The ballroom was filled with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the soft hum of conversation. Guests in their finest attire moved gracefully, their eyes gliding over the polished floor like shadows. It was a night that spoke of power, wealth, and untold secrets—all wrapped in the smooth veneer of social decorum.
Nia stood at the entrance, her heart pounding against the walls of her chest. The air felt thick, oppressive, as though it knew the weight of what she was about to do. Luciano's presence—his commanding aura—was felt even from a distance. It made her skin prickle.
She had expected many things tonight, but not this. Not the way the room seemed to hold its breath as she entered.
Luciano was already there, at the center of it all—the man everyone seemed to gravitate toward. His tailored suit, his confident stance, the way his eyes seemed to drink in every moment—it was all designed to make him untouchable. And yet, Nia felt the eyes of the room slide toward her the moment she stepped forward. She was his wife, after all. And tonight, she would be introduced to the world as such.
Her heels clicked on the marble floor, each step echoing in her mind like a countdown to something inevitable. As she approached him, the tension grew stronger, heavier.
He turned to face her. Said nothing. Just held her gaze. For a split second, Nia wondered if he could see the storm inside her. Could he feel the way her hands trembled beneath her polished calm? The anxiety she barely held at bay?
The silence between them broke with a voice—smooth as velvet, but edged like a blade.
"Nia." Luciano's voice cut through the hum of the crowd, drawing everyone's attention. "Allow me to introduce you."
A hush fell over the room.
Nia's pulse quickened. Still, she didn't move. She kept her gaze locked on his, the tension tightening.
She wasn't just stepping into the role of his wife. No, this was something else. This was a performance.
Luciano smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice resonating with ease and command, "I present to you… my wife."
Her breath caught. His wife. The title felt like a lie, but she straightened, holding her composure.
She gave a small, controlled smile. Inside, her thoughts spiraled. How did I end up here? Is this really my life now?
Murmurs stirred the room, low and curious, like ripples on still water. Whispers of admiration, confusion, and speculation flowed from one corner to the next.
A few clapped. Then more followed.
The sound grew—clumsy at first, unsure—but soon swelled into applause that echoed off the chandeliers and golden walls. Nia stood frozen in her polished shell, barely blinking as faces smiled, nodded, or stared.
Her heart wasn't in her chest anymore—it had climbed into her throat. She swallowed hard, trying to steady the quiver in her spine. The room was spinning. Slowly. Quietly. Yet she felt dizzy.
Luciano stepped beside her, his hand settling lightly on the small of her back. Subtle. Grounding. Possessive.
He leaned in, breath brushing her ear.
"Smile a little more," he whispered, like it was just another game he was winning.
So she did.
The applause faded into soft music. The room shifted again. People drifted toward the buffet, the bar, the dance floor. But eyes still lingered. Especially his. Luciano's gaze didn't waver, watching her like she was both a prize and a puzzle.
Then came the sound.
A loud crack.
Sharp. Sudden. Real.
The music stopped. A glass shattered. Screams erupted.
Nia's body jerked before she even processed what happened. Her hand reached—for Luciano, for air, for anything—but it was too late.
The room exploded into chaos.
People ran. Someone shouted for h
elp.
And Nia—
She crumpled.
Her dress bloomed with red.