Chapter Two: The Voss Heir

Power wasn’t in the blood.

Not entirely.

It was in silence. Precision. The way you entered a room and made it yours without speaking a word.

Damien Voss had mastered that long before he was crowned heir.

Now, he wore his legacy like armor—and a noose.

He leaned against the cold stone of the terrace wall, one hand around a half-finished glass of something expensive and bitter. Below, the sea churned under the cliffs, frothing like a beast chewing at its chains. He preferred the storm to the party. At least the ocean didn’t lie.

Not like the guests inside.

They whispered and watched. Waited for him to stumble. To bleed. But Damien Voss didn’t bleed in public. He made others do that for him.

And yet…

His gaze flicked to the terrace doors, where she had disappeared minutes before.

The woman in the bone-white mask.

Valencia D’Arien.

Except… she wasn’t.

No one from House D’Arien moved like that. Spoke like that. And certainly not with that kind of defiance layered in charm.

He’d seen hundreds of masks over the years.

Memorized every family’s posture, their telltale gestures and inflections. His mind was a vault of power.

And hers didn’t belong.

She was a lie.

But a beautifully crafted one.

“Trouble?”

Cassian Vell strode up beside him with his usual smirk. Raven-black suit, storm-grey mask, voice full of sharp amusement.

“Not yet,” Damien murmured, still watching the door. “But she’s not who she says she is.”

“None of us are,” Cassian replied. “That’s the game.”

Damien gave him a sidelong glance. “This one feels different.”

“Dangerous?”

“Focused.”

Cassian took a slow sip of his drink. “Maybe that’s exactly what we need. Someone to rattle the cage.”

Damien said nothing.

But the thought didn’t leave him.

She didn’t flinch when he’d spoken. Didn’t shy away from the way he looked at her. Most people pretended to hold his gaze, but she welcomed it—like a duel instead of a dance.

And she had said something. Something subtle. Something sharp.

“Be careful, Lord Voss. You may not like the truth when it arrives.”

It stuck with him now, sinking into the quiet of his mind like ink into silk.

What truth?

And more importantly—how did she know to say it?

Inside, the music shifted again—bolder now, the kind that marked a shift in tone. Damien moved through the crowd with purpose, exchanging nods and false smiles, but keeping his attention trained on the shifting figures.

She was gone.

Not out of the ballroom entirely—but repositioned.

Strategic.

He liked that. Hated that he liked it. But admired it all the same.

The heir of House Voss didn’t get distracted. Not by ghosts. Not by grace in a gown. And yet, he was already building theories in his mind.

Possibilities:

1. A rogue faction planting a spy.

2. A disavowed House returning for leverage.

3. Someone playing a long game—and knowing his father was growing weak.

And then, the fourth possibility.

4. Revenge.

He didn’t want to think about the fourth.

Because it meant someone had returned from the ashes. And people didn’t come back from the kinds of executions he oversaw.

But still…

There was something about her posture. Her eyes behind the mask. The way she studied him—not as prey. As a rival.

Not attraction. Not yet. But something older.

Heavier.

Recognition.

Later that night, as the ballroom began to thin and the laughter wore itself out, Damien retired to the upper wing of Ebonhall.

He didn’t sleep.

He poured another drink and stood by the glass balcony overlooking the sea.

The moon carved silver streaks through the dark waves.

He thought of the woman in the white mask.

How close she’d stood. How calm.

And how, for the first time in years, someone had looked at him not with fear or admiration—

But with intent.

Across the estate, in the guest wing, Aria Vale removed her mask.

Her face was pale in the candlelight. Her eyes hard.

She traced her finger along the edge of the blade hidden beneath her vanity drawer.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered, “he’ll remember.”

And Damien?

He didn’t know it yet.

But the ghost he’d buried years ago…

Was already inside the walls of his empire.

Damien stood on the balcony, his back straight, his expression colder than the air around him. The night stretched ahead of him like a tangled web, each strand leading him deeper into a maze of deception and ambition. He could feel the weight of the empire pressing against him, the expectations of a legacy carved from blood and power, the sort that made men either rise or fall. And right now, all he could think about was the woman in the white mask.

Her words lingered like a poison in his veins.

“You may not like the truth when it arrives.”

He had no idea who she was, but he was already certain of one thing—she wasn’t here to play the same games everyone else was. No, she had her own agenda. And the moment she crossed his path, the game had changed.

Damien’s gaze shifted across the balcony, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened courtyard below, though his mind was elsewhere—on her.

