CHAPTER NINE: SHADOWS ON VELVET

The ballroom smelled like opulence. Velvet, roses, champagne—and something bitter just beneath the surface. I could feel it all pressing against my skin like a second dress.

Lucien had been absent most of the evening, though his name traveled like a ghost from conversation to conversation. Everyone knew the Blackwood heir had taken a wife. Everyone wanted to see the girl who’d landed the devil himself.

And I—dressed in backless silk that kissed every curve, diamonds biting into my collarbone—smiled like I hadn’t sold my soul to survive.

“This way, Mrs. Blackwood,” a server murmured, gesturing to the private balcony. The words stung, even now. Mrs. Blackwood. A name I wore like chains made of crystal.

The cool air outside was a relief. I leaned against the railing and stared down at the glittering lights of Manhattan. Below me, the city roared like a living beast. In here, we played gods and monsters.

I heard the door open behind me. His footsteps. I didn’t have to look.

“You left your own party,” Lucien said. His voice was low, flat—but under it was steel.

I didn’t turn. “It’s not my party.”

I felt him come closer, each step deliberate. Controlled. Always.

His presence was gravity itself.

“You’re sulking,” he said.

“No,” I replied, finally turning to face him. “I’m breathing.”

Lucien’s eyes were unreadable beneath the amber glow of the chandelier spilling through the glass doors. He looked carved from shadow and expensive sin.

“I don’t enjoy being paraded,” I said. “I’m not a prize, Lucien.”

“You are a Blackwood now.”

The way he said it made my skin crawl and burn all at once. Like it was both a gift and a sentence.

“Then maybe I should learn to disappear like one.”

His jaw tensed. “Careful.”

I stepped forward, emboldened by anger I hadn’t let myself feel in weeks.

“You can’t buy silence with diamonds forever. One day, I’m going to find my voice again. And when I do, you better pray it doesn’t tear your empire down with it.”

His eyes darkened—dangerously—but he didn’t move. That was what made Lucien so terrifying. The restraint. You never saw the cracks until the walls were already falling.

“You think I’m afraid of you?” he asked, voice low.

“I think you’re afraid of something,” I said. “Maybe me. Maybe yourself.”

He moved then—fast. His hand caught my chin, his grip firm but not painful. He tilted my face up to his.

“Don’t romanticize me, Ivy,” he said, voice like velvet stretched over broken glass. “I’m not a wounded prince. I don’t want your redemption. I want your obedience.”

“Then you married the wrong girl,” I whispered.

His hand dropped, and for a moment, something flickered in his gaze. Guilt? Regret? But it vanished like everything human about him always did.

“You’ve had your fresh air,” he said coldly. “Come back inside.”

“I’m not ready.”

Lucien stepped back, gaze narrowing. “Then stay in the shadows. That’s where you belong.”

He walked away without another word, disappearing into the ballroom’s golden light.

I stood there, furious and shaking, my palms pressed to the railing like I could anchor myself with steel.

And then I heard a voice.

“You looked like you wanted to throw him off the balcony.”

Startled, I turned. A man stood at the far end of the terrace, hidden by ivy-laced shadows. He stepped forward, into the moonlight, and my stomach tightened.

Dark suit. Black shirt. No tie. He didn’t belong here—and yet, he looked like he owned the night itself.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But Blackwood does inspire violent fantasies.”

“Who are you?”

“Call me Rhys.”

The name didn’t ring any bells, but his smile did something dangerous to my pulse. There was mischief in his eyes. But something darker too. Something that made the hairs on my neck stand.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” I said cautiously.

“Neither should you,” he replied.

I crossed my arms. “Are you with the press?”

He laughed—a soft, mocking sound. “No. I’m far more dangerous.”

My blood chilled. “What does that mean?”

Rhys stepped closer. He didn’t touch me, but it felt like he had. There was a magnetism to him—darker than Lucien’s, but no less potent.

“I know who you are, Ivy,” he said. “I know what you’re trapped in.”

“And what? You want to save me?”

His smile turned razor-sharp. “No. I want to see what you’ll do when the cage starts burning.”

I stared at him. “Are you threatening me?”

“No,” he said, turning back toward the ballroom doors. “I’m offering you a choice.”

Then he paused. “Ask your husband about Virelli. If he tells you the truth, maybe you’ll survive this marriage.”

Before I could stop him, he slipped inside and vanished into the crowd like a shadow swallowed by firelight.

I stood frozen. The name—Virelli—echoed in my head like a whisper from a locked room.

When I finally walked back inside, Lucien was gone.

And I had never felt more alone in a room full of strangers.

The silence in the car on the way home was unbearable.

Lucien didn’t ask where I’d been. I didn’t tell him about Rhys. Not yet.

But I studied his profile under the dim lights of the limo. Strong jaw. Stoic mouth. Unreadable eyes.

I wondered how many secrets that silence held.

Back at the mansion, I went to my room without speaking. I needed distance. Air. Time to think.

But the moment I stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around me, the door opened.

Lucien stood there.

My heart thudded. “Do you ever knock?”

He didn’t answer. Just stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“I don’t like games,” he said.

“Then stop playing them.”

His gaze burned into me. “You met someone tonight.”

I flinched inwardly. “You had me watched?”

“I had you protected.”

I stepped forward, anger rising. “You don’t get to own me, Lucien. You bought a marriage, not a mind.”

“I bought everything,” he said coldly.

“Who’s Virelli?” I shot back, watching his expression tighten.

Silence. Deadly. Cracking.

“Where did you hear that name?”

I didn’t answer.

Lucien moved closer, voice low. “Forget it. For your own sake.”

“No,” I said, lifting my chin. “Not this time.”

He reached for me—but not to hurt. His hand slid into my hair, his breath hot on my lips. The air between us charged and heavy.

“Ivy,” he said, voice rough. “Stop digging.”

“I can’t,” I whispered.

And then he kissed me.

Harder than the first time. Needier. Like he wanted to silence every question with heat.

I kissed him back.

But this time, my hands were shaking.

Because the shadows were growing.

And I had no idea which man would kill me first—

Lucien.

Or the secrets he kept.