The violins bled velvet and gold across the marble, casting sound like moonlight into every hidden corner. A hush gripped the room, breathless as Ravien took Thiana's hand in his and led her into the open.
Every step of the waltz carried history, binding them in rhythms older than any treaty. Thiana moved as though tethered to a current—graceful but braced for impact. Ravien's touch was firm, perfectly measured, pulling her close without suffocating, holding her hostage without rope.
Around them, the aristocracy watched.
Not just the power she danced with, but how her expression twisted between restraint and yearning.
Ravien dipped her low, his mouth inches from her throat. "Do you feel it?" he whispered. "This is what control tastes like."
Thiana's breath came faster. "And what happens when the dance ends?"
Ravien pulled her upright, spun her sharply. "We rewrite the world."
When the final note vanished into silence, the crowd erupted in applause.
But Thiana didn't hear it.
Her heart was thundering, trying to claw its way out.
After the ceremony, Lord Damion Vale approached her with an ornate scroll tied in blood-red ribbon. The Pact.
"Sign this," he said, "and your debts vanish. Ravien's protection becomes law. No one touches you..... not even the Crown."
Thiana held the scroll in trembling hands.
"If I refuse?"
Veera answered, stepping closer. "Then Ravien walks alone.... and you're marked. By every jealous rival who saw you take his hand and expose your weakness."
Thiana swallowed.
She was already a target.
This would make her a symbol.
In Ravien's chamber that night, she stared down at the scroll. The ink shimmered like fireflies. Ravien stood behind her, quiet, watching.
"No one can force you," he said.
Thiana looked over her shoulder. "But I already belong to you, don't I?"
He stepped forward, his thumb grazing her jaw. "Not yet. Not properly. Not eternally."
She turned to face him.
"I'm scared."
"I am too," he said softly. "Because if you walk away.... I burn."
She didn't expect that answer.
It shook her.
And then… she signed.
The tip of the pen hovered over her signature, that final line of scrawled ink shimmering like it knew what it had done. The moment the pact was signed, Ravien didn't move. He didn't celebrate. He didn't smile.
He simply stared.
There was something in his eyes Thiana hadn't seen before. Not possessiveness. Not triumph. Something softer. Sadder. As if claiming her had cost him something too.
The candlelight flickered, casting wraiths against the stone walls.
"You understand what this means," Ravien said quietly.
Thiana nodded, her throat tight. "I'm yours."
"No," he murmured. "You're ours. Now they'll come for you. Now they'll try to unravel you—to test your weight, your value, your pain threshold."
Her fingers trembled. "What if I'm not strong enough?"
Ravien stepped closer. "Then they'll bury you. And I'll burn them all."
She swallowed. That promise should've comforted her. But in the world she'd just entered, promises were made from arsenic and silk.
At dawn, Ravien escorted her out of the manor to the courtyard where messengers waited. Scrolls were loaded onto armored horses, bearing news to every noble house, every syndicate, every bloodline that still claimed influence.
The pact had been forged.
Thiana Morgane Cabello was no longer just an heiress or a traitor.
She was a bound asset.
She had protection.
She had exposure.
She had become part of Ravien's arsenal.
By midday, rumors had already spread.
Lady Veera sent her a velvet box filled with obsidian rings, each carved with a different symbol—protection, silence, wrath, deceit.
Her message was brief: You'll need all four. Choose wisely.
Lord Salien had sent a silk scarf soaked in a rare toxin known as "whisper bane"....a warning disguised as a gift.
And Damion Vale? He hadn't sent anything.
But Ravien informed her that Vale had already written her name into his will—as a threat, not a favor.
That evening, Thiana stood before the mirror in Ravien's chamber, staring at her reflection.
She looked the same. But she wasn't.
Her body was still soft in the right places. Her eyes still held secrets behind layered mascara. But her shoulders had shifted. Her expression had narrowed. She looked… marked.
"You're becoming myth," Ravien said behind her. "They'll tell stories about you."
Thiana turned slowly. "Then I hope they're afraid."
He smiled ... but it didn't reach his eyes. "They are. But fear isn't loyalty. And loyalty, for them, is the rarest poison."
That night, a courier arrived bearing a single item: a cracked locket with Zade's insignia burned into the underside. No note. No context.
Thiana stared at it for a long time before speaking.
"Zade sent this."
Ravien narrowed his eyes. "That locket is a death mark."
Thiana's breath hitched. "Mine?"
"No," he said grimly. "Lawrence's."