The city had been built around the Varrow name.
It was in the steel skeletons of the skyscrapers, the neon-lit bridges, the towering glass banks — every place that whispered power whispered Varrow. And tonight, the empire's ruling family was on full display.
Under the glass dome of the Varrow estate ballroom, wealth glistened like a living thing. Crystal chandeliers dripped light over polished marble. The quartet's music curled through the air like smoke, sweet and heavy. Waiters in white gloves glided between clusters of laughing men in tailored suits and women in gowns that shimmered like water.
At the center of it all was Lucian Varrow.
He didn't need to raise his voice. He didn't even need to smile. His presence moved people — made them step aside instinctively, their conversations faltering until he passed. Forty-eight years old, head of the Varrow Conglomerate, his fitted black suit looked like it had been sewn into him. His dark hair was threaded with silver, his jaw sharp enough to cut through silence. The kind of man who'd never had to fight for attention — it bowed to him naturally.
At his side stood Marina Varrow, his wife. Thirty, tall, and the kind of beautiful that made people stop mid-sentence. A gown of midnight blue hugged her frame, its silk trailing behind her like water. Marina's smile was warm but deliberate — she knew exactly when to tilt her head, when to laugh softly, when to touch a guest's arm just enough to make them feel important.
"Ambassador," she greeted smoothly, handing Lucian a flute of champagne without looking at him. He took it without thanks — their movements so in sync it was almost choreographed.
From across the ballroom, a senator whispered to his wife, "They run this city like royalty."
They weren't wrong.
Lucian moved from one conversation to the next, his words low and precise, his hand occasionally resting on Marina's waist in a way that looked protective but was actually possessive. Marina, meanwhile, was everywhere at once — smoothing social tensions before they existed, distracting a rival CEO with a story while Lucian sealed a deal across the room.
The Varrows didn't just host parties. They performed power.
And the audience — everyone from media moguls to foreign ministers — lapped it up.
The glamour didn't reach the east wing of the estate.
Behind a locked door, the air was different — still, heavy, faintly smelling of last night's spilled whiskey.
The Varrow estate was silent in the way only a palace could be — the kind of silence bought with wealth, enforced by fear. Outside, the gardens shimmered under a thousand lanterns for the patriarch's annual grand gathering. Inside, behind carved mahogany doors in the east wing, silence meant something else entirely.
The sound broke suddenly — a sharp crash, the metallic clatter of something hitting the floor.
Serena flinched before she even looked. The lamp she had placed carefully on the nightstand now lay shattered across the rug, its light extinguished.
Adrian Varrow stood above her, his chest rising and falling like a man who had run a mile in rage. His cufflinks glinted in the low light, gold catching the flicker from the fireplace.
"You think you can sit there looking like that?" His voice was low but edged with the kind of danger that made her spine lock. He didn't shout — not yet. That would come later. The control in his tone was somehow worse.
She opened her mouth, but words didn't come. They never did.
The next moments blurred — a sudden grip on her arm, the unforgiving pressure of fingers digging into skin, the taste of copper from biting her own lip to keep from crying out. Her hair fell forward, shielding her face as he pushed her back against the carved bedpost.
She didn't resist. She never resisted. Resisting only made it last longer.
When it was over, he straightened, adjusting his shirt cuffs like nothing had happened. Serena remained still, the side of her face pressed against the cold wood, breath shaking. Her dress strap hung loose, a small rip in the delicate silk. She didn't look at him.
"Fix yourself," Adrian said, his tone clipped, as though they were simply late for dinner. "You'll be on my arm in ten minutes. And you will smile."
It wasn't a request.
He left without looking back, his steps measured, controlled — the same precision he carried into the boardroom, into the world, into the empire he would one day inherit.
Serena stayed still for a moment longer, staring at the carpet until her vision stopped swimming. She reached for the vanity, fingers trembling as she dabbed at the smear of crimson at the corner of her mouth. Her reflection looked pale, almost ghostlike, eyes too wide and too quiet.
From the hallway, faint strains of music drifted in — the ballroom orchestra beginning to play, the sound of laughter carrying from far away. The world outside their private chamber was already dressed in silk and champagne.
By the time they descended the grand staircase, the transformation was complete.
Adrian's hand rested at the small of her back in a way that looked possessive, protective, even tender. The same hand that had left a faint bruise now hidden beneath fabric. The ballroom erupted in polite applause.
