I MARRIED MY ENEMY'S SON

GLASS SMILES AND GUNFIRE

The glass walls of the ballroom reflected me back a thousand times over — too-perfect hair, flawless makeup, and a diamond ring heavy enough to crush bone. I didn't recognize her. The version of me who smiled for photographers and whispered pleasantries to men old enough to be my grandfather looked like a stranger wearing my skin.

"Stop glaring at yourself," Celeste murmured beside me, straightening the strap of her metallic gown. "You'll crack the mirror."

"I'm not glaring," I muttered. "I'm… assessing."

Celeste arched a brow. "Assessing? You mean plotting. That's your I'm-about-to-poison-someone face."

"Good. At least it's convincing." I forced a smile as another server floated past with champagne.

She sighed dramatically. "You're making your own engagement party miserable, you know. Isn't the point to bask in your glittering betrayal?"

I elbowed her lightly. "You sound almost proud."

"I'm horrified," she said sweetly, eyes scanning the growing crowd. "But horrified in a couture dress. Now—oh look. Here comes your beloved fiancé. Try not to stab him with your stiletto. Or do. I'm not picky."

I didn't need her to point him out. Damian Cortez had a presence that slid through any room like a blade: sharp, effortless, impossible to ignore. He moved toward me in a perfectly cut black suit, expression calm, eyes like a still lake hiding something deep and dangerous. The Cortez heir — my enemy, my fiancé, my newest headache.

"Aria." His voice held that infuriating edge of warmth, as though we weren't on opposite sides of a family blood feud dressed up as a wedding. "You look… prepared to declare war."

"Better than looking unprepared," I said, forcing my lips into a polite curve. "Shall we?"

He offered his arm — a move so traditional I wanted to laugh. The photographers swarmed like vultures as I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow. His muscles were coiled steel beneath the fabric, rigid as mine. Our smiles glittered for the cameras, twin weapons polished to perfection.

"I see you've mastered the art of smiling like you're in pain," Damian murmured between the flashbulbs. "Careful. They'll think I've stepped on your foot."

"Only if you're lucky," I murmured back. "Otherwise I might step on yours."

He chuckled under his breath, and the sound — damn him — was warm enough to curl through me like heat in winter. I hated that. I hated him. And I hated the way we fit together so seamlessly for the crowd, bodies angled just so, his hand at my waist steady without presumption. Anyone looking would think we were in love. I almost believed it myself.

Almost.

---

The evening spiraled into a predictable circus of polite venom. Glasses clinked, old men traded barbs disguised as compliments, and every conversation came back to us: the glittering heirs, the grand alliance, the future of two empires.

"You're both radiant," cooed Mrs. Delgado, a woman whose smile had as many knives as my own. "True love suits you."

Damian squeezed my waist just hard enough to be felt through the silk. "We're very lucky," he said smoothly.

"Yes," I agreed sweetly. "Some people spend their whole lives searching for someone tolerable."

Her eyes twinkled as if she suspected the double edge. Damian's gaze flicked toward me — a spark of amusement barely contained.

As the evening wore on, the verbal fencing intensified. Every time he leaned close to murmur some strategic comment, my body betrayed me — stiffening, reacting, not because I wanted him near, but because I hated that he knew how to make it look natural. The polite brush of his fingers guiding me through the crowd felt like a dare.

"You're enjoying this," I accused during a lull, when we'd stolen a moment near the bar. My voice was low, my smile still picture-perfect.

"Immensely," Damian said, sipping his drink. "You're magnificent when you're cornered."

"I'm not cornered," I shot back. "I'm choosing not to bite your head off in public."

"Then by all means," he murmured, leaning just slightly closer, "save it for later. I'd hate to deprive you of the satisfaction."

I stared at him, holding that calm, maddening gaze, until someone called his name and the moment fractured. But the current between us didn't fade — it thrummed, dangerous and alive.

---

Hours blurred together, champagne and polite smiles and meaningless chatter. By the time I finally slipped away from the ballroom — Celeste at my side, chattering about how she'd dodged three separate gossip reporters — my jaw ached from smiling.

"Freedom," she sighed as we reached the quieter corridor leading toward the garden terrace. "Sweet, fleeting freedom."

"I need air," I muttered, tugging off my heels. "I swear if one more person calls us a power couple I'll—"

A faint sound cut me off. A dull thud, too heavy to be a dropped glass. My pulse spiked instantly. Celeste froze beside me.

"Did you hear—" she began, but the words died as we turned the corner.

For a split second my brain refused to process what I was seeing. Celeste was there — no, she was on the ground. No, she was falling. Her dress gleamed like liquid silver as she crumpled to her knees. I caught her before she hit the floor, hands tangling in the fabric, warm wetness spreading terrifyingly fast under my fingers.

"Celeste? Celeste!" My voice tore from my throat, sharp and panicked.

Her eyes were wide with shock, lips parting, trying to speak — but no sound came out. Blood seeped through my hands, bright and horrible, and that's when I saw it: the paper, folded crudely, jammed into the wound like some grotesque signature.

Your biggest cover up yet

Will be your greatest downfall

The words blurred as I tried to tear it free, but it was soaked red, sticking to my trembling fingers.

"Aria—" Damian's voice, suddenly near, urgent. He was running down the corridor, eyes sharp, scanning, assessing. I didn't even think about how close he must have been — why he was nearby at all.

"Help me!" My voice cracked, raw. "Someone shot her—"

He was already on his knees, jacket off, pressing hard against the wound. "Call someone. Now!"

"I—yes—" My phone slipped, fingers slick, but I forced them steady. Emergency services. Words I barely heard myself say.

Celeste gasped weakly, her eyes fluttering. I gripped her hand, cold dread searing through me. This wasn't a warning. This was a message. And not just for me.

When I met Damian's gaze over Celeste's still body, his expression was all sharp edges. For once, there was no cool amusement, no practiced calm. Just raw fury — and a flash of something that looked uncomfortably like fear.

The sound of approaching footsteps shattered the frozen silence. Voices rising. Security, family, guests. But all I could hear was my own heartbeat roaring in my ears — and the words on that blood-soaked note burning themselves into my skull.