Fool’s Gold and High-Heeled Curses

SILK, SENSATIONS, AND SUFFOCATING CLOSENESS

Episode 3

The grand ballroom of the Obsidian Palace was a sea of shimmering silk, floating crystal goblets, and high-society demons who looked like they dined exclusively on gold dust and mortal secrets.

And right in the dead center of it stood Evangeline Vance, wearing a gown made of midnight-blue shadow-silk that Aurelius had magically conjured to replace her soot-covered leather armor.

It fit her like a second skin—low-cut, backless, and far too revealing for a woman whose primary profession was breaking and entering.

"Stop squirming, wildcat,"

Aurelius whispered into her ear.

His right arm was wrapped snugly around her waist, keeping her pressed against his side so the glowing golden tether hidden beneath their clothes didn't snap them into each other. "You're drawing attention."

"I am squirming because your hand is touching my bare lower back," Evangeline hissed through a brilliant, fake smile aimed at a passing Duke. "And if you slide your fingers one inch lower, I will test whether demon lords can regrow their hands."

"A tempting threat,"

Aurelius purred, his thumb lightly tracing a lazy, electrified circle on the small of her back.

The touch sent a traitorous, delicious shiver straight down her spine, making her breath hitch.

"But considering we are legally bound by ancient magic to remain five feet apart, you might find it inconvenient to carry my severed hand around all evening."

Before she could stomp on his polished boots, a towering, four-horned demon aristocrat glided up to them, two heavy crystal glasses of sparkling blood-wine in hand.

"Ah, Lord Malakor!"

the Duke boomed, his glowing red eyes sizing up Evangeline with predatory curiosity.

"I see you’ve brought a... mortal guest to the Harvest Soirée.

I was under the impression you preferred companions with a bit more... refined heritage."

Evangeline’s eyes narrowed.

She opened her mouth to deliver a razor-sharp insult that would humiliate the Duke for three generations, but Aurelius beat her to it.

His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest until she could feel the steady, thunderous beat of his heart through his velvet coat.

"My dear Duke,"

Aurelius said, his voice dropping into a deep, dangerous purr that silenced the surrounding crowd.

"Evangeline’s heritage is entirely her own.

And I assure you, her tongue is far sharper—and infinitely more captivating—than anyone in this room."

He turned his head slightly, his molten-gold eyes fixing on Evangeline’s lips with an intensity so raw, so utterly mesmerizing, that her tongue suddenly forgot how to form words.

"Besides,"

Aurelius added softly, leaning down until his lips brushed her burning jawline,

"I find myself utterly incapable of letting her go."

Evangeline’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She knew he was playing a role to keep his guard off her back—and to keep her from slipping the stolen Heart-Bind Contract out of his coat pocket—but the heat radiating between them was no longer fake.

It was a suffocating, intoxicating wave that threatened to drown them both.

"Careful, My Lord,"

Evangeline whispered back, her fingers curling tight into his velvet lapels as she pulled him down an inch closer.

"People might actually believe you're falling for me."

Aurelius’s wicked smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, his gaze dropping to her parted lips, suddenly dark, heavy, and dangerous.

"And what if I am?" he murmured.

Before she could process the sudden, breathless drop in her stomach, the ballroom's high crystal chandelier flickered once, twice, and exploded into a shower of harmless purple sparks—and three hooded assassins dropped from the ceiling rafters, daggers drawn.