Chapter 4: The Poisoned Chalice

Avery tightened the silk belt of her robe, her heart rate finally settling into a steady, albeit cautious, rhythm. She looked over at Damien. He was still leaning back in the leather armchair, the firelight carving his sharp jawline out of the shadows.

"Since we are officially husband and wife," Damien began, his voice cutting through the crackle of the hearth, "it seems only fitting we share a drink to celebrate. Or perhaps... to mourn our lost freedom."

He stood up, smoothly navigating the space between the hearth and a sleek, dark-wood bar cart in the corner. He didn't use his cane this time, his hand lightly tracing the edge of the mantle, then the back of a chaise lounge, acting the part of a man relying on tactile memory.

Avery watched him closely. His movements were incredibly fluid, almost too graceful for someone living in complete darkness.

"What are we drinking?" Avery asked, keeping her distance.

"A vintage Cabernet," Damien replied, his back to her as he poured the deep red liquid into two crystal glasses. "A favorite of yours, if I recall my files correctly. You insisted on having this exact bottle imported for the wedding night."

Avery's hand froze halfway to her side. "Files?" she repeated, the word slipping out before she could stop it. Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean, files?"

Damien didn't turn around immediately, but his shoulders shifted slightly. When he finally turned, holding the two glasses, his face was a mask of serene indifference. He extended one glass toward the empty space to his left—deliberately misjudging where she was standing by a few feet to play his part.

"When marrying into the Kingsley family, my sweet wife, everything is vetted," Damien murmured, his voice smooth and conversational. "Background checks, medical histories, financial records, personal preferences... My team compiles a highly detailed dossier on anyone who enters my inner circle. I like to know exactly who is sharing my home, even if I have to listen to the audio translations of the text."

Avery stepped forward quietly, taking the glass from his hand, though her mind was suddenly racing at a million miles an hour.

A dossier. A file.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. If Damien had a detailed file on Kendra’s entire life, her likes, her dislikes, and her habits, then Avery was walking through a minefield. One wrong step, one wrong preference, like drinking this wine, and the whole façade would blow up in her face.

But then, a sharp, dangerous spark of determination lit up inside her.

If I can find those files, Avery thought, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass, I can study them. I’ll know exactly how to play Kendra perfectly. I’ll know exactly what he expects of me.

She had to find where he kept his private documents. She had to launch a mission of her own, right under the nose of the Blind Beast.

"To a long, prosperous union," Damien said, raising his glass, breaking her train of thought.

"To family," Avery amended softly, her mind flashing to her grandmother, pale and fragile, hooked up to machines. She took a sip of the wine. The rich, dark liquid coated her tongue. She actually appreciated the deep, earthy undertones, completely forgetting to act like Kendra.

Behind his dark lenses, Damien’s eyes narrowed. He knew Kendra hated Cabernet.

"You aren't complaining," Damien remarked, taking a slow sip of his own. "I expected a lecture about the temperature, or perhaps a demand for something sparkling. My files were very specific about your... let's say, particular tastes."

Avery forced a tight, artificial laugh, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was already slipping up. "I... I decided to expand my palate tonight. A new life deserves new tastes, don't you think? You can't trust everything written on paper, Damien."

"Indeed," Damien murmured, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her. The distance between them shrank, and Avery felt the air in the room turn heavy and suffocating. "But paper isn't the only thing that seems to have got it wrong, Kendra."

"What do you mean?" Avery asked, backing up until her knees hit the edge of the plush chaise lounge.

Damien stopped just inches away. He reached out, his long fingers finding the rim of her glass, gently guiding it down to the side table so she wouldn't spill it. His other hand slid up, the back of his warm knuckles brushing against her bare cheek. Avery’s breath hitched, her skin tingling at the contact.

"Your voice," Damien whispered, his thumb lightly tracing her lower lip. "Kendra’s voice on the phone was always... sharp. Piercing. Like glass rubbing against concrete. But yours... yours is like velvet. Soft. Grounded."

His touch descended, sliding down her jawline, his fingers lingering right over the pulse point on her neck. He could feel her heart hammering like a trapped bird beneath his fingertips.

"And your posture," Damien continued, his head tilting down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You stand like a woman who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. Not a spoiled socialite who has never known a day of worry."

Avery’s hands began to tremble. The sheer intensity of his proximity, the warmth of his skin, and the terrifying accuracy of his words were overwhelming. He was dissecting her piece by piece, and she had no defense.

"People change when they face reality, Damien," Avery whispered, desperately trying to keep her voice from shaking. "Maybe I'm just... growing up."

Damien let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated against her collarbone. He pulled his hand back, leaving her skin cold in his absence.

"Perhaps," Damien said, taking a step back and draining the rest of his wine. He turned his blind, masked face toward the massive bed. "Or perhaps the Vance family has more secrets than they let on."

He walked toward the bed, unbuttoning his waistcoat and tossing it onto a nearby chair, leaving him in a crisp white shirt that clung to his broad shoulders.

"Either way," Damien murmured, his voice laced with a dangerous, playful promise, "I have a feeling my married life is going to be far more interesting than I anticipated."