Chapter Eight: The Warning Beneath Silk

The gown clung to my body like a secret I hadn’t meant to tell.

Midnight-blue silk, slit high at the thigh, the neckline an invitation I didn’t recall signing. It wasn’t something I would have chosen, but then again, nothing about this marriage was something I would have chosen.

The note had been simple: Wear this tonight. Be ready by eight. —L

It had been left on my bed beside a velvet box containing the gown, matching heels, and a pair of earrings shaped like dripping stars. Diamond, of course. The weight of expectation had never looked so beautiful—or felt so dangerous.

I adjusted the straps at my shoulders and stared at myself in the mirror. The girl looking back wasn’t me. She was a stranger cloaked in wealth, lips stained the color of bruised plums, eyes lined to look sharper than they felt.

The walls of Blackwood Hall were quiet when I stepped out. The cold marble tiles beneath my feet reflected the chandelier’s light like a thousand disapproving eyes.

At the bottom of the grand staircase stood Lucien, dressed in black. Always black. A man carved from obsidian and shadow.

His eyes lifted when he saw me—and for once, they didn’t look like weapons. They looked… stunned.

“You look…” His voice trailed off, but his gaze said what his mouth didn’t. Hungry. Possessive. Distantly haunted.

I smoothed a hand over my hip and forced myself not to flinch beneath his scrutiny. “You didn’t say where we’re going.”

He offered his arm. “Somewhere you’ll hate.”

I took it anyway.

The limousine was a tomb of silence, the space between us colder than the air-conditioning. His fingers tapped against the window in a rhythm I couldn’t decode.

I watched him from the corner of my eye. Even when he wasn’t speaking, Lucien Blackwood was a thunderstorm waiting to happen. Something coiled inside him, dark and tightly leashed.

“Are you always this fond of surprises?” I asked, finally.

His mouth twitched. “Surprises keep people honest.”

I scoffed. “You don’t strike me as someone who values honesty.”

He turned to me then, eyes piercing. “No. I value loyalty. And silence.”

Charming.

The car rolled to a stop outside the Blackridge Hotel—his hotel. Paparazzi lined the pavement like vultures. Camera flashes exploded as soon as the doors opened.

Lucien stepped out first. Then turned to offer me his hand.

I hesitated.

“Do you want me to fall?” I whispered.

He leaned down, the barest curve of a smirk playing on his lips. “I want you to shine when you fall.”

His fingers closed around mine, firm and possessive. As I stepped into the chaos of flashing lights and shouted questions, I realized I wasn’t walking beside a man—I was walking beside a storm dressed in tailored black.

The ballroom shimmered with excess.

Glass ceilings. A string quartet playing something delicate. Crystal chandeliers that looked older than America itself. The people were worse—wolves in couture, every smile laced with venom.

Lucien’s arm curled lightly around my waist, his lips at my ear. “Smile, Ivy. You’re a Blackwood now.”

I smiled. And every inch of me burned with defiance.

He introduced me to his board members like I was a new yacht. Something expensive and mildly interesting.

“She speaks Mandarin,” he added at one point, as if I were a list of features.

“Fluently,” I corrected with a smile so sharp it could cut.

His fingers dug into my hip in silent warning. I didn’t flinch.

Dinner was a blur of silverware and political maneuvering. Every woman looked like she was auditioning for a role in his life. Every man sized me up like a pawn in their next merger.

“Your wife is very poised,” one of the board members said.

“She has to be,” Lucien replied coolly. “Porcelain breaks easily under pressure.”

I set my glass down. “Good thing I’m made of fire.”

The table fell into a hush, and Lucien turned to look at me—eyes unreadable.

But his thumb brushed along the curve of my wrist under the table. Not soft. Not gentle. Just… there.

After the final course was served, I escaped to the powder room for air I could actually breathe.

I splashed water on my face and stared at my reflection. I looked like a queen. I felt like a prisoner.

A knock on the door startled me.

“Ivy?”

It wasn’t Lucien. The voice was softer. Feminine.

A woman stepped in—a vision of silver and grace. Pale hair. Ice-blue eyes. A smile that didn’t touch them.

“I’m sorry,” I said automatically. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

She stepped closer. “I just wanted to see for myself.”

I blinked. “See what?”

“What he chose.” Her gaze raked over me, assessing, calculating. “Lucien never does anything without reason. You’re… interesting.”

“Do I know you?” I asked.

She smiled. “You will.”

Then she leaned in, lips grazing my ear. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He destroys everything he touches. Don’t let him destroy you too.”

She slipped out before I could respond.

I stood frozen. My heart thundered. The air in the room felt too thick.

Who the hell was she?

And why did her words feel less like a threat—and more like a warning?

I found Lucien near the balcony, glass of whiskey in hand, gaze turned outward like he was daring the skyline to collapse.

“You left,” he said without looking at me.

“Just needed air.”

His jaw tensed. “Who did you speak to?”

“No one,” I lied.

His eyes finally met mine, and for a moment, I saw something terrifying behind them.

Control. Rage. Something that didn’t belong in a ballroom.

“If anyone says anything to you,” he said slowly, “you tell me.”

“Because you want to protect me?”

“No.” He took a step closer. “Because I don’t like secrets in my house.”

I tilted my head. “Even the ones wrapped in silk?”

His mouth twitched, and I didn’t know if it was amusement or warning.

“Especially those.”

We left early.

He didn’t speak in the car, didn’t touch me, didn’t even glance my way.

When we arrived at the estate, he walked ahead. I followed like a ghost, the silk gown whispering against my legs with every step.

At the top of the stairs, he paused.

“You’re sleeping in the east wing tonight.”

“Why?”

He turned. “Because I need space.”

I laughed—sharp, hollow. “Funny. You fill every room whether you’re in it or not.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at me for a long, breathless second.

Then walked away.

The east wing felt like a mausoleum. Beautiful. Cold. Silent.

I peeled off the gown, let it puddle to the floor. Slipped into one of the satin robes they’d stocked in the closet like I was a doll they needed to dress.

My skin still tingled where Lucien’s fingers had brushed mine under the table.

And that woman’s voice echoed louder than the wind outside:

He destroys everything he touches.

I climbed into the bed. It smelled like roses and a warning.

Just before I closed my eyes, I saw it.

A slip of paper on the nightstand.

Not written in Lucien’s hand. Different ink. Different energy.

I reached for it with trembling fingers.

“You think you’re playing him. But he already knows your every move. Get out. While you still can.”