Chapter 8: Steel Beneath Satin

Rayén Altiplano 

The sirens from three nights ago had long fallen silent, but the red glare of their strobe lights still felt burned into the back of my eyelids.

The perimeter breach had been swept under the rug with terrifying efficiency.

“A server error during a routine diagnostic,” Morales had claimed, his voice flat and his jaw tight as he escorted me back to my quarters.

He thought I was stupid.

But I had seen the fresh blood smeared across the floorboards near the server room when the guards thought I wasn’t looking.

The Errázuriz empire was rotting from the inside, and the concrete walls of Las Condes were the only thing keeping it from collapsing.

Now, those same walls felt like a noose.

I stood on a low wooden pedestal in the center of the private dressing room while three seamstresses worked around me in nervous silence. Their heads remained bowed as they adjusted the gown.

Before me stood a grand, gold-framed mirror.

The woman staring back at me barely looked like myself.

The gown was beautiful.

And suffocating.

Ivory silk and bone-colored satin covered my body, flowing into a long train. The corset pulled tightly against my ribs, making every breath deliberate. Lace climbed from my wrists to my throat.

To everyone else, it was a wedding gown.

To me, it was armor.

And armor was useless without steel beneath it.

“A little tighter around the waist, please,” I said.

The lead seamstress, a gray-haired woman named Teresa, glanced up before adjusting the satin at my hip.

“Of course, Señorita Rayén. We’re only securing the lower lining.”

“Take your time.”

My eyes remained fixed on the mirror.

Beneath the heavy outer skirt, hidden where the silk met the underskirt, was a narrow slit I had cut two nights ago with a loose screw from the bathroom fixture.

And behind the vanity, wrapped in dark velvet inside my sewing kit, was the real weapon.

It wasn’t the metal stiletto Morales had confiscated when I arrived. That blade had been a sacrifice—a small piece of bait to make Lautaro believe I had been disarmed.

This one was different.

An obsidian-tipped stiletto carved from volcanic stone. It contained no steel or iron, making it invisible to the biometric weapon scanners throughout Las Condes.

I needed it sewn into the gown.

When the wedding came, Lautaro would expect me to be helpless beneath layers of silk and surrounded by his guards.

He wouldn’t expect the dress itself to be a sheath.

“We need a moment, Teresa.”

The deep voice came from the open doorway.

Every seamstress froze.

Teresa immediately lowered her head.

“Yes, Don Lautaro.”

The three women gathered their pins and shears before filing out of the room. The door clicked shut behind them.

I watched Lautaro approach through the mirror.

He had removed his dark suit jacket. His white shirt was open at the collar, and his dark hair was slightly disheveled.

He looked exhausted.

For once, he didn’t look like the untouchable Don who controlled everything around him.

Then his amber eyes met mine in the mirror.

Something changed.

He stopped two feet behind me.

“You look…”

He paused.

For a brief second, genuine admiration crossed his face.

“You look dangerous, Rayén.”

“I look like a trophy,” I corrected. “A captive dressed in satin so your captains can believe you’ve tamed the Altiplano bloodline.”

He stepped closer.

“I have never tried to tame you.”

His hand lifted, hesitated, then brushed against my shoulder blade.

The warmth of his touch sent an unwanted tremor down my spine.

“If I wanted someone soft, I would have married a politician’s daughter,” he said quietly. “I need someone who can survive what’s coming for this house.”

“By forcing me into a contract?”

I turned slowly on the pedestal, making him face me.

“You talk about surviving, Lautaro, but you fail to realize that I am the threat in this house. Every time you look at me, you’re looking at the girl whose family you erased.”

“I didn’t erase them.”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer until his boots touched the edge of my skirt.

“And no matter how much you hate me, you know killing your father made no strategic sense for me. It destroyed my alliances. It endangered my sister. It pushed my own men toward mutiny.”

“Then who did it?”

My hands clenched inside the folds of my gown, my fingers brushing against the hidden slit in the lining.

“Give me a name,” I demanded, “or admit you’re a coward hiding behind your father’s memory.”

Pain flashed across his face.

Raw.

Unprotected.

He reached for me, wrapping one hand around the back of my neck. His fingers rested against my hairline as he pulled me slightly closer.

“The letter I found in the briefcase…”

His breath brushed my cheek.

“It was written by my father the night before he died. He knew an ambush was coming.”

My pulse quickened.

“And the man who leaked your father’s location in Barrio Italia…”

He paused.

“…was my uncle, Mateo.”

The air left my lungs.

Mateo Errázuriz.

The man who commanded the southern borders.

“Mateo wants the whole city,” Lautaro continued. “He used your father’s blood to start a war. He wanted you and me to destroy each other so he could step over our bodies and take the seat.”

I stared at him.

My mind raced as I searched his face for a lie.

There wasn’t one.

Only anger.

Only grief.

Only the same nightmare I had been trapped inside.

We were two survivors caught in a slaughterhouse built by the men who claimed to protect us.

“Why tell me this now?” I whispered.

“Because the wedding is in two days.”

His thumb traced my jaw, sending another unwanted shiver through me.

“And Mateo will be sitting in the front row, waiting for one of us to make a mistake.”

He leaned closer.

His lips hovered dangerously near mine.

“When the time comes, Rayén,” he whispered, “are you going to put that blade through my neck…”

His eyes held mine.

“…or his?”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

My fingers twitched inside the folds of silk, right over the hidden seam where the obsidian stiletto waited.

Before I could answer, a violent thud shook the dressing room door.

I jumped.

Then Morales’s panicked voice tore through the wood.

“Don Lautaro! Get out of there!”

Another crash followed.

“The southern convoy just blew the gate! Mateo’s men are inside the perimeter wall…”

His voice broke with urgency.

“…and they brought heavy armor!”