again, the low hum of violins threading through the ballroom. People where already moving unto the floor. For the first time that night, something inside me loosened. Against my better judgement, I smiled back at him.

He pulled me away from the corner gently to the centre of the room. Wrapping an arm around my waist and taking my hand with the other. I placed my left hand on his shoulder. "I'm George," he said as he drew me in with practiced ease, his voice low and honeyed, but edged with something I couldn't quite place. "George Lowell." "Scarlet Beaumont," I replied automatically. "I knew that already, " he chuckled, glancing around the glittering room. "Seems everyone here does." His cologne drifted between us, expensive but understated. He wasn't like the others in this room–too relaxed, too at ease. "You're not from around here," I guessed. "That's Right. Just passing through. But..." His eyes caught mine, unhurried, deliberate, "... I may have reason to stay a little longer." "Business?" I asked. "Business," he said with a shrug, though the way his smile lingered on me made it clear he meant more.

."Excuse me, may I?" The smile slid from my face before I even turned. Sebastian Montclair. "Of course", George replied to him, releasing me with polite ease, bowing slightly while flashing a smile before turning around to leave. Sebastian extended his hand – not asking, but expecting. I placed my hand in his, his palm closed around mine with effortless authority, his smile infuriatingly smug."He doesn't look like he belongs here", Sebastian murmured, steering us into the waltz. His voice was low, sharp, meant for me alone. He held my waist firmly, I could feel the heat of his fingers brushing through the fabric of my dress, his touch felt electric, nothing like George's. "And you could tell that how? Because he didn't flinch when you towered over him?", I shot back, irritation burning in my chest. Though my pulsed jumped at his nearness. Being this close to him, it felt foreign yet thrilling. His eyes were fixed at mine, trying to read me, I pushed everything down and rose my chin up, staring back at him like I wasn't having a possible heat stroke. "Yeah, maybe", he scoffed, almost smiling with scorn. "Well, that doesn't help your ego, I guess", I retorted. "He's so your type, isn't he", he said smoothly, his gray eyes scanning me. " Oh? And what exactly would that be?", I replied. His grip tightened. "kind, care free, easy...", he leaned in closer, "harmless", he moved even closer, "You know, the kind of life you always wished for", he whispered, his breath brushed my ear, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine . I steadied my breathing, everyone was watching us now. "Too bad for you, Sebastian– I don't dream small." The orchestra shifted, a sweeping waltz unfurling through the room like silk. Couples spilled unto the marble floor, gowns rippling, jewels flashing under the chandeliers. Around us, heads tilted, eyes brightened with curiosity, eager for a show. He noticed it aswell. The air between us tightened. We began to move a little slower, I struggled to gain control of the pace, I wasn't going to be the one yielding. "Now, don't be stubborn, Beaumont", he said in a cautionary tone, "Fine", I sighed, letting him take control. We swayed in unison, his lead deliberate, smooth, as though he'd been born for stages like this. My heels clicked against marble, my dress flowing like water with each turn. I lifted my chin, the corners of my mouth curving into a picture-perfect smile. Quickly adjusting our posture and demeanor was nothing unnatural for the both of us. He spun me around, my back resting on his strong chest, I could feel the heat of his sturdy physique. His hands grazed my hips, his breath hot on my neck, "You're stiff, Scarlet", he whispered, spinning me back sharply to face him,"relax", he continued, his voice silvery, "And try not to step on my foot, would you?". "If I wanted to hurt you, Sebastian, you'd know", I muttered back, keeping my smile fixed for the onlookers. He chuckled low, drawing me just a little closer. "God, I missed that bite. You've been pretending to be so refined tonight". We cut through the crowd like we owned the space, his steps precise, annoyingly flawless, sweeping me across the floor. "You always did hate following my lead", he murmured. "Funny," I replied with a smile too sharp to be sweet, "I don't recall you leading, just shoving people where you wanted them." I replied, a trace of exasperation creeping up my voice. His smirk curved higher, infuriatingly self assured, "And yet, here you are, letting me". "I should've known you'd enjoyed an audience", I whispered, tilting my head just enough to keep the smile painted on. "Oh Scar, don't pretend you don't," he countered, spinning me out, then snapping me back against his chest, "You always loved the crowd, loved winning every competition when we were little". "And for some reason, you felt so threatened by me that you competed every single time, yet hated when you lost to me", I replied, eyes narrowing, "I didn't hate it," he returned, "just swore it would never happen again". The heat of his words curled through me, uninvited, unwelcomed. His grip tightened guiding me into a turn so smooth the room blurred. "And that's why you never play fair", I noted. "that's why I win," his tone shifted to something more stern. At this point, I refused to let my pulse betray me, "You insufferable." I muttered, "And you," he murmured, pulling me out then back in sharply, his hand firm at my spine, "are enjoying this more than you'll admit". I arched a brow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a smile."Enjoyment isn't the word I'd choose. Survival, maybe. Strategy. But you wouldn't understand either– you've always betted on arrogance." His laugh was low. The kind that curled around my skin in ways I didn't care to admit . He leaned in, voice velvety, "Arrogance? No, sweetheart. Confidence. The kind you'll need if this merger is gonna be more than a glossy headline.", I tilted my head, my smile measured, my tone deliberate. "And what exactly would working together look like to you? I smile pretty for the cameras while you take the credit?" He feigned offense, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Tempting... but no, I imagine late nights in boardrooms– your pen shredding my proposals just to prove you can, me winning over investors before you scare them off with that razor tongue of yours. Though, I'd appreciate it if you don't get in my way." he retorted, eyes narrowing, a sour expression on his face. "I'm not one of your pawns, Sebastian," I scoffed, voice taut. "I don't bend to your terms." "And yet, you're here. Dancing with me. Your family's legacy tied to mine. You might need to." I leaned in closer, stepping into the space he thought he owned. His eyes sparkled with amusement. He was enjoying this. "Need isn't the same as want, Montclair. I'll work with you because I must. But don't mistake that for surrender." something flickered in his eyes– hunger, challenge, maybe both.

I met his storm-colored eyes for the briefest second, heat and challenge colliding. The music swelled, applause rose as the waltz ended, and we froze in perfect posture, his hand lingering just a fraction too long on mine before he released it.

We were a picture of polished perfect, yet it felt like I had just sparred with the enemy – and I wasn't sure who won.