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Ten years ago, Vivienne D’Arcy vanished from the world of high society after the sudden, mysterious death of her father. Now, she returns to Rosemoor Manor, the estate of secrets and sorrow, to confront the past she’s tried to forget—and the man who never truly let her go.

Damien Vale is no longer the reckless boy she once loved. Cold, powerful, and intoxicatingly dangerous, Damien hides secrets darker than the halls of the crumbling manor. When he hands her a sealed letter from her father—one kept hidden for a decade—Vivienne is thrust into a game of deceit, obsession, and forbidden desire.

As their twisted history resurfaces, so does the passion they swore they'd never feel again. But some shadows don’t just linger—they consume.

In a world of velvet lies and deadly devotion, Vivienne must decide if she’s ready to face the truth...
Even if it means losing herself in the man who could destroy her.

A tale of gothic romance, betrayal, and power—where love is both poison and cure.

Velvet Shadows

The ballroom in Vienna glimmered like a dream dipped in poison.

Golden chandeliers hung like frozen suns, and every guest wore a mask—plated in silver, laced in deceit. The music was a waltz, slow and haunting, each note a reminder that here, elegance was just another kind of war.

Vivienne entered in black silk and diamonds. Her mask was carved obsidian, sharp as a blade. She was not here to dance.

"Saul Leclair will be at this gala," Damien had said. "The youngest of the six. The one with charm, wealth… and the ugliest crimes hidden under designer suits."

Girls trafficked through modeling agencies. Children disappeared from refugee shelters. Leclair's name was never on the surface—but his fingerprints were always there.

And tonight, he was hosting a masquerade.

Julien had infiltrated the servers two hours earlier. Damien waited in the corridor with their extraction team.

Vivienne moved through the crowd like a ripple of shadow.

She caught glimpses of the elite—politicians, bankers, royalty. All sipping champagne and lying with their eyes.

Golden hair. Soft smile. Mask like a Greco-Roman god. He looked like innocence sculpted from privilege, but Vivienne saw the rot beneath the polish.

He smiled as if recognizing her through the mask.

She walked toward him like gravity itself had demanded it.

"My lady," Saul said, offering his gloved hand. "May I have this dance?"

Let the devil think he was leading.

Their steps glided in sync—three-four time, their bodies close, too close. The violins whispered ancient sin, and the chandeliers flickered above them like trembling stars.

"You don't look like the usual elite," Saul said, studying her. "But there's something familiar about your mouth."

Vivienne smiled coldly. "It's the mouth of someone who's not afraid to bite."

He laughed. "God, I adore dangerous women."

She tilted her head. "I adore men who fall easily."

The music swelled. Vivienne leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.

"Do you remember a girl named Anya Lisova?"

Vivienne pulled away, mask glinting like obsidian fire.

"She was twelve when your men took her. She died in a freight container in the Baltic."

Screams. A crashing violin. Smoke flooded the room as Julien triggered the alarms.

Vivienne slipped away before Saul could react, pulling a flash drive from beneath her bodice. She ducked into the corridor where Damien waited, pistol raised.

"Shaken, not broken," she hissed. "But I planted the malware on his watch. We'll have every transaction, every buyer, every sick file."

Behind them, guests ran in panic. Security scrambled like ants. Saul's mask lay abandoned on the ballroom floor, shattered.

Back in the safehouse, Julien decrypted the files in minutes.

"Dozens of girls. Men in power. Photos. Videos. Code-named auctions."

"They'll know we're coming either way," she said. "Let them tremble."

Julien hit upload. The files shot into the dark web like knives thrown in silence.

That night, the world began to burn.

Interpol issued arrest warrants. CEOs disappeared. Anonymous protests erupted across Europe.

And Saul Leclair vanished into shadow.

But Vivienne knew this wasn't over.

The empire was cracking, but the heart still beat.

She stared at her reflection in the safehouse mirror—obsidian mask in one hand, flash drive in the other.

THE BETRAYER’S WALTZ