Chapter 19: Gala of Ghosts

Gold was the color of power.But tonight, it shimmered with danger.

The Ferris Estate stood like a crown above the city, perched on the cliffs like a forgotten palace. Bathed in soft uplights and strung with cascading lights that swayed in the sea breeze, it was equal parts elegance and eerie grandeur. Beyond the iron gates, valet attendants opened doors with military precision, and the elite arrived in designer armor—satin suits, crystal-studded gowns, and masks that glittered with secrets.

Tonight was no ordinary school gala.

It was a spectacle meant to dazzle.

To disarm.

To distract.

Veronica Lin arrived last.

The hush that fell wasn't silence. It was awe cloaked in curiosity.

She stepped out of the custom black Rolls in a floor-length gown of inky velvet laced with gold embroidery, the bodice sculpted like armor, the train flowing like shadows. A gold phoenix clasped the back of her neck, trailing down her spine like fire. Her heels clicked against the marble like the ticking of a slow fuse.

Her mask—a half-face piece of black filigree lined with obsidian stones—hid only her eyes, but the rest of her presence was undeniable. She was the storm the ballroom hadn't expected.

Every camera lens turned her way.

Whispers bloomed like vines.

"Is that… Amy Lin?""She looks like a goddess.""No, a queen.""Did she always carry herself like that?"

Not in her old life. Not before. But now?

Now she walked like a woman who remembered war in every step.

Lucas was already waiting on the marble steps.

In a tailored midnight suit and a black mask carved with silver edges, he looked like danger wrapped in silk. His stance was straight, his hands in his pockets, yet the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. He didn't wear that suit—he wielded it. Like a weapon.

His eyes met hers, and for a second, the world tilted. Everyone else vanished.

He offered his hand without a word.

Veronica placed hers in his, and together they ascended the stairs, stepping into a world she knew far too well, where whispers were currency and blood often flowed beneath crystal chandeliers.

Inside, the ballroom was a mirror of opulence. Chiaroscuro lighting cast deep shadows between the columns, and the chandeliers above weren't mere crystal—they were real diamonds, borrowed from a museum, suspended in floating cages of light.

Violins floated above an orchestra pit, their music weaving through the air like a spell. Servers glided silently with trays of champagne and dark chocolate petals, meant to symbolize youth and love.

But Veronica noticed it immediately.

Someone was wearing that mask.

Not a generic one.

Not fashion.

It was carved in jet-black lacquer, etched with the crest of the Crimson Vow—her first life's mafia sigil. A silent mark of loyalty that hadn't been seen in public since the fall of her empire.

It was subtle. Most wouldn't recognize it. But Veronica's blood stilled. That symbol should've died with her.

And yet there it was, gliding past her on the face of a man who never turned to look directly at her.

Her breath caught. She forced it down with a practiced smile.

Lucas leaned in.

"Do you see it?" he murmured against her ear, his voice low enough to disappear beneath the music.

"I see more than one," she replied. Her voice didn't waver. "Three, maybe four eyes on me that shouldn't be here."

He pulled her toward the center of the ballroom. "Then let them look."

The music swelled—a dark, dreamy waltz.

And then, he took her waist.

Before she could protest, Lucas was already leading her in a dance.

His grip wasn't gentle. It was possessive. Like a man who would rather set fire to the floor than let another touch her. His hand splayed across her lower back, holding her firmly against him. The other gripped her hand with quiet steel.

His eyes stayed locked on hers, sharp and unreadable.

"Lucas—"

"They're hunting you tonight," he said softly. "Not testing. Hunting."

She stiffened slightly in his arms, but he didn't stop moving. Neither did she.

"How do you know?"

He spun her, so her back was to the windows. "Because I've heard whispers. And because someone tried to bribe one of the kitchen servers. With pills."

Veronica's pulse spiked. "Who?"

"They were intercepted before they could give a name. But they weren't amateurs."

She tried to turn her head to scan the crowd, but Lucas stopped her with a gentle tug on her wrist.

"Eyes on me, Veronica. If you flinch, they'll smell it."

So she didn't flinch.

Instead, she danced.

And smiled.

And pretended like her life hadn't just unraveled a little more.

But her mind was already ticking.

The mask. The bribed server. The note.

You're not the only ghost who rose.

A ripple of laughter from the balcony made her glance up.

There, Serena Wu stood in a sapphire gown that clung like water, talking to a man she didn't recognize.

Until he turned.

Just enough for Veronica to catch a glimpse of the ink peeking out from beneath his cuff.

A coiled serpent wrapped around a dagger.

Her breath hitched.

That tattoo.

It belonged to the Serpent Blades—a rival syndicate back in her mafia days. Mercenaries who'd vanished after a bloody betrayal.

No one had seen that mark since the New York riots that left a dozen of her men dead.

But now it was here. At a high school gala. On the arm of Serena Wu.

Lucas noticed the change in her expression. "What is it?"

"Someone from my first life," she whispered. "Not just a ghost. A traitor."

"Do you want him removed?"

"No. Let him play his part." Her gaze narrowed. "I want to see what act he performs."

Lucas's eyes gleamed behind his mask. "You're colder than I thought."

She smirked. "You haven't seen me when I'm angry."

Just then, the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

Darkness.

A collective gasp swept through the ballroom.

The music stopped mid-note. Footsteps stumbled. Murmurs filled the silence like static.

Then came a crash—glass against marble.

Lucas moved immediately, pulling Veronica behind him with one arm while his other reached into his jacket.

The lights snapped back on a beat later.

And a girl, one of the junior heiresses, delicate and trembling, collapsed in the center of the floor.

Foam bubbled at the corner of her lips.

Her eyes were unfocused. Hands twitching.

Screams erupted.

Security surged forward. Teachers pushed students back. The music remained dead.

And Veronica didn't blink.

Because in the chaos, something else had appeared at her feet.

A pedal.

A black one.

Made of velvet.

Just like the ones used in the Crimson Vow's initiation ceremonies.

But no one else seemed to notice it. It was as if the petal had been placed there just for her.

Lucas's voice was quiet, but sharp.

"This wasn't about the girl."

Veronica nodded slowly, watching as the masked figure with her mafia crest vanished through the crowd like a ghost dissolving into shadow.

"No," she whispered. "This was a message."

A warning.

A challenge.

A game.

And she had just been invited to play.

She knelt, brushing her fingers over the velvet petal, the weight of memory settling into her spine like a blade.

They had tried to kill her once.

They'd buried her empire.

But now?

She was back.

And this time, ghosts didn't haunt her.

They obeyed.