Maria.
The door opened, the sound was soft, controlled but it sliced through the air like a blade.
Davian stepped in first.
He didn’t rush. He never did.
Composed as always, he carried himself with that quiet, effortless authority that made people instinctively straighten when he entered a room. Power rested easily on his shoulders, not forced, not flaunted, just there. In the way his chin lifted slightly. In the asured pace of his stride. In the calm weight of his gaze as it swept over the room without seeming hurried or concerned.
Vanessa followed at his side.
Her fingers were looped delicately through his arm, her hold light, almost decorative, as though she belonged there, like a finishing touch to an already perfect image. Her expression was soft. Angelic. Crafted down to the smallest detail. The gentle curve of her lips. The serene calm in her eyes. Even the tilt of her head was deliberate, designed to make her appear warm,harmless and perfect.
Damien had already stepped away from , due to my actions earlier but the space between us wasn’t large, it felt like a canyon.
And yet I could still feel him.
The imprint of him lingered.
On my lips.
On my skin.
In the air between us.
The warmth hadn’t faded. The tension hadn’t dissolved. It clung to like a second skin, invisible but undeniable. My body was still too aware, too exposed.
Vanessa’s eyes moved lazily around the room.
Slow.
Unhurried.
She took in everything without seeming to focus on anything at all.
Then they landed on .
She didn’t smile.
Not at first.
Her gaze rested on with a softness that might have fooled anyone watching. A mild curiosity. A polite acknowledgent. The kind a noblewoman might give a servant she barely recognized.
Then she began walking.
Each step was slow and graceful, the fabric of her dress whispering against the floor with every movent. There was no tension in her posture. No aggression. She looked harmless. Curious. Sweet.
But the closer she ca, the colder the air seed to feel.
When she stopped beside , she stood close enough that I could sll her perfu, sothing light and floral, deceptively gentle.
She turned her face slightly toward mine.
And her expression changed.
The softness dropped.
It didn’t fade gradually. It fell away.
Her eyes sharpened, the warmth draining out of them until there was nothing left but sothing hard, calculating and cold.
Disgust flickered there.
Not loud. Not wild.
Just controlled.
Her lips barely moved when she spoke, her voice slipping beneath her breath, too low for Davian or Damien to catch.
"You really don’t know when to die quietly, do you?"
My spine stiffened instantly.
I kept my head lowered, respectful, submissive, but my pulse spiked so violently I was certain she could see it beating beneath my skin.
She leaned a fraction closer, her shoulder almost brushing mine. "If fate hadn’t made you useful," she whispered, "you would have been gone already."
There was no drama in her tone.
No raised voice.
No theatrics.
Just a simple statent.
Clear.
Precise.
A threat wrapped in silk.
Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the mask returned. The sharpness vanished. The disgust disappeared. Warmth flowed back into her features like nothing had happened.
She stepped away from smoothly.
Her face brightened.
And she smiled.
"Damien!" she called sweetly, her voice lilting like music as she crossed the room toward him.
The sound of it was soft.
Playful.
Intimate.
My stomach tightened before I could stop it.
She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t slow. She moved with the quiet confidence of soone who knew exactly where she belonged. Every step was graceful, asured, her expression bright and warm, as though nothing in the world could possibly threaten her place at his side.
She went straight into Damien’s arms as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
As though it had always been that way.
He caught her instinctively.
There was no pause. No confusion.
His hands settled at her waist with familiarity, fingers resting against the curve of her hips like they’d done it a hundred tis before. The motion was smooth, automatic, effortless.
She tilted her face up toward him.
And kissed him.
Soft.
Possessive.
Deliberate.
Not hurried.
Not shy.
Slow enough to be seen.
Clear enough to be understood.
Right in front of .
My fingers curled slightly at my sides, nails pressing into my palms as if the small sting might ground . I forced my expression to remain still. Neutral. Unmoved.
But sothing hot and tight coiled low in my chest.
