Chapter 2: Velvet Noose
890 Words
The Moreau ballroom glowed with chandeliers, each crystal dripping light like molten gold. The place smelled of champagne, polished oak, and too many perfumes competing in the air. Celeste stood near the mirrored wall, gown flowing like liquid silver, her posture carved from ice.
She’d learned long ago how to perform. How to smile without warmth, how to tilt her head at compliments without hearing them, how to carry herself like a statue men were meant to admire, not touch. Tonight, every inch of her mask had to be flawless.
Because tonight, her engagement was a spectacle.
Her father hadn’t wasted a minute. Invitations sent, photographers bribed, politicians gathered like vultures. The judge’s daughter and the crime lord’s heir. A union written in blood and signed in champagne.
Across the room, Lucien Valez was already surrounded. He wore black again, perfectly tailored, like midnight wrapped in silk. His hand rested lazily in his pocket as he bent his head toward some councilman, listening with the focus of a predator who already knew how the conversation would end.
People laughed too hard around him. Smiled too wide. Feared too much.
Celeste’s jaw ached from holding her expression still.
“Smile wider,” her father’s voice murmured at her side. “The cameras are watching.”
Celeste didn’t look at him. “Perhaps you should smile for both of us.”
The orchestra struck up a waltz, and the master of ceremonies announced the couple’s first dance.
Celeste’s stomach turned.
Lucien approached through the crowd, every step measured. His eyes locked on hers, and suddenly the crowd blurred into faceless shapes. He extended his hand, waiting.
She placed hers in his with deliberate slowness. His grip was firm, warm, too steady.
They moved into the dance. Celeste hated that he was good, his lead precise, confident. No hesitation. He guided her with a palm at her back, fingers pressing just enough to remind her who was in control.
“You look like you want to kill me,” Lucien murmured, lips brushing her ear as they turned.
“Not here,” she replied smoothly. “Too many witnesses.”
He chuckled low in his throat. “I admire your patience.”
“Don’t mistake it for consent.”
The crowd applauded as they twirled, but the real dance was in their eyes, daggers flashing, sparks catching.
Halfway through the evening, Celeste escaped to the champagne table. She needed a pause, a breath, a break in the mask. She sipped, the bubbles sharp on her tongue.
A voice slid in beside her. “Congratulations, cousin.”
She turned. Luca Carrion, Lucien’s cousin. His smile was wide, charming, but his eyes glinted with something darker.
“You must be Celeste,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “My family speaks of you already.”
“Do they?” she asked coolly.
“Oh, yes. Brave, beautiful, brilliant. And doomed, perhaps, but that part’s not polite to mention.”
She raised her glass in a mock toast. “Then don’t.”
Luca’s grin widened. “Lucien doesn’t deserve you.”
She didn’t answer. But when she glanced across the room, Lucien was watching them. Watching her. His glass of whiskey hung untouched in his hand, his expression unreadable.
Later, needing air, Celeste slipped onto the balcony. The night was cold, the city below glittering with a million lights like broken glass.
She leaned against the railing, breathing hard.
“You’ll catch a chill,” came Lucien’s voice behind her.
She stiffened but didn’t turn. “Do you ever stop hovering?”
He stepped closer, the sound of his shoes soft against the stone. “Only when I’m bored.”
She finally turned, meeting his gaze head-on. “And tonight?”
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Tonight, I’m entertained.”
She narrowed her eyes. “By what? My misery?”
“By your fire.” His tone was almost lazy, but the heat in his eyes betrayed him.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. The city’s hum filled it, car horns faint below. He leaned in, just enough for the world to blur again.
Her breath hitched despite herself.
Celeste’s palm cracked across his cheek before she could stop it. The sound cut the air.
He didn’t flinch. He just smiled. Slowly.
“Careful, princess,” he murmured. “You’ll make me think you like me.”
The night ended with applause, flashes from cameras, and more handshakes than Celeste could endure. At last, the crowd thinned, the orchestra packed away.
Her father pressed a small black box into her hand. “You’ll move in tonight. Appearances demand it.”
Celeste opened it. A single key gleamed under the chandelier light.
She wanted to throw it into the champagne fountain. Instead, she closed the box, spine straight.
Lucien appeared at her side, taking the box from her fingers with infuriating ease. “Shall we?”
She said nothing as they walked together out of the ballroom, every flashbulb capturing the perfect couple.
The limousine door shut behind them with a weight that felt like a verdict.
When they reached the penthouse, Lucien opened the door and stepped aside, his eyes glinting.
“Ladies first.”
Celeste lifted her chin, stepped inside, and realized too late, she had crossed into his world.
- Writer
