Chapter 10: Ten

The grand hall of the Drevino estate experienced a stunning makeover.

Flickering candles swayed in elaborate wrought-iron chandeliers above, casting a warm, golden light that generously spread across marble floors polished to a mirror-like finish. Long tables, tastefully covered in luxurious black linen, bowed under the burden of crystal decanters sparkling in the gentle glow and overflowing platters of delicately cured meats, tender roasted game, and colorful sugared fruits. The heady scent of fine wine, aromatic spices, and luxury filled the vast area, crafting an ambiance that was both welcoming and majestic.

And at the head of it all, beneath a banner stitched with the Drevino crest, sat Don Matteo.

Amara entered at his side, her gown flowing like dark silk against the pale floor. Valen walked just behind, sharp as a blade in his fitted suit, his restless energy simmering beneath a mask of easy charm.

The room quieted as the guests men in tailored suits, women in glittering gowns, and, most notably, the young heirs to empires across Valeforte turned their eyes on her. Amara felt their gazes as if they were weights pressing against her skin.

Darius was there too, though not beside her. No, he lingered where shadows pooled near the pillars, his broad frame cloaked in black, unreadable as stone. His presence was silent but undeniable watching, measuring, as if one wrong move might draw his hand to the knife she knew he always carried.

“Welcome, my honored guests,” Don Matteo’s voice carried, rich and commanding. He rose from his chair with the weight of a man who expected silence when he spoke. “Tonight, I open my hall not merely in hospitality, but in promise. The future of Valeforte does not rest only on trade or steel, but on bloodlines. Strength is preserved when we forge alliances as strong as iron.”

The men at the tables billionaires and their sons and daughters with their perfect hair and smug smiles leaned forward, hanging on his every word.

Amara’s heart thudded. She already knew what was coming.

“My daughter, Amara Drevino,” Don Matteo said, his hand sweeping out to present her like she was nothing more than a prized jewel in his collection, “is the brightest flame of this family. Tonight, you will know her. And perhaps, one among you will prove worthy of her hand.”

The air buzzed with murmurs, glasses clinking as several of the men stood, eager to be the first to approach.

Amara’s spine stiffened, though she kept her face calm. A jewel. Always a jewel. She could still hear Valen’s words in the garden: A jewel only shines because Father keeps it polished.

Her father’s hand pressed briefly against her back a reminder, not a comfort before he moved to his seat.

Valen caught her eye across the table. His smirk was sharp, but his gaze was tight, watching every man who looked at her. She could read the storm brewing in his posture: resentment, protectiveness, and something reckless.

Then the first suitor arrived.

A young man with defined cheekbones and a silk tie stepped forward, bowing excessively. "Luca Verani, heir to Verani Holdings. It's a pleasure to meet the beautiful daughter of Don Drevino."

Amara nodded politely. His cologne was overwhelming, and his smile seemed rehearsed. "The pleasure is mine."

"Tell me," Luca continued, his voice smooth with practiced charm, "have you ever thought about living overseas? My family owns estates in Monaco and Milan. A woman like you should experience the world."

Amara smiled faintly, the expression polite and cool. “I've seen more of the world than you could imagine

The men nearby chuckled, though some eyes narrowed at her boldness. Don Matteo, she noticed, did not smile.

Behind them, in the shadows, Darius’s gaze never left her. His arms were folded across his chest, expression unreadable, but she felt the weight of his stare more keenly than the wine in her glass.

Another suitor came, then another. One praised her beauty, another her supposed “grace,” though not a single one asked her what she wanted. To them, she was a prize to be won, a trophy to lift the moment her father gave his nod.

Through it all, her fathers  presence loomed. He watched her every word, every smile, measuring how well she played her part. Valen, too, leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine, his jaw tightening whenever one of the men stepped too close.

And still, Darius lingered like a shadow that refused to be banished, his eyes cold fire locked on her movements.

By the time the fourth man finished boasting of his family’s shipping fleet, Amara’s patience was cracking. Her hands clenched under the table, hidden in her skirts.

When the next man rose, his smile wide and hungry, Amara spoke before he could introduce himself.

"Have you all memorized your speeches?" she asked playfully, her voice loud enough to be heard across the room, "or do you ever express your true thoughts?"

A wave of laughter swept through the hall, although some guests looked displeased. Her father's gaze turned to her, sharp as a knife.

The young man stuttered, clearly taken by surprise. Valen's grin widened, entertained by the disruption she had caused.

But Amara wasn’t focused on them. She was staring at the shadows.

At Darius.

His face hadn’t changed, not even slightly. But his eyes… gods, his eyes were aflame.

And she knew, without him saying a word, that he was watching not as a guard. Not as her father’s weapon. But as a man who saw her not the jewel, not the pawn…. But her …Amara.

Her pulse raced. She forced herself to look away.

Don Matteo’s voice cut through the moment like a lash. “Amara.”

She lifted her chin, meeting her father’s stare.

“You will listen, and you will answer with grace. These men are not here for games.”

Her chest tightened, but she dipped her head slightly, the gesture obedient enough to satisfy him.

But inside, the fire was burning.

And she felt, in the corner of the room where shadow clung to stone, that Darius burned with her.