Chapter 4 Three

There's art in entering a room; tonight, I intended to paint a portrait of it.

The car door opened with mechanical grace, and for a moment, the world inhaled. I stepped out into the velvet night, and my scent followed me. Cameras didn't flash-they blinked. Quiet and quite respectful.

The black marble beneath my boots caught gold from the overhead sconces. I took my time ascending the steps to the Fael estate. Each one was carved from some dark, imported stone and polished to a shine that made you question whether you'd leave a mark if you bled on it.

The building itself stood like a cathedral that had decided God wasn't enough. Modern gothic: glass, angles, shadow. The doors loomed high, flanked by the security guards who wore earpieces and looked bored. They didn't stop me. Of course they didn't. They opened the doors.

And the room reacted.

Music spilled out-low, slow, and luxurious. Golden chandeliers cast light that didn't touch the floor.

I stepped in.

Conversation faltered. Laughter paused. Heads turned.

And I let them look.

I had crafted myself not to blend in, but to disrupt. Black silk. Skin like bronzed marble. Jewelry that caught the light and dared it to stare longer. A suit tailored to seduce and intimidate in equal measure. Every step I took across the polished floor echoed like a secret.

"That's Neven Fael."

"He came?"

"Of course he came. Look at him."

They whispered, pretending not to look, failing at both.

I moved through the crowd. The elite were all here, dripping in diamonds, cloaked in arrogance, each one a wolf pretending not to know the taste of blood. Women were draped in couture that cost more than the staff's salaries. Men in masks of charm, wine-stained lips, and hollow smiles. No one breathed too deeply. Everyone drank a little too fast.

And then she arrived, unexpected but expected.

Tiana Zinite.

The room pulled toward her like she was gravity in a silk dress. Silver, slithering, deliberate. Her skin glowed. She was a beauty on a leash. She walked in, flanked by the Zinites-her family.

I smiled. Couldn't help it.

She saw me.

And the air shifted a bit.

She didn't look away. Neither did I for some peculiar reason.

I was handed a microphone. I hadn't even noticed someone approaching. "Mr. Fael," they murmured, "you've been asked to speak."

Of course, I had such a pain.

I walked to the platform. The room became quiet.

I stared at them for a second too long.

"I was told to give a speech," I began, voice dry as bone, "which is unfortunate. I hate speeches. They're long. Boring. And usually full of lies."

Polite chuckles. Uncomfortable ones.

"But I'm a Fael. Which means I've been lying since birth, so I'm more than qualified."

Laughter now. Looser. Louder.

"Welcome to the annual Fael Gala. A sacred tradition, born of our family's deep desire to appear generous while reminding everyone we still run this city like it's a family-owned goddamn bakery."

Someone coughed. I didn't smile.

"Tonight, drink what's expensive, eat what you can't pronounce, and pretend you're not standing next to someone who'd gladly ruin your life over brunch."

I raised my glass. "To all of you-liars, leeches, legends. Let's pretend this means something."

Applause. Louder than it needed to be.

I descended the dais and walked straight to her.

Tiana was sipping champagne like it personally offended her. Her father was speaking with some oil-rich ghoul near the bar. Her brothers circled, sharp-eyed and slick.

"Dance?" I asked, offering my hand.

She looked at it, then at me. "You're not supposed to be here."

"I'm not supposed to do a lot of things," I said. "But look how pretty I am while I do them."

She took my hand.

We stepped onto the floor. The music softened. Her fingers were cold, like a warning. Her perfume was layered-honeysuckle, frost, and venom.

"Didn't expect to see you," she said, eyes scanning mine.

"I make a habit of appearing where I'm least wanted."

"That's not a personality, Neven. That's a trauma response."

"Oh, sweet thing," I smiled, slow and venomous, "you wish I were just a trauma response."

"You're not even all that."

I leaned closer. "I am absolutely all that. You just don't like how much you want me."

She didn't answer. But her grip on my hand tightened.

We danced slowly. Controlled. Everyone watched like it was a negotiation. Because it was.

"I want something, and I have my way of getting it. I know things," I murmured into her ear. "About the contracts. About your father. About the Cresin deal."

Her spine straightened.

I smiled. "Just enough to ruin your evening. Not enough to end it."

"I don't play games anymore."

"Then you're in the wrong dress."

Her father was watching. One of her brothers moved toward us. I let go of her hand before he arrived.

"Careful, Tiana," I said as I turned away.

That's when I saw him.

Tall. Grey coat. Familiar limp.

He didn't belong here, and yet he walked like the building had been waiting for him.

His eyes found mine. Old eyes. Cold.

He passed close. Whispered, barely audible: "You shouldn't have come here, boy."

And then he was gone.

The chandeliers flickered. Just once.

My heart didn't race-but it did move. Just a little.

I left before midnight.

The party roared behind me, still drunk on its own power. I didn't say goodbye. I didn't need to.

But before I left, I leaned into Tiana one last time and whispered into her perfect ear:

"Your father's not the only one with monsters on a leash."

She turned, startled. I was already gone.

Outside, the air bit cleaner. I lit a cigarette and tasted smoke. Behind me, the music softened. A distant laugh echoed off the marble.

And the trees?

The trees were listening.

I exhaled slowly.

Let them come.

I've been waiting.