Every man in the room either owed Lucian something or wanted to. Every woman envied Marina's diamonds. The Varrows didn't just own businesses — they owned the narrative.
Adrian leaned in to murmur something in Serena's ear — the picture of an attentive husband. Her lips curved upward, the perfect illusion. Cameras flashed.
From across the room, Marina's gaze found her. The smile on her lips was smooth, but her eyes were steel. She didn't need to speak for Serena to understand: You will never belong here.
A waiter passed, offering champagne. Serena took a glass, not to drink, but to give her hands something to hold. Adrian excused himself to join a cluster of high-profile businessmen near the French doors, his posture radiating command.
Marina stepped closer. "You look… less tired tonight," she said, her tone dripping with something that wasn't quite kindness. "Let's keep it that way. We wouldn't want anyone thinking Adrian's wife can't handle her place in this family."
Serena swallowed, forcing another smile, because that was the rule here:
In public, there were no cracks. No shadows. Only the glittering mask.
And so she stood in the center of the most beautiful room in the city, her heart still pounding from the quiet violence upstairs, her smile perfect, her silence absolute.
Because in the Varrow family, love was never gentle — and survival meant learning to dance in the dark.the cruelty stayed hidden — for now.
The ballroom was still humming with laughter and crystal clinks when they left her standing near the farthest marble pillar, a forgotten shadow in a sea of golden light. The chandelier above sprayed a thousand fractured sparks over her hair, making it gleam as if polished for display. Her lips—still curved in that poised, practiced smile—ached from holding the expression for hours.
Adrian had disappeared the moment the last toast was given, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd like a blade. His mother, Marina Varrow, didn't even glance at Serena when she swept past with her fur-lined stole, head tilted in the way of women who know they will be obeyed without needing to raise their voice.
No one noticed that Serena's hand trembled slightly as it lifted her champagne glass. No one saw the tiny bloom of red at her wrist, hidden beneath the cuff of a diamond bracelet. They didn't need to. The Varrow family's parties weren't about noticing. They were about performing.
So she performed.
The laughter she offered to passing guests sounded light, effortless, as though her world wasn't aching beneath the silk of her gown. She moved from group to group, a vision in deep crimson satin, answering polite questions about the wine list, complimenting wives on their gowns, and nodding to business partners whose fortunes were tethered to the Varrow empire. Every step she took was measured, her back perfectly straight—because anything less would be seen. And what was seen would be punished later.
Inside, she was hollow.
Serena tilted her head as another guest made a joke she didn't hear, letting out a soft, charming laugh. Her eyes skimmed over the gilded room—gold trim on the columns, crystal chandeliers, the glint of imported marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. Everything in the Varrow estate screamed wealth. Power. Untouchability.
And she was the trophy at the center of it all.
Not a partner. Not a person. A possession.
She knew exactly how she had gotten here.
Five years ago, she had been just another name in a gaming forum, a girl with quick reflexes and an instinct for strategy. The moment the vows were said, the world she thought she was stepping into vanished. The house became her prison. Her phone calls were monitored. The friends were blocked or silenced. And Adrian turned into something else entirely.
He beat her when she spoke out of turn. He ignored her when she didn't perform the perfect wife's duties. His mother treated her like a poorly trained servant, correcting her posture, her words, the way she placed her fork on the table.
The only time they praised her was in public.
The game had ended the night she walked into the Varrow estate. Now, there was only survival.
She hadn't been beyond the gates in nearly three years. The estate was sprawling, with manicured gardens, a private lake, and guards at every entrance. Even if she could slip past them, she knew the reach of the Varrow name was longer than any road she could take.
So she stayed. And she played her role.
Serena's gaze drifted to the grand staircase at the far end of the ballroom. Adrian was descending, a perfect smile carved into his face, his suit tailored to perfection. To the crowd, he looked like a man in love, his eyes finding his wife's across the room.
She knew better.
He approached, his hand sliding around her waist in a gesture that looked tender but pressed just hard enough to remind her of the bruise he'd left there earlier. His lips brushed her temple, his voice a low murmur meant only for her:
"Smile wider. You look tired."
She smiled wider.
The crowd saw a devoted couple. They saw a man who adored his wife and a woman who basked in his affection. They saw nothing of the blood beneath the silk, the fear behind her eyes, or the way she counted every second until the night was over.
Because no one wanted to see.