Chapter 3 The gala game

"Tonight, we're not husband and wife. We're wolves in a ballroom of prey."

The gala was a sanctuary of sin ,marble floors polished to mirror perfection, chandeliers the size of cars dripping with crystal, and music that hummed beneath the sound of champagne glasses clinking and secrets being whispered behind jeweled hands.

But Calla barely noticed the glitter. She barely noticed how beautiful the room was. She was only wise enough to notice the details.

Because Lucian Wolfe had not let go of her hand once since they'd stepped out of the limousine. It felt like what real couples would do.

"Smile," he murmured as flashlight exploded in their faces, "or they'll smell blood and see your fear."

His grip wasn't hard. But it was dominant.

Her lips curved, trained and practiced, but inside, her pulse was chaos.

She could feel him beside her, not just as a presence, but a force. His tuxedo tailored like armor. His body heat sharp. His scent, sandalwood and something darker , curling around her like invisible rope. Threatening to strangle her.

Everyone stared. Women appraised. Men assessed.

And yet none of them mattered.They never mattered to her.

Not when Lucian leaned in again, whispering so close to her skin it made her breath catch and her heart stop.

"Good. They already believe you love me."

Calla turned to him, gaze steady. "Maybe I just hide my hatred well."

He smiled.

The coldest, most devastating smile she'd ever seen.

Inside the ballroom, Calla moved like a trained actress. She posed when told. Laughed when required and talked when talked to . Clung to Lucian's arm like a painted-on bride. It was something she learned to do perfectly well.

And every time she looked up at him, his gaze was already there, watching, calculating.

Measuring her performance.

It wasn't just for the press.

It was a test. A test to know when she will fail.

"How do you think you're doing?" Lucian asked quietly as they stepped onto the marble balcony overlooking the city.

She turned toward the skyline. "Still breathing. That counts for something."

He chuckled, deep and low. "You think this is the hard part?"

Calla faced him. "Isn't it?"

Lucian stepped closer. Not touching. But closing the air between them in a way that made her breath stumble.

"The hard part," he said, voice like a blade in silk, "will be knowing how much I can take before you break."

"I'm not here to break."

"No," he agreed. "You're here to bend."

A waiter approached with a silver tray of wine. Wine she needed but can't have to her satisfaction.Lucian lifted a glass and handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers, the contact brief but electric.

She accepted it with a raised brow. "Did you approve this drink, Mr. Wolfe? Or am I about to violate rule number six?"

That earned her a slight smirk.

"You're learning." He leaned on the balcony rail, casual and deadly. "Tell me something, Calla. What scares you most?. What brings out your fear."

She blinked, thrown by the sudden question.

He wasn't mocking her. His tone was curious. Controlled. But curious.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I like knowing what my bride fears."

She took a long sip of wine before answering.

"Becoming invisible," she said softly. "Becoming just... another beautiful cage."

Lucian's gaze shifted. For one brief flicker of a second, something behind his eyes faltered. And then-steel returned.

"Then don't be invisible," he said. "Be undeniable."

The words lodged somewhere deep in her.

Inside, A group of four musicians began to play.

Lucian extended his hand. "Dance with me."

Calla stared at it. "You're joking."

"I never joke."

"I don't waltz."

He didn't lower his hand. "You do now."

A moment passed. Her spine tightened.

And then, she placed her hand in his, just to prove she could.

The moment their palms met, heat pulsed up her arm. Her heart began to beat, she definitely didn't know why she had that kind of reaction when ever he touches her.

His fingers closed around hers.

And the world faded.

The dance floor became a stage, but Calla wasn't acting anymore.

Lucian's hand was at her waist-firm, commanding. His steps were exact, but not mechanical. He moved like he owned the floor.

Like he owned her.

And she hated that part of her didn't mind.

"I see the photographers love us," she murmured.

"They love what I created," he replied, eyes not leaving hers.

She narrowed her gaze. "What do you get out of this?"

Lucian's answer was slow. Intentional.

"Obedience. Dominance. Reputation. Power."

"And me?" she said quietly. "Do you get me too?"

His hand tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Yes," he said.

One word. Not a promise. Not a request.

A claim.

And Calla didn't know if she wanted to run or melt.

As the song ended, the lights shifted to blue. Applause echoed.

Lucian lowered her into a perfect finish. The world watched as he pulled her close again, lips near her ear.

"Tonight," he whispered, "you were perfect."

It should've been a compliment.

But it felt like another rule.

Another rule she was going to break.

Later that night, as she changed out of the black dress in her suite, Calla stared into the mirror again.

She didn't look broken.

She didn't look invisible.

She looked like a woman who could stand the world.

She looked like a woman who could be loved.

She looked like a woman learning the rules of survival.

Her hand touched the necklace around her throat, it was a beautiful piece, a gift from Lucian, silently placed in her dressing box before the gala.

Not a note. Not a word.

Just the price of being his bride.

And she knew the real games hadn't even started yet.

The real game just truly began.

Downstairs, Lucian poured himself a drink and stared at the portrait of his late father."She won't break," he muttered. "But I'll make damn sure she bends."