MARTINA

Beneath the Chandelier Lights

Martina’s POV

Miss Moretti stood directly in front of me, blocking my exit like she had been waiting for this exact moment.

Up close, she was striking—painfully so. Dark hair styled in soft, deliberate waves, skin flawless, lips painted the kind of red that didn’t apologize. Everything about her screamed privilege. Power. A life untouched by fear.

Her eyes, though—

Those were sharp.

Calculating.

The kind that measured people in a single glance and decided their worth.

“Well,” she said slowly, her gaze dragging over me again, “look who’s still here.”

I said nothing.

My pulse throbbed at my temples, but I forced my face into something neutral. Empty. Invisible. I’d learned that expression a long time ago. It was how you survived when you didn’t belong.

She tilted her head. “You ignored me earlier.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I replied calmly. “I was lost.”

Her lips curved, but there was no humor in it. “You don’t get lost in places like this by accident.”

I held her gaze. “I’m just a guest.”

A laugh escaped her—short, sharp. “No. You’re not.”

Before I could respond, her fingers closed around my wrist.

Not tight.

Not gentle either.

Possessive.

My breath caught, memories colliding violently in my chest. Another grip. Another night. Another man who thought holding someone meant owning them.

I stiffened instantly.

“Let go of me,” I said, my voice low.

Her eyes flickered—surprise, then irritation. “Careful. You don’t know who you’re talking to.”

“I don’t care,” I shot back before I could stop myself.

That did it.

Her expression hardened. “Interesting. You should.”

She leaned closer, her perfume wrapping around me—sweet, expensive, suffocating.

“I’m Valentina Moretti.”

The name landed like a warning shot.

Moretti.

The same name whispered behind pillars. The same name that made grown men nervous. The same name that required armed guards at a party hosted by another powerful family.

I swallowed.

“Now,” Valentina continued, lowering her voice, “I’ll ask again. Who are you?”

I hesitated half a second too long.

Her fingers tightened.

Before I could speak, a new voice cut in.

“Valentina.”

Calm. Controlled. Male.

Her grip loosened immediately.

I turned.

And froze.

He stood a few feet away, tall and composed, dressed in a black suit that fit him like it had been designed for his body alone. Broad shoulders. Sharp jawline. Dark hair pushed back casually, like he didn’t need to try.

His eyes—

Those blue eyes—

They were the same ones.

The man from earlier.

The one who had grabbed my wrist in the hallway.

The one whose scent still clung to my senses.

Recognition flashed across his face the moment he saw me. Just a flicker. Quick. Dangerous.

He remembered.

Valentina sighed dramatically. “What?”

“That’s enough,” he said.

She scoffed. “She was being rude.”

He looked at me again, slower this time. Assessing. “She doesn’t look rude.”

His gaze held mine for a second too long.

Something electric passed between us—unease, curiosity, tension sharp enough to cut.

Valentina followed his gaze and frowned. “You know her?”

“No,” he replied instantly.

The answer came too fast.

Too clean.

A lie.

My stomach twisted.

“Then why do you care?” Valentina pressed.

He didn’t take his eyes off me. “Because you’re causing a scene.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, she released my wrist completely.

“Fine,” she snapped. “But she doesn’t belong here.”

He turned his attention fully to Valentina. “I’ll handle it.”

She hesitated, then nodded stiffly. “Don’t take too long.”

As she walked away, her eyes flicked back to me—promising this wasn’t over.

The moment she was gone, silence stretched between us.

The noise of the party faded into the background. I was suddenly too aware of how close he stood. Of the heat radiating from him. Of the fact that he hadn’t moved to let me pass.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

“I could say the same about you,” I replied.

His lips twitched slightly. “No. You couldn’t.”

I folded my arms, forcing distance. “Then move.”

He didn’t.

Instead, his gaze dropped—to my wrist.

There was a faint red mark where Valentina had grabbed me.

His jaw tightened.

“You look like someone who knows how to get into trouble,” he said.

“And you look like someone who creates it.”

That earned a real smile.

Dangerous.

Brief.

“I’m Elias,” he said finally.

The name hit harder than I expected.

Elias.

The same Elias they’d mentioned.

The one they wanted to marry off.

The one who refused to tie himself to a mob family.

The one who apparently stood right in front of me.

My heart pounded.

I masked it quickly. “Good for you.”

His brow lifted. “That’s it?”

“I don’t collect names,” I replied coolly. “Especially not tonight.”

Something dark flickered behind his eyes.

“Then let me give you advice,” he said. “Leave. Before someone decides to ask harder questions.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No,” he said softly. “I’m warning you.”

For a moment, I almost believed him.

Then I remembered Robert Harrison standing on that stage. Smiling. Applauded. Untouchable.

Men like Elias didn’t warn people out of kindness.

They warned them when they were involved.

“I don’t need your help,” I said.

“Everyone says that,” he replied. “Right before they do.”

I stepped past him.

He didn’t stop me.

But as I walked away, his voice followed me—low enough that only I could hear it.

“Be careful, Martina.”

I stopped cold.

Slowly, I turned back.

My heart was in my throat. “How do you know my name?”

Elias met my gaze evenly.

And for the first time since I’d entered the mansion, I felt it.

Real fear.

Because whatever game this was—

Whatever war brewed beneath the chandelier lights—

I had just stepped directly into it....

My breath stalled in my lungs.

The music was still playing. Glasses still clinked. Laughter still rose and fell around us like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

“How do you know my name?” I asked again, slower this time.

Elias didn’t answer immediately.

