Evelyn
The ballroom glittered like a jewel box, chandeliers spilling golden light over silks and uniforms, pearls and polished boots. Evelyn Vale moved through the throng of people with her husband's arm linked firmly in hers, accepting congratulations, compliments, and curious glances. The news of her pregnancy had not yet been announced, but she felt the secret glowing within her, a private triumph that made the air itself seem lighter.
Adrian was in his element —speaking with fire to the Lord Mayor, shaking hands with factory guild leaders, charming the wives of old aristocrats with his quick wit. Evelyn watched him, proud and steady, her hand occasionally tightening on his arm when the crowd pressed too close. He glanced at her often, as though drawing strength from the sight of her calm face amid the noise.
It was then that Evelyn noticed the woman.
A vision in emerald satin, dark curls tumbling artfully over bare shoulders, laughter tumbling from her lips like champagne bubbles. She was surrounded by admirers — men leaning in, eager for her smile, women whispering behind jeweled fans. The stranger exuded a kind of dangerous glamour, the sort Evelyn had only read about in novels.
And then the woman's eyes found Adrian.
Evelyn felt the moment before she saw it: the subtle stillness in her husband's posture, the flicker in his gaze. Recognition. Not of acquaintance, perhaps, but of something else — some unspoken memory that stirred beneath the surface.
The woman approached with calculated grace.
"Mr. Vale," she purred, her voice velvet and smoke. "What a surprise to see you here."
Adrian hesitated only a heartbeat, then inclined his head. "Miss Moreau. I… had not expected —" He stopped himself, glancing quickly at Evelyn, then added, "May I introduce my wife, Evelyn."
Evelyn extended her hand, her expression serene. "A pleasure, Miss Moreau."
Clara Moreau's fingers brushed hers lightly, her eyes cool and assessing. "The pleasure is mine. Your husband and I have… mutual acquaintances."
Evelyn smiled, though her stomach tightened. There was something in Clara's gaze — too bold, too knowing — that set her instantly on guard.
"Indeed?" she replied. "Adrian has not spoken of you."
Clara's smile widened, feline. "Then perhaps I am not worth speaking of."
It was a deft answer, modest on the surface yet charged beneath. Evelyn felt it was a challenge, though Adrian quickly steered the conversation away, speaking of the evening's entertainment, the orchestra, the speeches to come.
But the exchange lingered. Evelyn's instinct, sharpened by years of quiet observation, told her she had just met not a stranger, but a rival.
---
Adrian
Adrian's pulse had quickened the instant he saw Clara. It had been months since their last encounter, months since he had closed that door and buried the memory beneath his new life with Evelyn. Yet here she was, dazzling, insistent, impossible to ignore.
He cursed himself for the flicker of recognition, for letting Evelyn see it. Clara was danger — he knew that, he felt it in the way her gaze lingered, the way her words coiled with double meaning. And yet, something in him still stirred when she spoke, like a moth drawn instinctively to flame.
He tightened his grip on Evelyn's hand, grounding himself in her presence. Evelyn was his anchor, his truth. But as the evening wore on, and Clara drifted through the crowd like a siren performing her song, Adrian could not shake the sense that the world had just shifted, subtly but irrevocably.
---
Clara
Clara Moreau savored the moment.
She had not missed the way Evelyn's eyes narrowed, or the way Adrian stumbled for words. It was a small victory, but the first thread had been tugged. The mask of dutiful husband and devoted reformer had cracked, just slightly, and she would make sure the crack widened until the entire façade collapsed.
Later, as she slipped away into the night, Sebastian Crowne was waiting for her outside in his carriage, his face half-lit by the streetlamps.
"Well?" he asked.
Clara slid into the seat beside him, her smile wicked. "The wife is wary. The husband is unsettled. The game has begun."
Crowne's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Then let us play it."