Chapter 5: A Dance with the Devil

The Game Begins

Celeste stood in the middle of the opulent ballroom, her heart hammering in her chest.

The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, aged whiskey, and the underlying tension of men and women who dealt in blood and secrets.

She had always known power was corrupt, but tonight she saw its true face—cold, ruthless, untouchable.

Vincent's grip on her waist was firm, possessive. He led her across the marble floor with effortless grace, weaving through the crowd of criminals, politicians, and tycoons who operated above the law.

She forced a polite smile as he introduced her to a man with silver hair and cruel eyes, a Russian arms dealer named Mikhail Orlov.

Mikhail took her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles, his gaze lingering. "Beautiful… but I imagine dangerous as well."

Celeste held his gaze. "Not as dangerous as the company I'm forced to keep."

Mikhail laughed, amused. "I like her," he said, turning to Vincent. "Does she bite?"

Vincent's smirk was lethal. "Only when provoked."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, though she refused to let it show.

She wasn't a pet—she was a prisoner in a world where monsters wore silk.

As the night progressed, Celeste took everything in—names, faces, alliances. If she wanted to escape Vincent Moreau's grasp, she needed to understand his world first.

And more than anything, she needed a weakness.

Her chance came when she overheard hushed voices near the balcony.

"… shipment is delayed. The authorities are sniffing around."

"We need to handle it before it becomes a problem."

Her pulse quickened.

This was business, and Vincent's empire was not as invincible as he made it seem.

She stepped closer, feigning interest in the city lights beyond the balcony.

"What do you think, Mrs. Moreau?"

She stiffened. The voice belonged to Nikolai Petrov, another powerful figure in arms dealing.

She turned, schooling her features into indifference. "About what?"

"The state of the world," Nikolai mused, swirling his whiskey. "Chaos breeds opportunity, does it not?"

Celeste met his gaze. "Only if you know how to control it."

Nikolai chuckled, but there was something calculating in his stare. "Your wife is interesting, Vincent."

Vincent appeared at her side, his presence a warning and a claim. "I think so too."

His fingers brushed against her lower back, a subtle yet unmistakable reminder of who she belonged to.

She hated it.

But for now, she played along.

She had to.

---

A Dangerous Offer

Hours later, Celeste found herself alone on the balcony, the cool night air brushing against her skin.

She needed space—away from Vincent, away from these criminals who smiled as they plotted murders.

But solitude never lasted long in this world.

A shadow loomed behind her.

Mikhail.

"I could offer you freedom, you know," he said, lighting a cigar.

Celeste's fingers tightened on the railing. "What makes you think I need it?"

Mikhail chuckled. "Because I recognize a caged bird when I see one." He exhaled smoke, studying her. "Vincent is powerful, but even he has enemies. Perhaps one day, you and I will have a conversation about that."

Celeste turned, meeting his gaze. Was this an opportunity?

Or another trap?

Before she could respond, a familiar chilling presence arrived.

Vincent.

His hand closed around her wrist—gentle, but unyielding.

"I don't like sharing," Vincent murmured, his voice laced with something dangerous.

Mikhail smirked. "Pity. Some things were meant to be stolen."

Vincent's grip tightened, and for a moment, Celeste thought he might actually kill the man right there.

But he didn't.

Instead, he pulled her closer, brushing his lips near her ear.

"Time to go, wife."

His voice sent a shiver through her—not from desire, but from the dark promise beneath it.

Mikhail watched, amused. "See you soon, Celeste."

Vincent didn't speak as he led her away, his hand gripping hers with a force that left no room for argument.

---

Punishment

The drive back to the estate was silent.

Celeste sat beside Vincent in the sleek black car, the tension between them thick enough to suffocate.

She expected cold rage, but Vincent was unnervingly calm.

That was more terrifying.

Back at the mansion, as soon as the doors closed behind them, Vincent turned to her.

"You're playing a dangerous game."

Celeste met his gaze. "You're the one who forced me onto this board."

His lips curled in amusement, but his eyes burned with something darker.

"You want to test me, Celeste?" He stepped closer, trapping her against the wall. "Go ahead. But you won't like the consequences."

She refused to look away. "I'm not afraid of you."

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her lips. "You should be."

A cruel smirk tugged at his lips before he stepped back.

"Get some rest, wife." His voice was smooth, dangerous. "Tomorrow, I'll show you exactly what it means to be mine."

Then, he was gone.

Celeste exhaled, her body trembling—not from fear, but from the realization that her time was running out.

If she wanted to escape Vincent Moreau's grasp…

She needed to strike first.

---

End of Chapter 5.