Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Silk and Smoke

Raven’s POV

I’m halfway through a glass of red wine when I hear the knock.

Not a timid one. Sharp. Precise. A warning in rhythm.

I already know who it is.

I don’t say a word. Just stare at the door until it creaks open and Leon steps inside, flanked by silence and shadows. He doesn’t look at me right away. He’s holding something in his hand,a long black garment bag.

"You're not the type to knock,” I say, setting my glass down.

"Tonight, I felt generous." His voice is smooth, but the undercurrent is sharp.

He walks toward me, tossing the bag onto the bed like it’s a wrapped threat. “Get dressed. We’re leaving at nine.”

I raise a brow. “Leaving for what?”

He finally looks at me then, eyes scanning me with the same detached interest he might give a glass of bourbon. “There’s a party. A fundraiser. Politicians, businessmen, a few people with blood on their hands. Our kind of crowd.”

I fold my arms. “Why do I need to be there?”

“Because you’re my wife.”

The word sounds foreign in his mouth.

He turns to leave, but stops with one hand on the door. “Wear your hair up.”

Then he's gone.

No explanation. No apology. Just orders.

I unzip the garment bag slowly. The dress inside is black,of course,but it isn’t plain. It’s silk, cut to drape like water and cling like a secret. Strapless, with a plunging neckline and a slit that runs up the thigh with no shame. Dangerous, elegant, expensive.

Like something a queen would wear to a funeral.

I smirk.

I’ve worn blood before. Silk is easy.

By nine, I’m ready.

My hair is pinned into a sleek, sculpted bun, exposing the sharp lines of my jaw and the curve of my neck. I wear no necklace,this dress doesn't need one. It speaks for itself. My makeup is bold: a wine-red lip, smoky eyes sharp enough to cut, and a single diamond pin in my hair.

The slit of the dress brushes high on my thigh with every step. I pair it with strappy heels that whisper with every click.

When I walk downstairs, Leon is already waiting near the front door, dressed in black-on-black like the villain of someone else’s story.

His gaze lifts as I descend.

It lingers.

“Nice,” he says simply.

That’s it.

No double take. No smile. Just a flat compliment before he opens the door and steps into the night.

Cold bastard.

The venue is some rooftop skyscraper downtown. Glass walls, champagne towers, live jazz—everything polished to a shine. Every woman here is dipped in diamonds and secrets. Every man wears his ego like a medal.

Leon walks a step ahead of me, hand at the small of my back only when people are watching.

I play the part. I smile. I sip. I nod.

But I watch him.

And so does she, she may not think I notice, but i do.

She’s tall, elegant, the type who’s never had to pay for her own drink or her own sins. Blonde hair, white dress, red nails. A walking contrast to me.

Leon sees her across the room.

And smiles.

A real one.

They talk. Lean in. He touches her elbow. She laughs,tilts her head just enough to expose her neck. A predator’s invitation. Her lipstick matches mine.

I’m invisible, standing just a few feet away.

I sip my champagne and let it burn.

A man approaches me. Older. Wealthy. Arrogant. I don’t catch his name.

“I haven’t seen you before,” he says, voice oiled with too much confidence.

I smile politely. “I like staying behind curtains.”

“I’d pull you out from behind them.”

“Careful,” I say, swirling my glass. “The last man who tried lost a finger.”

He laughs, clearly not taking the warning seriously. He leans in closer, breath reeking of aged whiskey and ego.

Leon appears behind him. His hand settles briefly,firmly,on the man's shoulder.

“She’s my wife,” he says. Calm. Chilling.

The man pales and backs off with a muttered apology.

But Leon doesn’t look at me.

Not even once.

Midway through the night, I catch a glimpse of him and the blonde on the terrace.

Their heads are close. His hand rests on the small of her back,the exact spot he touched on me earlier.

They’re laughing.

I don’t hear it, but I feel it.

The kind of laugh you don’t fake.

My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass.

I could cause a scene. Spill wine down her dress. Remind everyone in the room who wears the ring.

But I don’t, I don't care enough to.

Instead, I find a quiet corner, pull out my phone, and type a message I shouldn’t.

To Marcus: You available?

Three dots appear.

Then disappear.

Then again.

Then.... nothing.

I stare at the screen, waiting.

I wait five minutes. Then ten.

The party swirls around me, clinking glasses, low jazz, flirtations and lies dressed in satin. I remain frozen, glass in hand, thumb hovering over my screen.

Then finally.

Marcus: Can’t make it tonight. Don’t ask. Stay out of trouble.

I stare at the message, pulse ticking at the edge of my jaw.

Can’t make it.

Not won’t, not sorry.

Just can’t.

I want to throw my phone into the nearest champagne fountain.

Instead, I down the rest of my drink and slip away from the crowd.

My heels echo against polished marble as I find the doors to the balcony and push them open.

The cool night air wraps around me like a second skin.

The city below is alive with light and movement, but up here, everything feels suspended,high above the filth and the fire.

I lean against the railing, fresh drink in hand now, the condensation slick against my fingers. The wine is dry, expensive, and tastes like everything I hate about this world,controlled, curated, soulless.

The door clicks behind me, but no one steps out. Good.

I close my eyes for a moment, breathing in the silence—

But then I hear it.

Voices. Low. Urgent.

I tilt my head, eyes narrowing. The balcony just below mine is partly hidden by the shadows of a steel support beam. I step slightly to the side and look down.

There they are.

Leon and the blonde.

She’s facing him, hands gesturing. He’s calm, too calm. That false serenity he wears when something dangerous is being discussed.

I inch closer, careful to stay hidden.

Their voices float upward in fragments, carried by the breeze.

“…the politicians are expecting updates—”

“—already handled. They won’t back out now.”

A pause.

Her voice again, lower:

“Even if it blows back on us?”

Leon:

“It won’t. And if it does… then we clean it up. Same as always.”

She frowns. “And th-?”

“It’s happening. With or without them. No delays.”

My blood runs cold.

Politicians?

What the hell is he planning?

The blonde touches his chest lightly. “You’re sure about this?”

Leon’s voice drops, but I still catch it.

“By the time they know what’s coming, it’ll already be done.”

She smiles, slow and slick like a cat with cream.

They lean in closer. She says something I can’t hear. He smirks, places a hand on her lower back, the same spot he touched on me, like it’s his favorite part to brand.

Then they leave. She exits first. He lingers for a moment, glancing up toward the building.

I step back quickly, out of view, heart racing.

When I look again, he’s gone.

I exhale, slowly, shakily.

My head spins,not from the wine, but from what I just heard.

Politics. No delays.

Whatever Leon is involved in, it isn’t just illicit,it’s dangerous. Maybe even treasonous. And he’s not working alone.

I stare into my half-empty glass.

Marcus bailed.

Leon’s lying.

And the only person I can trust right now… is me.

I take one last sip of wine.

It tastes better now,like poison with purpose.

So be it.

I may be wrapped in silk tonight,

but tomorrow, I start sharpening my knives.