Chapter Twenty-seven: The Dance of Daggers

Red.

That was the only color that belonged to me tonight.

The red silk of the dress Dominic got for me, poured over my body like blood and war, the high slit cutting up one leg, the neckline sinful and elegant. Every step I took down the grand staircase felt like a challenge thrown into the faces of everyone who wanted me buried instead of celebrated.

This is what I want. I want everyone to see me and not see a woman scorned but a woman who has everything in control.

This might must be perfect, smile, wave, socialize, be the perfect Blackwood wife and give Dominic the important gift once it’s time.

That, and not forgetting that my life may be in danger from all my enemies who want me dead so even though they’re all dressed like they came to the party, I have up to twenty guards scattered across the ballroom, just for me.

I feel safe. And that is all thanks to my cold, arrogant contract husband.

The chandeliers above dripped crystal light across the ballroom. Waiters moved like shadows, offering champagne in gold-stemmed glasses. The air was thick with perfume, whispered alliances, and power plays in couture.

And then there was me.

Scarlett Blackwood.

Dominic waited at the base of the stairs. When he saw me, something flickered in his eyes—something he didn’t even bother hiding.

Possession. Hunger. Pride.

The hunger in his eyes sent my back arching slightly in hot awareness.

I still have no idea why I’m suddenly so attracted to a man like Dominic Blackwood.

“You’ll start wars in that dress,” he murmured as I reached him.

“Good,” I whispered back. “Let’s see who bleeds first.”

He offered his arm.

I took a breath, gave my dazzling smile and took his arm.

Then, we stepped into the crowd.

And as I expected, the Reynolds were the first to spot us.

Blake’s father stiffened. His mother’s mouth curled in that foxlike sneer I knew too well. Vanessa clinked her glass too hard against a tray, and Caleb—the only one who’d ever been decent—just looked down.

But it was Blake’s gaze that burned.

He didn’t look at Dominic.

He looked at me with shock, surprise and what looked like regret.

Like he’d just realized what he threw away and now couldn’t bear to watch someone else hold it.

I could almost laugh.

Delilah stood beside him, draped in emerald sequins, clinging to his arm like she thought Scarlett Blackwood could be scrubbed from his memory with a tighter grip.

She leaned close and whispered something to him.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just kept staring.

Dominic noticed.

He leaned closer to me and said, “Blake looks like he wants to chew glass.”

“I hope he does,” I said. “And chokes on it.”

Doninic shook his head and chuckled. “I love it when you get cutthroat, wife.”

We moved through the crowd, greeting power brokers, celebrities, and investors. I smiled when I had to. But the tension was razor-sharp beneath the glitz.

And then she appeared.

Lydia Blackwood.

Standing beside a senator’s wife, cloaked in navy velvet and diamonds so sharp they could slice through bone.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Just watched with dark hawk eyes.

Like she was waiting for me to make a single mistake she could use to justify every vicious thing she’d already said about me.

Her eyes flicked to my stomach.

Then to Dominic’s hand resting on my waist.

Her lips curled into something cold and ancient.

I didn’t break.

But I felt it.

The weight of being hunted from three angles: the Reynolds, Lydia, and Delilah.

***

The first strike came during cocktail hour.

I’d stepped away from Dominic for just a moment—offering a smile to a press rep near the mirrored fountain—when Delilah cornered me.

“Scarlett,” she said sweetly, glass in hand, hair perfect, voice poison. “You look radiant for someone who should be dead.”

I smiled sickly sweet. “Why, thank you.”

“Though I did wonder… is red the best choice for someone so… fragile?”

I raised a brow. “You mean pregnant?”

She smiled wider. “I mean cursed.”

I laughed once, softly. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Delilah.”

She leaned in closer, her words now just for me. “You think that baby will save you? That it makes you powerful?”

I didn’t answer.

Because the answer was already walking toward me—tall, devastating, dressed in black.

Dominic.

“Delilah,” he said, voice as polite as it was hollow. “Enjoying yourself?”

She stepped back immediately, all grace and retreat.

“Of course,” she purred. “This party is unforgettable.”

She walked away before he could reply.

Dominic’s eyes stayed on her retreating figure for a beat.

“She’s unraveling,” he said.

“She’ll try something.”

He nodded once.

“I’ll be ready.”

The orchestra struck a low, swelling note.

Dominic offered his hand.

“Dance with me.”

I hesitated for a second.

Then placed my hand in his.

The dance floor opened around us like the world had decided we were the only two people that mattered.

Every camera turned.

Every whisper stilled.

He pulled me close.

His hand found the small of my back. His other lifted mine.

We moved in rhythm.

His breath grazed my ear as we spun.

“You’re doing well.”

“I’m barely breathing.”

“You’re still standing. That’s enough.”

He twirled me once, then pulled me back into his chest.

“Everyone’s watching,” I murmured.

“Let them,” he replied. “Let them see who you belong to now.”

I should’ve bristled at that.

But I didn’t.

Because he didn’t say it like a claim.

He said it like a vow.

When the music faded, I stepped away to catch my breath. Jules intercepted me with a glass of sparkling water.

“Delilah’s circling again,” she said. “And Lydia is still glaring.”

“I noticed.”

“And Blake?”

I didn’t need to ask.

He was already approaching.

Alone.

Dominic was across the room talking to his client—exactly where he needed to be.

And Blake?

He stopped in front of me, jaw tight, eyes dark.

“You look…”

“Careful,” I said, cutting him off.

“I just wanted to talk.”

“About what? Your wedding registry? Your regrets?”

“I didn’t know you were capable of this,” he said, his voice strained. “Any of this.”

“That’s because you never looked at me long enough to see what I could become.”

He glanced toward Dominic, then back at me.

“You’re not scared of him?”

“No,” I said calmly. “I’m scared of wasting any more time on people who didn’t deserve me.”

His face cracked—just slightly. “Scarlett, I want you back.”

I laughed.

“Goodbye, Blake.”

I turned before he could answer.

And walked away.