That silence was worse than any lie.

He studied my face with a kind of focus that made my skin prickle, like he was stripping layers off me one by one—seeing past the dress, past the borrowed confidence, past the girl pretending to belong at a party she had no right to attend.

“You’re tense,” he said instead. “Which tells me you didn’t expect that.”

My fingers curled into my palms. “Answer me.”

His gaze flicked briefly to the crowd behind me. To the guards. To the people who could ruin me in seconds if they chose to look too closely.

“Not here,” he said.

“I didn’t ask where,” I snapped. “I asked how.”

Something shifted in his expression then—subtle, but unmistakable. The calm façade cracked just enough to reveal something sharper underneath.

“You’re asking the wrong question, Martina,” he murmured. “The right one is why you’re here at all.”

My heart slammed violently.

If he pushed even a little harder—

If he said one wrong thing—

I would run.

Or worse.

“I came with an invitation.”

His eyes darkened. “No, you didn’t.”

I hated how sure he sounded.

I stepped back. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you don’t drink wine,” he said quietly. “You barely touched it. You kept glancing at the exits. And you flinched when Valentina grabbed your wrist.”

My throat tightened.

“And,” he added, lowering his voice, “I know you weren’t here to celebrate.”

I laughed—too quickly. “You’re imagining things.”

“No,” he said. “I’m recognizing patterns.”

I turned away.

I needed air. Space. Distance from his voice and those eyes that felt like they were peeling me open.

But before I could take more than a step, he moved—fast.

Not blocking me this time.

Guiding.

His hand hovered at the small of my back without touching, steering me subtly toward a shadowed corridor branching off from the garden. To anyone watching, it would look casual. Intimate, even.

Dangerous.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Making sure you don’t get dragged into a room and interrogated,” he replied calmly. “Because if my father notices you now, he won’t ask questions first.”

My blood ran cold.

“Your father?” I echoed.

He glanced at me. “Robert Harrison.”

The world tilted.

So this was it.

The son of the monster.

My steps faltered.

Elias noticed instantly.

Something unreadable crossed his face. “You didn’t know.”

It wasn’t a question.

I forced myself to keep walking. “I know exactly who he is.”

“Do you?” he asked. “Or do you know the version people whisper about?”

I stopped abruptly and turned to face him.

The dim lighting softened nothing about him up close. If anything, it made him more dangerous. Shadows clung to the sharp lines of his face, his eyes darker now, watchful.

“I know what he did,” I said through clenched teeth. “And I know men like him never pay for it.”

His jaw tightened.

“That’s not as simple as you think.”

“Isn’t it?” I shot back. “Funny how it never is for people like you.”

Silence stretched.

Then, quietly: “You hate him.”

It wasn’t an accusation.

It was an observation.

I said nothing.

Because if I spoke, the truth would spill out—raw and violent and irreversible.

He exhaled slowly. “You should leave. Now.”

“I already told you—”

“This isn’t a suggestion anymore,” he interrupted, his voice dropping. “Valentina is watching you. So is my father. And the Morettis don’t forget faces.”

My stomach churned.

“So you do work with them,” I said bitterly.

His eyes snapped back to mine. “No.”

“Then why defend them?”

“I’m not defending anyone,” he replied sharply. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

I scoffed. “You barely know me.”

His gaze softened just a fraction. “That might be exactly why.”

Before I could respond, raised voices drifted toward us.

Elias stiffened.

He turned slightly, positioning himself between me and the sound. Protective. Instinctive.

Robert Harrison’s voice cut through the music.

“Where is she?”

Every nerve in my body screamed.

“She?” Elias asked coolly as Robert appeared at the corridor entrance.

Robert Harrison looked exactly as he had on stage—polished, powerful, smiling.

But up close, his eyes were wrong.

Cold.

Predatory.

“Your guest,” Robert continued, his gaze sliding past Elias—landing on me. “The girl who doesn’t belong.”

My chest tightened.

Elias didn’t move. “She’s leaving.”

Robert’s smile widened. “Already? That would be unfortunate. I was hoping to meet her properly.”

I forced myself not to flinch.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said, meeting his gaze head-on.

Something sparked in his eyes—interest.

Dangerous interest.

“Brave,” he mused. “Or foolish.”

“Enough,” Elias said sharply.

Robert turned to him slowly. “Watch your tone.”

Their resemblance was undeniable now—the same bone structure, the same intensity—but where Elias carried tension, Robert carried cruelty with ease.

Robert stepped closer.

I smelled his cologne. Felt the weight of his attention.

“Tell me,” he said softly, “who invited you?”

I opened my mouth—

“—I did,” Elias cut in.

My head snapped toward him.

So did Robert’s.

The air went still.

Robert studied his son for a long moment, then chuckled. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Then Robert smiled again. “Interesting.”

He looked back at me. “Well then, enjoy the rest of the evening. But don’t wander.”

His gaze lingered—too long.

Then he turned and walked away.

I realized I was shaking.

Elias let out a breath he’d been holding. “That was close.”

“Why did you lie?” I whispered.

He looked at me, something heavy in his eyes. “Because now he’ll remember you.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s a problem.”

I swallowed. “Then why do it?”

His voice dropped. “Because if he digs into you himself, whatever you’re hiding won’t survive.”

My heart hammered.

“What do you think I’m hiding?” I asked.

Elias held my gaze.

“I think,” he said slowly, “you didn’t come here by accident.”

A distant clock chimed somewhere in the mansion.

Midnight.

The night had crossed a line.

And so had I.