Enemies in Silk and Shadows

Olivia hadn't expected to be followed.

The gala was meant to be a clean distraction another piece of the puzzle in their media rebrand. A celebration of business elites wrapped in charity smiles and five-star wine. But from the second she stepped into the ballroom of the Grand Astoria Hotel, something felt… off.

The gazes lingered too long. Whispers coiled like smoke.

And someone was watching her.

She adjusted the diamond cuff at her wrist, eyes scanning the room subtly through the veil of her lashes. Damon was already across the floor, surrounded by politicians and tech moguls, playing the role of charming CEO with terrifying ease.

Meanwhile, Olivia drifted through the crowd like silk on glass—poised, untouchable, cold.

Exactly what they expected of her.

But she knew how to weaponize expectation. Her presence was performance, down to the blood-red gown hugging her like a second skin.

She didn't flinch until the stranger stepped too close behind her.

A whisper, low and male, brushed her ear.

"Still playing pretend, princess?"

She turned swiftly, heart leaping—only to find herself face-to-face with a man she hadn't seen in years.

Asher Vale.

Her ex.

Her father's former protégé.

And Damon Cross's sworn rival.

Olivia's spine stiffened. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Asher smiled. Sharp. Dangerous. The same smile he used when stabbing people in the back.

"You look good, Liv. Like a woman who's playing with fire and pretending not to get burned."

"I asked what you're doing here."

He leaned in, breath warm against her cheek. "Networking. Scheming. Threatening. You know, the usual."

"I'll have security throw you out."

"Oh, I doubt Damon would risk that. Not when I know exactly why you two really got married."

Her blood ran cold.

Asher's smile widened. "Relax. I'm not going to say a word—yet. But I'd be careful if I were you. Marrying the devil doesn't mean you're safe from his enemies."

He left her standing there, heart pounding, fingers curled around her clutch like it was a weapon.

She didn't notice Damon watching from across the room.

But he noticed everything.

After the Gala

"What did Asher say to you?"

Damon's voice was low and controlled, but Olivia caught the storm just beneath it.

They were in the limo, city lights flashing across tinted windows like strobe effects on an anxiety attack.

She met his gaze. "You knew he'd be there."

"Answer the question."

"He threatened me. Subtly. With charm and champagne breath. Classic Asher."

Damon's jaw clenched. "I told you to stay away from him."

"You told me a lot of things. And you didn't exactly warn me your mortal enemy would be circling me like a vulture."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "He's dangerous."

"So are you."

"Not to you."

She barked a humorless laugh. "You keep saying that like it's a promise. But every time I step into your world, I feel like I'm one misstep away from freefalling."

Damon's eyes didn't waver. "Then stop stepping alone."

The words hung between them like a truce—or a threat.

She looked away, staring at the city beyond the glass. "You married me for leverage. Don't pretend it was for protection."

"I married you," he said quietly, "because someone had to put you in a position where no one else could use you."

She froze.

Not because the words were cruel—but because they were almost… kind.

Terrifyingly kind.

And that scared her more than Asher ever could.

Back at the Penthouse

Olivia stood beneath the rainfall shower, eyes closed as hot water licked down her back. But she couldn't drown the memory of Asher's whisper.

"I know why you really married him."

But did he?

And what if there were things even she didn't know?

She dried off, wrapped in a silk robe, and stepped into the bedroom. Damon was already there, sleeves rolled up, shirt half-unbuttoned. Papers were spread across the bed—confidential files, merger contracts, security reports.

But what caught her eye was the envelope in his hand.

He was holding it like it burned.

"What's that?" she asked.

Damon didn't answer immediately.

Then, "A letter from your father."

The silence cracked like thunder between them.

She walked forward slowly. "You've been reading my father's mail?"

"He sent it to me."

She stopped short. "What?"

Damon handed her the envelope.

No stamp. No signature. Just her name—Olivia—written in familiar, slanted handwriting.

Inside: one letter. Short. Ink bleeding slightly, like it had been written fast or under duress.

Don't trust anyone around you. Especially not the one you married.

—R.B.

Her father.

Warning her about Damon.

Or maybe manipulating her one last time.

She looked up, fingers trembling. "Why would he send this to you instead of me?"

"Because he wanted you to find it through me. And doubt everything."

"Is it true?"

Damon held her gaze. "Do you think I would've married you if I wanted to destroy you?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you alive," he said. "And in power."

"But why?"

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Because if you fall, I fall with you."

And for once, she believed him.

That scared her most of all.