She pulled back just enough to pout, her lips rounding in an exaggerated display of mock offense. Her voice turned light and almost childish, as if she were teasing rather than accusing.
"You’ve been ignoring all morning," she complained, resting her head against his chest as though seeking comfort.
The gesture was intimate.
Claiming.
Her cheek pressed lightly against him, her fingers sliding subtly higher along his jacket, anchoring herself there.
"That’s not fair," she added softly.
Damien’s expression shifted imdiately.
The harder edge he often wore dulled. His gaze softened as he looked down at her, one hand moving slightly against her waist in a quiet, reassuring squeeze.
"I’ve been busy," he murmured.
His voice was lower now. Gentler.
"With work?" she asked, widening her eyes innocently as she lifted her chin again. The question sounded harmless. Casual.
But there was sothing underneath it.
"Or sothing else?"
Her gaze flicked briefly, pointedly, in my direction.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t obvious.
Just quick enough to make sure I saw it.
A silent reminder.
Damien didn’t respond to that.
He didn’t follow her glance. Didn’t acknowledge the implication hanging in the air.
Instead, he brushed a hand through her hair, fingers smoothing over it in a quiet, absent gesture that felt intimate in its simplicity.
"What do you want, Vanessa?" he asked, his tone wasn’t irritated, but it wasn’t indulgent either, It was steady.
And sohow that steadiness made my chest ache more than anything else.
Vanessa’s lips curved slowly, not into a full smile.
"I want sothing," she said, swaying slightly in Damien’s arms like a spoiled child who already knew she would be indulged. Her fingers played absently with the front of his jacket, her body leaning into his as though she fit there perfectly. "But it’s hard to get."
There was a faint lilt in her tone. A carefully asured helplessness.
Damien chuckled lightly, the sound low in his chest. "Since when has that stopped you?"
She pretended to consider that.
Her finger lifted and tapped thoughtfully against her chin, her brows knitting in exaggerated contemplation. "Hmm."
Then her eyes brightened.
"The silver-thread ceremonial shawl from the eastern trade vault," she said smoothly. "The one imported from the highlands."
Her voice softened slightly as she added, "I want it for the engagent banquet rehearsal."
My breath caught before I could stop it.
That shawl.
Of all things.
It wasn’t a decorative trinket that could be pulled from an open wardrobe. It wasn’t sothing displayed for admiration.
It was secured.
Locked away in the restricted storage wing. Inventory recorded. Access logged. Every movent, docunted and signed.
Alpha clearance required.
Authorization forms filed.
It wasn’t sothing a rogue simply fetched.
Damien’s hands stilled slightly at her waist. A barely noticeable pause.
"That vault requires..." he began carefully.
"I know," she interrupted gently.
Her tone was soft, but firm. She traced a finger slowly down the center of his chest, the gesture slow, deliberate. Her gaze lifted to his through lowered lashes.
"But I want it."
Three words.
Simple.
Her tone shifted again, small, coaxing, almost childish.
"You always get what I want."
The room felt tight and heavy at her last words.
Davian had been silent until now, moved a bit, his gaze drifted, not to Vanessa, not to the vault discussion, but to Damien’s mouth.
The faint swelling, the slight redness.
Subtle.
But not invisible.
His eyes lingered there a mont too long.
He knew.
He didn’t voice it. Didn’t question it. Didn’t demand explanations.
But sothing in his posture changed.
And instead of confronting it, instead of asking the question hovering in the air, he made a decision.
"Maria."
My na cut through the room cleanly.
I lifted my head imdiately, forcing my expression into calm obedience despite the sudden pounding in my chest.
"Yes, Alpha Davian."
His gaze settled on .
Unreadable.
"You will retrieve the shawl for Vanessa."
The words hit like a stone dropped into still water, sinking straight through .
The restricted vault.
A task designed to test, or break.
Why would he assign it to ?
What was his purpose?
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