Chapter Nine: First meeting or is it?

“Hello.”

The word lingered in the air, sweet as honey, sharp as glass. Sienna stood close enough for her perfume to bleed into the space between them—roses and smoke, cloying and suffocating. Her smile was flawless, but her eyes worked like scalpels, dissecting every inch of the stranger before her.

Amara tilted her head, as though studying a curious insect that had dared land on her glass. Her smile unfurled, patient, deliberate.

“Good evening,” she said, her voice soft but steady, silk pulled taut over steel. No tremor, no hesitation. It was a voice crafted for this very moment, and it slipped through Sienna’s ears like a blade between ribs.

Sienna’s gaze flickered—just for a moment—before she reset her smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I make a point of knowing everyone worth knowing.”

Amara let her laugh spill, low and unhurried, the kind that suggested amusement at a private joke. She lifted her champagne flute, let the crystal catch the chandelier light. “Oh, I’m certain we’ll come to know each other soon enough.”

She said it lightly, casually, but the weight of the words pressed into the space between them, invisible and undeniable. Sienna blinked, her polished façade tightening just slightly.

“And you are…?”

Amara sipped her champagne, savoring the silence she left hanging. Damien’s words whispered at the back of her mind: Whispers make them lean closer. She let Sienna lean, let the tension stretch until the hostess’s smile strained against her skin.

“Amara Voss.” The name slid out like smoke, confident and untraceable. A name with no past. A name that would give them sleepless nights in the coming days.

Sienna’s lashes lowered. She repeated it once, quietly, like she was tasting it. “Voss.”

She didn't know a Voss she thought. Looking at the woman who exuded so much power and wealth.

Amara inclined her head, her gaze steady. “It’s a pleasure to be here. Your event is… remarkable.”

“Thank you,” Sienna said, composure snapping back into place, though her eyes were still sharp, probing and hungry. “Remarkable is what we aim for.” She let her glance skim Amara’s gown, her jewels, the way she carried herself. “And you wear remarkable very well.”

The compliment was a knife wrapped in velvet. Amara smiled as though she hadn’t noticed the edge. “One tries.”

But inside, beneath the gown and the mask, her pulse thundered. Because this was the woman. The woman who had dragged Milo’s body across stone and tossed him like refuse into the abyss. The woman whose laughter still haunted her dreams. The urge to lunge, to bare her throat and scream his name, burned like acid in her veins.

"Not to be impolite. But are you here by yourself?"

"Yes, why?"

"Nothing. I was only curious."

Amara caught sight of the ring on Sienna's hand.

" Understandable. Forgive my manners. Congratulations Mrs Cade."

" Oh, Thank you." Sienna took the opportunity to show off her Ring. She and Ethan had only gotten married last month. They put it off for so long because of the stupid bitch Elara. They still haven't found her body. "I'm still getting used to the title. It's only been a month."

And yet—Amara only tilted her head, let her lashes lower, and replied as though nothing bled inside her.

A silence stretched between them. Not awkward. Electric.

From across the room, Ethan had noticed. His gaze lingered, suspicious, calculating. He murmured something to a man at his side, and already the first thread of surveillance had been cast toward her. Perfect. Let them chase shadows. Let them bleed resources trying to unravel the mystery of Amara Voss.

Sienna’s smile softened, the way predators soften just before they strike. “Perhaps later we’ll speak more. I’d like to know where you come from. What you… do.”

Amara’s answering smile was a masterpiece. “Perhaps.”

Her eyes held Sienna’s for a fraction longer than courtesy allowed. And in that fraction, she let the mask slip—not enough to betray herself, but enough to let Sienna feel it. That flicker of something darker. The shadow of an old ghost brushing her skin.

Sienna’s shoulders stiffened before she caught herself. Her smile returned, smooth, practiced, but her hand gripped her glass tighter.

“Enjoy the evening,” she said, voice clipped.

“I intend to.” Amara inclined her head, then turned back to the painting of the storm breaking over the sea. Her reflection in the glass showed her own smile, sharp as broken glass.

Behind her, Sienna’s heels clicked away. But Amara knew. She felt it—the weight of eyes on her back, suspicion already blooming. The trap was set.

And tonight was only the beginning.

Oh how much she'd enjoy the chaos she'd reap into their lives.