The Masked Merchant
700 Words
Chapter 23
Valemont Manor hummed with evening preparations, but Duke Adrian sulked like a stubborn wolf denied his favourite meal.
“We don’t have to go,” he muttered for the sixth time while Camila sorted through her accessories. “My wife hasn’t cuddled me properly since I returned. This is abuse.”
Camila blinked. “You were gone for only a week.”
“And that is precisely why I deserve compensation,” he insisted, inching closer. “Emotional compensation. Physical compensation. Preferably both.”
She sighed, amused. “Adrian… it’s a required event. We can not simply refuse an invitation from the empire’s most powerful merchant.”
Adrian’s expression twisted with annoyance. “That masked peacock again…”
Camila tried not to smile. “You’ve never even met him.”
“And I already hate him.”
By evening, Camila stood before the mirror, and even she paused.
Her gown was a soft cascade of moonlit silver, shimmering like liquid starlight. The bodice hugged her delicately, embroidered with tiny crystals shaped like frost-kissed vines. The skirt flowed in gentle waves, each step catching the light in a soft glow.
Her hair was swept into loose waves, pinned with opal combs that reflected soft iridescence. A thin chain of diamonds draped her collarbone, subtle yet breathtaking.
She looked ethereal.
Fragile and powerful.
A winter rose in full bloom.
When Adrian entered the room, his breath left him in a harsh, quiet exhale.
“…Camila.”
His voice was low. Hungry.
She turned slightly. “Does it suit me?”
“Suit you?” He stepped forward, eyes devouring her like a starved man. “Camila, I am fighting the urge to cancel this event, lock the doors, and keep you all to myself.”
Her face heated. “Adrian—”
“You are everything dangerous,” he murmured, grazing her gloved hand with his fingers. “And you don’t even know it.”
The Dinner Party
The grand hall of the merchant’s estate was stunning — chandeliers dripping crystal light, champagne bubbling like spun gold, and socialites glittering in silk and jewels
But the chatter was endless.
“…export profits…”
“…the northern trade routes…”
“…oh, Duchess Valemont, how do you manage your estate…”
“…the Duke looks possessive as always…”
Adrian and Camila sat side by side, matching expressions of pure boredom.
Camila whispered, “If someone mentions silk tariffs again, I may collapse.”
“I will catch you,” Adrian replied instantly. “In fact, go ahead. Collapse into my arms. Now.”
“Adrian.”
“What? I’m supportive.”
When desserts arrived, Adrian sighed dramatically. “I miss our bed.”
“You miss cuddling.”
“It is the same thing.”
She gave him a pointed stare. He stared back with unashamed longing
Suddenly, the lights dimmed.
A hush fell over the crowd.
Camila straightened in her seat, her heartbeat odd and quick — as though a buried instinct awakened.
Footsteps echoed.
Then he emerged.
---
The masked merchant.
Tall, elegant, dangerous in his beauty.
His suit was a rich midnight black, embroidered with metallic threads that shimmered like constellations.
A raven-black mask framed burning golden eyes — eyes that seemed to slice through the hall with sharpened intelligence.
His presence demanded attention.
His aura was powerful enough to rival the empire’s highest nobles.
But…
Camila’s blood turned to ice.
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers trembled.
Her face drained of colour instantly.
Adrian noticed. “Camila?” he whispered urgently.
But she couldn’t answer.
Because the masked merchant — the most powerful trader in the empire - the man whose influence shaped the empires success — lifted his gaze…
And his eyes locked onto hers.
Recognition flashed there.
Dark. Sharp. Unmistakable.
As if he had been waiting for this moment.
Camila’s heart pounded painfully.
It can’t be…
Her throat tightened.
Adrian’s hand reached for hers under the table, protective instincts already roaring awake.
“Camila,” he whispered again, voice darkening, “why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Because she had.
Or rather—
A ghost had just walked into the room.
- Writer
