Rose's POV
The ballroom glowed like a dying ember — all golden light and shadowed secrets.
They dressed me in crimson silk tonight. As if I weren't already enough of a target.
The gown hugged my body like a second skin, every thread whispering of danger. My mother said red made me look alive. I thought it made me look like a warning. Or maybe a promise.
Everyone here wore masks — velvet, lace, silver.
I wore mine too. But mine was carved into my bones.
The daughters of our rivals curtsied as they passed, all painted smiles and poisoned eyes. I returned each one with a gentler smile, a slower blink, like a lamb among wolves. They bought it. They always do.
"She's harmless." "Pretty, but fragile." "Just a girl in red."
That's what they think. That's what they're supposed to think.
The chandeliers shimmered above us like stars trapped in glass. Music floated through the air — too delicate for a room built on blood money. My father laughed with some politician near the
bar. Behind them, his men stood like statues, armed and deadly. I recognized the codeword in their silence:
Trouble.
And then it happened.
A presence. Subtle, electric.
Someone brushed past me.
Tall. Smelled of smoke and cedar. No words, no touch — just a flicker of heat and leather and command.
I turned.
But there was no one.
Only shadows. And the hint of danger trailing in the air like cologne.
I shouldn't have felt my pulse spike. I shouldn't have looked for him again.
But I did.
Rose's POV
I shouldn't have looked for him again. But I did.
My eyes scanned the room like a heat-seeking weapon, slow and patient. Couples twirled beneath the chandeliers. Laughter cracked like glass. Waiters glided past with champagne flutes balanced on silver trays. And yet... something felt off.
I caught a reflection — not mine — in the mirror across the room.
A man stood near the terrace doors. Tall. Black suit, no tie. A mask of onyx shadowed his face, but I saw the way he stood. Like the floor owed him balance. Like the world would tilt if he walked away.
And he was looking right at me. The air left my lungs in a whisper.
A blink — and he was gone.
As if the shadows had swallowed him whole.
I reached for a glass of wine, pretending I wasn't rattled. But my hand brushed against something cold instead — a folded card tucked beneath the crystal stem.
I froze.
The envelope was ivory. Hand-cut. Unmarked. My name wasn't on it, but somehow, I knew it was meant for me.
My throat tightened as I opened it.
"You shouldn't wear red, little rose.
It makes you easier to spot in a garden full of knives." — X.
The stem of the glass snapped in my hand. Crimson spilled over my fingers.
But it wasn't the wine.
🖤 Xavier's POV
She didn't flinch when she read the note.
Impressive.
Most people tremble at the mention of my name. Rose Scarlett?
She bled onto crystal without blinking.
I watched from the shadows of the upper balcony, behind the velvet curtains the elite thought hid their sins. She was exactly as they'd described her—porcelain skin, red dress, a smile that could disarm nations. But what they didn't know... what they never saw...
Was the blade beneath her beauty.
She played innocent well. Too well. Her movements, her mask, that carefully calculated look of confusion when people whispered about power shifts.
But I've spent my life studying liars.
And Rose?
She was poetry written in code.
The kind of girl who hides bullets in her perfume bottle.
I could've approached her tonight. Ended things early. A warning. A war.
But something about the way she stood there — bleeding and unbothered — made me pause.
"She doesn't know," my second-in-command had said. "She's just the daughter. Harmless."
Liars. All of them.
No one that calm around blood is harmless.
I slipped the lighter back into my pocket and turned from the balcony.
Let her dance a little longer.
Soon enough, the real game would begin.
And when it did... She'd either kneel.
Or burn.
The ballroom dimmed, golden lights pooling softly over the dance floor as the orchestra began its haunting melody. Conversations faded, eyes turned — the first waltz of the night was about to begin.
Rose stood alone near the edge of the floor, her fingers gently tracing the rim of her glass. The air shimmered with elegance, laughter, and the unspoken tension only power could bring.
Then she felt it.
A shift.
Like the room held its breath.
Someone approached — footsteps slow, confident, unhurried.
She turned slightly, but her gaze was met with a man half-veiled behind a sleek, black masquerade mask. She couldn't see his full face — only the sharp line of his jaw and those striking, dominant blue eyes that locked onto hers like a silent challenge.
"May I?" he asked, voice smooth, deep, curling through her like velvet laced with danger.
She didn't know his name. Didn't know who he was.
