Chapter Twenty-Three: Queen of the Game

The next morning, I came downstairs wearing sleek black leggings and a silk shirt that felt cool against my heated flesh. I'd thrown on mord armor against Dominic Blackwood, the man who seemed hellbent on making me go mad, anything to not remember the way his lips felt against mine, to not remember the wet dreams I had just the night before. The one that had me jerking up from bed and rushing to take a cold shower.

Not just that, but also to shut up Lydia Blackwood's poisonous voice that kept playing on repeat in my head.

Try to survive the gala then.

It’s now obvious a lot of people want to kill me, and my baby.

My chest squeezed tight, but I forced my shoulders back. I wouldn't let anyone come near my child and I. I would die before I give my enemies the satisfaction that they have won.

Dominic sat at the dining table, his massive frame filling out a charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people made in a year. Those hands of his—the same hands that had held my neck still while he kissed and licked my lips yesterdayl—were wrapped around a crystal coffee mug. The morning light caught the sharp cut of his jaw, and damn it, my body still responded to him like a moth to flame.

What the hell is wrong with you, Scarlett?

He didn't look up when I walked in, but I caught how his eyes tracked my every movement. Always watching. Always calculating what move to make next.

"Good. You're up," he said, that familiar rumble in his voice sending unwanted shivers down my spine. "I have something for you."

I lifted an eyebrow and sat across from him, the mahogany table suddenly feeling like a war zone between us. The air crackled with everything we'd done to each other, everything we couldn't take back.

"If it's a body to hide, I'm not in the mood," I glared at him.

No smile. Not even a twitch of those perfectly carved lips that had once worshipped my lips.

"I'm putting you in charge of the gala."

My fork—loaded with eggs Benedict—froze halfway to my mouth. "Come again?"

"You heard me." He set his tablet down with deliberate precision, and I noticed his knuckles had gone white. He was wound as tight as I was, just better at hiding it. "Jules has briefed the team. From this second forward, every decision, every approval, every seating chart—it's all you."

The weight of what he was handing me wasn’t small at all. This wasn't just some party planning gig. This was power. This was him putting his entire reputation in my hands, trusting me not to destroy him.

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Why me?"

He leaned back, those dangerous fingers forming a steeple. God, even his hands were beautiful—long, elegant, lethal. "Because I have a deal to close that night. A very specific one that could make or break everything for me."

Something in his tone made my skin prickle with awareness. When Dominic Blackwood spoke like that, entire industries shifted.

He slid a folder across the table. Our fingers brushed as I reached for it, and the contact sent electricity straight through my core. I jerked back, but not before I saw his pupils dilate, heard his breath catch.

Okay, what is wrong with us? When did we cross this line?

I opened the folder with shaking hands, desperate to focus on anything other than how he was looking at me—like he wanted to devour me right here on this table.

Inside were details about a venture capital firm from Geneva. High-profile. Old money. Conservative as hell. The kind of people who'd judge a woman like me—someone with scandals trailing behind her like a blood-stained wedding dress.

"They've been dangling a yes for nearly two years," Dominic said, his voice getting rougher, more dangerous. "But the Reynolds family has been poisoning the well behind my back. Sabotaging meetings. Spreading lies. Telling them I'm too unstable to bet on."

Hearing Blake's family name sent rage shooting through my chest like liquid fire. Even now, even after everything, they were still trying to destroy anything good in my life.

"And the gala?" I asked, surprised my voice came out steady when everything inside me was screaming.

He looked straight into my eyes, and I felt that pull, that gravitational force that had always existed between us. His gaze burned straight through my defenses.

"This is where I tip the scales in my favor."

I closed the folder slowly, hands trembling with adrenaline. "So this isn't just a party."

"No." Something almost vulnerable flickered in his voice, something that made my chest ache. "It's war dressed up in designer gowns."

That made something inside me click into place like a puzzle piece finding its home.

Purpose. Direction. Power.

“And why are you trusting me with something as huge as this?”

He smiled then. “Because you’re my wife and I think you’re able to handle it. It’s not going to be easy, we have a lot of enemies that will do anything to sabotage this night, but you should know that nothing must go wrong. Can you do that for me?”

It felt like taking my first real breath in months. I wasn't just surviving anymore—I was about to thrive. I was becoming something dangerous and beautiful, something that could cut and heal in equal measure.

"Alright," I said, hearing steel creep into my voice. "Let's burn it all down."

His eyebrows lifted like he hadn't expected me to agree so easily. Like he'd been prepared for a fight.

"I want the entire team here by three o'clock," I continued, feeling that familiar rush of taking control. "Every vendor, every assistant, every designer. I want to look them in the eye and know who's going to stab us in the back."

Before I married into the Reynold family, even though I wasn’t a big shot yet, I had my own small company, and I was doing so well. It feels good to be able to take charge of my life again.

Dominic gave the slightest nod, but I caught how his lips almost curved into a smile. Pride. He was proud of me.

"You're serious about this."

"Dead serious." The words came out like a promise and a threat rolled into one.

And just like that—I was.

***

By three in the afternoon, the mansion's grand conference salon looked like controlled chaos, and my blood was singing.

The planning team from Milan was already bickering about lighting with the passion of people who'd never faced real problems. Designer bags cluttered every surface while entitled voices rose and fell like waves.

The floral director—a woman with a chin that could cut diamonds and ice-blue eyes that probably froze lesser mortals—was demanding orchids flown in from Tokyo, cost be damned. Because naturally.

The world-famous chef looked ready to commit murder because someone had suggested a second dessert table. His face was red with the righteous indignation of an artist whose vision had been questioned.

Jules stood beside me with her arms crossed, looking like she wanted to body-slam someone into the nearest flower arrangement. Her fierce loyalty was the only thing keeping me grounded right now.

"Do I get to shoot someone?" she asked casually. "Or will sarcasm suffice today?"

I didn't answer right away. I was too busy reading the room, calculating, watching these people like the predator I'd become.

Then I spotted her.

A perfectly manicured blonde with the kind of smile that could slice through steel was raising her voice again. Her entire posture screamed condescension. She was the type who'd probably never heard the word 'no' in her entire privileged existence.

"Mrs. Blackwood," she said with a smile so fake it practically cracked, "I understand you're new to luxury hospitality, but perhaps we should leave lighting decisions to someone with more... experience?"

Translation: Sit down, trophy wife. Know your place.

Antagonist number one: probably sent by Mrs Lydia Blackwood to make my life miserable and so that Dominic will not trust me with things like this ever again.

Easy.

I wasn't that shattered girl anymore. I wasn't the woman who'd been pushed through a window and left to die.

I was ready for war.

I smiled, slow and lethal. "Of course, Miss Delacroix. I'll defer to your expertise—the moment I decide I need it. Until then, we're going with warm gold, not blue. It makes people glow instead of looking like corpses in photos."