Who was she?

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft click of the door behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Still brooding?” Cassian’s voice was laced with amusement, though there was a sharp edge to it, the kind that came from knowing Damien’s every move before he made it.

Damien didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between them. Cassian wasn’t someone he had to explain himself to—no one ever truly understood him, but Cassian was a necessary part of the machine that kept House Voss running smoothly.

Cassian leaned against the stone railing, looking out at the same dark horizon. “She’s not someone to ignore, you know.”

Damien finally turned, his eyes locking with Cassian’s. “I don’t ignore anyone.”

“Then you know what I mean.” Cassian raised an eyebrow. “She’s dangerous. And I don’t mean the kind of danger we’ve dealt with before. This feels… different. She’s playing a game, and you’re not her only target.”

Damien’s jaw tightened. “She’s not a threat.”

Cassian gave a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve always been too confident in that. The kind of person who doesn’t hide behind masks is dangerous, Voss. They don’t care who they offend or challenge, and they don’t need approval. I’ve seen people like her take down empires with less than a smile.”

“And you’re just now telling me this?” Damien’s voice was sharp, though there was no real anger behind it. It was just his way of deflecting. The truth was, he was beginning to see what Cassian meant. “Tell me, Cassian, are you sure she’s not the one who’s playing us?”

Cassian smirked. “Maybe. But she’s too calm. Too controlled. She’s not just interested in power—she’s obsessed with it.”

“And you’re not?”

Cassian’s smirk faded, his expression becoming more serious. “I’m not the one with a target on my back.” He looked at Damien pointedly, his words heavy with implication. “And neither are you. Not yet.”

Damien stiffened, a flicker of something cold flashing in his eyes. “I don’t need your warnings, Cassian.”

“I’m just saying,” Cassian said with a shrug, “you might want to rethink that. This isn’t just another rival to crush under your boot. This woman… she’s playing for keeps. And if we’re not careful, we might end up being the ones she takes down.”

Damien’s gaze hardened. He didn’t like being warned. It made him feel vulnerable—and vulnerability was not something the heir to House Voss could afford. He turned back to the balcony, the wind ruffling his dark hair.

“She’ll be dealt with,” Damien said, his voice cold and confident. “But not tonight.”

Cassian studied him for a moment before speaking again. “It’s your empire. I just wanted you to know what you’re up against. You know what they say about the ones who slip in through the cracks, don’t you?”

Damien’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond.

“You should sleep on it,” Cassian said. “This game is just beginning. And you can’t afford to lose focus.”

“I never lose focus,” Damien replied, his voice like steel. “Now, leave me.”

Cassian hesitated but gave a small nod before disappearing into the shadows of the hallway behind him. Damien remained on the balcony, staring out at the sea, lost in thought.

The next day came too quickly. Damien hadn’t slept, but he’d never been one for rest. Instead, he spent the long hours of the night plotting, organizing, and assessing. It was the only way he knew how to keep control—by constantly being three steps ahead.

He had the resources, the men, and the legacy. But what he didn’t have yet was a solid understanding of who was really behind the curtain. Who was playing the long game, and what did they want from him? More importantly, what did they want from his empire?

His father’s empire.

And as he strode through the halls of Ebonhall the next morning, he knew that the answers were somewhere within those walls. Somewhere beneath the layers of politics and lies.

Damien had built his reputation on being ruthless—on making enemies disappear without a second thought. But the woman in the white mask was different. She wasn’t afraid of him. And that was something Damien couldn’t ignore.

Later that afternoon, the estate was alive with the usual pretense. Lords and ladies, masked and mysterious, mingling in the grand hall, eyes glinting with ambition, while servants moved silently through the crowd, ensuring the show went on.

Damien watched from his position at the far end of the room, his gaze cutting through the crowd with surgical precision. He knew who to watch. He knew who to avoid.

And then, there she was again. Valencia. Aria, as he suspected. She was standing near the grand staircase, conversing with another member of House Crowne. He noted the way the conversation flowed—smooth, controlled, but with an edge. She wasn’t just making connections. She was making alliances.

Dangerous alliances.

His eyes narrowed as she glanced up, her gaze meeting his across the room. There it was again—the quiet, calculating look that made him wonder just how much she knew. Just how much she was willing to sacrifice to get what she wanted.

And for a brief moment, Damien felt something stir inside him.

Curiosity.

And then, he quickly reminded himself—curiosity could be deadly.

He would find out what she wanted. And if necessary, he would destroy it before it ever had a chance to grow.