Chapter 5 The engagement Revealed

Seraphina stepped onto the pristine marble flooring of the Velmorian Imperial Hotel, her hand lightly placed in the bend of Lysander's elbow. The grand hall glowed under the brilliance of ornate crystal chandeliers, their golden light reflecting against towering glass walls. The air was saturated with the rich aroma of aged champagne, rare orchids, and the faint hint of cigars smoked by the elite.

As they entered, conversations dimmed, replaced by murmurs. Curious eyes swiveled, analyzed, and weighed her presence.

The gathering parted naturally, not out of politeness but out of an unspoken recognition of power.

Lysander Duvall was no ordinary magnate.

He was a man who shaped economies, dismantled adversaries with precision, and turned rumors into absolute truths.

And tonight, Seraphina stood at his side.

She felt the pressure of skepticism, silent evaluations, and hushed speculation.

Her pulse hammered, but she kept her demeanor unwavering.

She had endured judgment before.

This was nothing new.

But tonight, there was a difference.

She wasn't just being observed.

She was under scrutiny.

And in Lysander's domain, first impressions weren't just crucial-they were a battleground.

---

The Declaration

A server in spotless white gloves approached, balancing a tray with two flutes of champagne so extravagant it could clear months of rent.

Lysander picked up one and extended the second to her.

"Look pleasant," he murmured, his tone quiet, his breath ghosting against her ear.

Seraphina curled her fingers around the slender stem of the glass, her posture poised. A calculated expression settled over her features-one she had refined over the years-one that concealed, misled, and guarded.

Then, the room fell silent.

A distinguished gentleman in a custom-tailored ensemble strode onto the raised platform at the head of the hall.

"Honored guests, esteemed dignitaries and social elites," his voice echoed through the vast space. "Tonight, we gather to honor the engagement of Velmoria's most formidable figure-Lysander Duvall-and his breathtaking fiancée, Seraphina Everhart."

The audience responded with polite applause.

Restrained.

Yet beneath it, she sensed it.

The unspoken questions.

The murmured doubts.

Who was she?

Where had she come from?

And more importantly-what was she after?

Lysander turned slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. "Showtime, sweetheart."

Seraphina met his stare, allowing a subtle, knowing smirk to play on her lips.

Adapt. Adjust. Dominate.

She let her hand slide up his powerful shoulder, fingers resting against the rich fabric of his tailored tuxedo.

"Make it look authentic," she murmured, a hint of defiance threading through her voice.

Lysander's lips curved in the faintest smirk.

And without hesitation, he tilted her chin-

And captured her lips in a kiss.

---

The Kiss That Stunned the Room

It wasn't gentle.

It wasn't unsure.

It was deliberate. Unyielding. A proclamation.

His lips pressed firmly against hers, his fingers resting against her waist, his touch featherlight against the exposed skin beneath the arch of her gown. A slow, molten warmth spread through her veins.

Seraphina wasn't certain **who responded first-him or her-**but for an instant, everything else disappeared.

The applause blurred into silence.

The whispers vanished into nothing.

Only this remained.

It was meant to be a mere illusion.

A carefully staged display.

Yet, her rebellious heart pounded relentlessly.

When Lysander finally pulled back, his face was composed, unreadable.

The ballroom erupted into claps once more, but beneath the applause, a tangible tension thickened the air.

Seraphina took a measured breath, willing her heartbeat to slow.

She despised how her lips still tingled.

Lysander leaned in, his voice nothing more than a whisper against her skin.

"Quick to adjust, I see."

She arched an eyebrow, forcing a smirk. "You'll learn I'm full of unexpected surprises."

For a fleeting second, something shifted in his gaze-something indecipherable.

Then, as if switching back into his well-rehearsed role, he turned away, his expression once again flawlessly composed.

The night was far from over.

And Seraphina was about to learn just how merciless Lysander's world truly was.

---

The Predators of High Society

The evening progressed in a meticulously choreographed dance of manipulation, power struggles, and veiled hostility.

Seraphina was introduced to a **parade of elite figures-**men who defined success by the empires they built, women who wielded influence like a concealed dagger behind a silk veil.

She smiled when necessary. Nodded when expected. Spoke only when absolutely unavoidable.

But she could sense the curiosity simmering just beneath the surface.

Who was she?

Where had she come from?

And, most critically-how long before she crumbled in Lysander Duvall's empire?

Then, she spotted her.

Isla Renwick.

A striking blonde with glacial blue eyes, her very presence radiating calculated sophistication.

Seraphina didn't overlook the way her gaze lingered a moment too long on Lysander.

Or the way her perfectly painted lips curved in a near-imperceptible sneer when their eyes met.

Ah.

So, not everyone was convinced.

Seraphina lifted her champagne flute, taking a composed sip, meeting Isla's steely stare with an expression of unwavering confidence.

Let the game begin.

"So, you're the one who finally managed to capture Velmoria's most untouchable bachelor," Isla remarked, swirling her champagne lazily in her glass, a glimmer of amusement in her gaze.

Seraphina offered a slow, knowing smile. "Capture? That's an interesting assumption."

A smirk ghosted across Isla's lips. "I suppose we'll see how long you last."

The unspoken or if you last at all hung between them, sharp as a poised blade.

Lysander, ever unreadable, rested his palm lightly against the curve of Seraphina's back-casual, yet unmistakably possessive.

"Seraphina isn't someone to overlook," he said, his voice calm and assured.

A strange thrill ran through her-not just at his words, but at the quiet challenge they carried.

---

A Quiet Reckoning

Later that night, Seraphina stepped onto the dimly lit balcony, letting the night air brush against her skin, soothing and cool. She drew in a deep breath, craving a moment of stillness-until she felt another presence approaching.

Lysander.

"You handled yourself well tonight," he murmured, coming to stand beside her, his tone unreadable.

Seraphina exhaled slowly, gripping the railing. "Your world feels like a masquerade of sharks in designer suits."

His mouth twitched slightly. "Not an inaccurate description."

She turned, her eyes searching his face. "Isla Renwick. She was once important to you, wasn't she?"

His jaw tensed briefly, though he held her gaze. "A long time ago."

"And now?"

He released a measured breath, his expression shadowed. "Now she's a reminder."

Seraphina frowned. "A reminder of what?"

He hesitated, as if deciding how much truth to reveal.

Finally, his gaze locked onto hers. "Of what happens to people who get too close to me."

A chill rippled through her.

There was something in his tone-an unspoken warning, wrapped in the weight of a past he didn't share.

For the first time, she wondered what she had truly gotten herself into.

And whether this arrangement had just become far more perilous than she had ever imagined.

---