And yet... her hand moved before her thoughts could catch up, sliding gently into his.
"Yes," she whispered. He led her into the light.
The music carried them forward, and the crowd blurred into shadows. They danced — effortlessly, like they'd done this in another life. His movements were commanding but never forceful; hers were graceful, delicate, almost too soft for the world she was stepping into.
In his arms, she looked breakable. Fragile. So opposite to everything he was — the blood, the power, the darkness wrapped around his soul like a second skin.
She smelled of roses and rain.
He smelled like smoke and winter steel.
She didn't speak, but her eyes held stories. Pain. Curiosity. Fire hidden under silk.
He watched her — the innocence, the softness, the way she seemed like a dream meant to be ruined.
And yet, he didn't let go.
Maybe it was the rhythm.
Or maybe they were already too lost in each other.
They moved in perfect rhythm, the world shrinking to nothing but the music and the space between their bodies.
He held her firmly, yet with surprising care — like she was something rare, something fragile he wasn't used to handling.
After a moment, his voice broke the silence between them, low and smooth.
"Your name?" he asked, though he already knew it. Rose looked up, puzzled. "You don't know who I am?" A pause. Then a small smirk curled at the edge of his lips. "I do. But I wanted to hear it from you."
She blinked, caught off guard. "It's Rose."
He repeated it softly, like it was a secret.
"Rose..."
The way he said it made her skin prickle. Like her name was something sinful in his mouth.
"You always ask strangers to dance with you?" she asked, her voice light, teasing.
"No."
His answer was immediate.
"I don't dance. Especially not with strangers."
Rose asked politely;
"Then why me?"
His blue eyes held hers, colder now — but not cruel. Controlled. Conflicted.
"Because you're not like the rest of them."
She looked down, shy under his gaze. But he gently lifted her chin with his gloved fingers.
"You look... delicate," he murmured. "Like the world hasn't ruined you yet."
She laughed softly, a little sad. "Maybe it has. I just hide it well."
For a second, his hold on her tightened — protective. Possessive.
Rose noticed it — the shift in him. The way his thumb brushed against her wrist absentmindedly, as if grounding himself in her touch.
She should've pulled back. She didn't.
"You still haven't told me your name," she said, voice softer now.
He looked at her for a moment, like he was deciding whether to lie.
"Xavier."
One word. Honest. Heavy.
She didn't flinch. She didn't look away.
Instead, she whispered, "Dangerous name."
His lips twitched — just barely.
"So they say."
Another pause. Another slow turn on the marble floor.
Then he leaned in, his breath warm near her ear.
"You should stay away from me, Rose."
She looked up at him, eyes steady. Unafraid.
"Then why did you ask me to dance?"
He didn't answer right away.
He just stared at her — really stared, like he was trying to memorize the softness in her face before he had to let it go.
"Because for a moment..."
His voice dropped, raw.
"...I forgot who I was."
They parted without a word, but the air between them still burned.
Rose melted back into the crowd, her pulse thudding in her ears. Her breath shaky. That man — Xavier — had pulled something out of her she didn't recognize. Something dangerous.
He was still watching her.
Even through the crowd, she could feel the weight of his stare. And he felt... familiar.
She didn't dare look back.
The ballroom lights flared brighter as another couple took the floor. Laughter resumed. The night continued as if nothing had happened.
But something had.
She walked through the gold-lined corridor behind the ballroom, heels clicking softly against marble. A staff door opened. A man in a server's coat stepped into view.
He didn't belong there. Too tall. Too tense. She stopped walking. His hand moved.
Too fast.
Her fingers reached for the hidden blade under her gown.
But before she could draw it—
Bang.
The silenced shot echoed like thunder in her skull. Rose spun around, heart in her throat.
The man dropped to the floor.
Behind him, standing in the shadows, was Xavier. Unmasked now.
Gun still in hand.
His expression unreadable.
Their eyes met — really met — for the first time.
Blue on fire. Red on ice.
"You shouldn't have come here alone," he said quietly. She stared at him, blood rushing in her ears.
Not from fear.
From realization.
She had known exactly who he was.
From the moment he asked her to dance.
_________________________________________
"And that's where I'll leave them for now... tell me, what did your heart feel in this chapter?"
"Did this chapter leave a scar or a smile? I'd love to hear your thoughts below."
"So... what are you thinking right now? Share your heart with mine in the comments."