Chapter 8 Threads of Deception

Elira sat at her vanity, brushing her long, dark hair. Each stroke of the brush was slow, methodical—a way to distract herself from the storm raging in her mind.

The Warlock's words refused to leave her.

"It is time to choose."

She had spent years walking the thin line between the world of magic and the world of men, believing she could balance both.

But now, the witches were forcing her hand.

They had left Damien a warning.

They had drawn blood.

They would not stop until she either abandoned him or destroyed him.

A choice she wasn't ready to make.

The bedroom door opened, and she caught Damien's reflection in the mirror as he stepped inside.

He had just returned from an emergency board meeting, no doubt discussing the bloody message left for him earlier.

His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone. A man carrying the weight of too many unanswered questions.

"You're quiet tonight," he murmured, watching her.

Elira set the brush down, turning to face him. "So are you."

He moved toward her, his expression unreadable. "I have a lot to think about."

She tilted her head, keeping her voice light. "About business?"

His gaze locked onto hers.

"About you."

Her fingers curled slightly against the vanity's surface.

"Me?" she asked smoothly.

Damien's lips pressed together, as if debating how much to say.

Then—

"You were calm today."

Elira's heart beat faster, but she kept her expression carefully neutral.

"Should I have panicked?" she asked.

Damien's eyes darkened. "A message was written in blood and left on my desk."

She shrugged, standing slowly. "I've seen worse."

Damien studied her, as if searching for something beneath the surface.

Then, without warning, he reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering.

"You're full of secrets, Elira," he murmured.

She smiled. "And you love it."

He did.

That was what made him dangerous.

Because love could turn into obsession.

And obsession had the power to ruin them both.

The Witches' Demand

Elira didn't sleep that night.

Instead, she found herself in the greenhouse behind the estate, where Damien kept exotic plants imported from around the world.

It was quiet here. Safe.

Or so she thought.

A cool breeze swept through the glass-paneled room, flickering the candlelight.

Then—

The temperature dropped.

Elira stiffened.

She wasn't alone.

A whisper of movement, and then a voice—smooth, rich, and laced with danger.

"You are making this difficult, sister."

Elira turned, her breath catching.

Standing before her was Mirella, one of the High Warlock's most trusted witches.

Her cousin.

Her blood.

Mirella's golden eyes gleamed with amusement as she stepped forward, her gown trailing behind her like black smoke.

"You never should have married him," Mirella murmured, plucking a petal from one of the exotic flowers. "You were warned."

Elira's hands curled into fists. "I made my own choice."

Mirella sighed dramatically. "And what a choice it was. A billionaire husband. Three children. A perfect mortal life." She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you really think we will allow you to keep it?"

Elira swallowed.

Mirella's expression softened mockingly. "You can still make this easy, Elira."

"No."

The amusement vanished.

Mirella's gaze darkened. "Then you will watch everything you love burn."

With a flick of her wrist, the candles snuffed out.

And in the darkness, Mirella whispered—

"Tick tock, dear cousin."

Then she was gone.

Leaving behind nothing but the scent of sulfur and fate closing in.

The Rivals Move

At sunrise, Damien sat in his study, staring at the documents laid out before him.

Financial records. Stock reports. Investigations into the bloody warning left on his desk.

But his mind wasn't on business.

It was on Elira.

His wife.

The woman he had trusted without question.

Until now.

Something was wrong.

She was hiding something.

And for the first time since marrying her, Damien wondered if the enemy he was searching for…

Was sleeping in his own bed.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

One of his executives entered, holding an envelope.

"Sir," the man said. "This arrived for you."

Damien took it, frowning at the lack of return address.

He opened it.

And inside—

A single photograph.

Of Elira.

Standing in the greenhouse.

With a woman Damien had never seen before.

A woman with golden eyes and a dangerous smile.

At the bottom of the photograph, a message was scrawled in ink.

"Do you really know the woman you married?"

Damien's grip on the paper tightened.

His rivals weren't his biggest threat.

The real danger…

Was inside his home.