Chapter 161 - Santiago

Chapter 161 - Santiago
I watched as Salvatore’s hand slid around Nova’s arm, the smooth authority in his movement making it look like a practiced gesture — as if she’d always been his to claim. Her forest-green dress shimmered beneath the light, silk rippling over her body like a second skin as he led her away from me and into the center of the ballroom. She didn’t resist. She didn’t look back.

I wanted her to.

“Come,” Sean murmured, giving me a brief pat on the shoulder as he and Belen started forward. I followed, though my eyes never left Nova.

The ballroom was an ocean of voices, of perfume, of gold and glass. Everything gleamed — the chandeliers, the polished marble floors, even the laughter that seemed to rise in waves whenever Salvatore passed. Nova moved through it like something carved from a dream, her bare back catching the light as she walked beside her father.

“What’s he doing?” I asked Sean quietly.

“Watch,” he said. “He’s showing her off.”

I did. Salvatore navigated her straight to a tall man with silver hair and an expression of authority — the judge. Even from a distance I recognized the posture, the commanding stillness. My stomach tightened. I saw the moment Salvatore greeted him, the moment Nova extended her hand, polite and poised. It looked harmless, civil even — but Sean’s quiet tone cut through the noise.

“He’s grooming her,” Sean said. “He’s showing her the world that will soon belong to her.”

I couldn’t tell whether the surge in my chest was pride or fury.

She looked exquisite, radiant in that deep green that brought out the gold in her skin and the sharpness of her eyes. The neckline of her dress was modest, but the fabric clung to her as if it knew her shape better than anyone else. I remembered the way she’d looked at me earlier, nervous, uncertain — and now she stood there as if she’d been born into this empire.

Belen nudged me lightly. “You’re in love with her,” she said, not as a tease, but as fact.

I didn’t answer.

My silence was confirmation enough.

“She’s good for you,” Belen continued after a moment, her tone surprisingly gentle. “All of you, actually. You’ve been different since she came along. More focused. More…alive.”

Sean smiled faintly at that. “She brought the balance back.”

“Arrogant, obnoxious balance,” Belen added, rolling her eyes.

I almost laughed. Almost.

Then my attention was pulled back to the far side of the room where Salvatore and Nova were moving again. I recognized the gestures. The introductions. The strategic charm. He was doing for her what my father had once done for me — claiming space, establishing power, shaping perception. But there was a difference: Salvatore didn’t just want to show her off. He wanted to mark her place in his empire.

“She’s being groomed to lead,” Sean said under his breath, echoing my thoughts. “It’s not a coincidence he brought her tonight.”

That word — empire — suddenly felt heavier than it ever had before.

I could see it forming in real time: the subtle shift of people’s attention, the way eyes followed her as she moved at Salvatore’s side. The whispers spreading, the smiles, the nods of respect that followed. Nova didn’t realize it yet, but every step she took tonight placed her deeper into that world — one of power, influence, and shadows that never left.

When Salvatore finally brought her back to us, there was something changed in her. A light behind her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was realization. Maybe both.

As she approached, her gaze found mine — and for a moment, the noise of the ballroom vanished.

Relief softened her features, but there was also something else. A flicker of need, of seeking an anchor in the chaos. I reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her gently against me. She fit there easily, like she belonged.

Salvatore passed close enough that his words brushed my ear, too low for anyone else to hear.
“Be seen with her,” he murmured. “Smile. Kiss her if you must. Let them see that she’s adored.”

And then he was gone, moving toward Sean and Belen, leaving a trail of quiet influence in his wake.

Nova tilted her face toward mine. “Do you want a drink?” I asked softly, brushing a stray curl from her shoulder. “Something to eat? Or…”

She cut me off. “Dance.”

The word came out like a breath — soft, certain, almost pleading.

So I took her hand and led her toward the floor, where the music swelled and the light fell in golden sheets over the dancers. My palm pressed against the small of her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin silk. Her pulse raced beneath my fingers.

I leaned down until my lips were near her ear. “He showed them you belong to him,” I murmured. “Now I’m going to show them who you are.”

The ballroom shimmered like a living thing — chandeliers dripping light onto marble, diamonds catching and breaking it into fragments that scattered across her skin. Nova looked ethereal under it all, her green dress hugging the curves I’d memorized, the open back framed by her dark hair, her every movement a silent challenge and confession. She still hadn’t learned that every step she took in public said more than her words ever could.

I guided her out to the dance floor, one hand firm at the small of her back, feeling the tension of muscle beneath satin. Her pulse betrayed her calm, trembling faintly against my fingertips. I bent closer. “You know, James and Levi gave me something to give to you,” I murmured, letting my breath brush her ear as we moved in time with the orchestra.

Her head tilted up, curiosity bright in her eyes, but I could already see the confusion forming — a flicker of uncertainty she tried to hide. I pulled a small box from my pocket, the size of something meant to test obedience rather than adornment. “Take this to the bathroom. Follow whatever instructions they left. I’ll get you something to drink.”

It wasn’t phrased as a command, but she knew it was. Nova nodded, her throat working before she turned and slipped away into the gilded corridors. Watching her leave, the air between us seemed to thrum — a quiet anticipation that had nothing to do with the music.

When she returned, her composure was cracked at the edges. The flush on her cheeks wasn’t from the warmth of the ballroom. Her hair had loosened, a few tendrils sticking to her neck. She held out a small object, her fingers trembling slightly. “I was to give this to you, master,” she whispered, the word barely audible beneath the strings.

I took the remote, the weight of it strangely satisfying in my palm, turned it up immediately, and offered her the glass I’d promised. “Drink.”

Her lips touched the rim obediently. I could see how her hands trembled faintly, how she was trying to steady her breathing. When she handed the glass back, I drew her once more into the tide of dancers.

The waltz wrapped around us like smoke. Her body melted into mine, and I felt the smallest shiver ripple through her. “Remember,” I murmured against her hair, “whatever you’re feeling right now — whatever they made you put inside you — stays between us. No one else needs to know.”

Her breath caught, a nearly silent gasp. “Yes, master,” she murmured, the faintest tremor betraying how much effort it cost to keep her voice even.

We moved as one, turning with the rhythm, her hand light on my shoulder, her other trembling faintly against my chest. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if she were struggling to focus on the steps, as if the floor beneath her shifted in ways only she could feel. I tightened my hold around her waist, supporting her as her balance wavered almost imperceptibly.

“Look at me,” I whispered. She did, her pupils wide, her lips parted as though every nerve in her body had come alive.

The music slowed, and I leaned in close enough for only her to hear. “Breathe through it. No one else knows.”

Her nod was tiny, fragile. A soft sound escaped her throat — not quite a sigh, not quite a plea. Heads turned toward us as we swayed. To them, we were only another couple moving too close, lost in the illusion of romance. But I knew better. I could feel the storm under her skin.

I loosened my hand, only to slide it lower, guiding her through each motion with a subtle pressure that made her body obey before her mind could catch up. “Tell me, pet,” I murmured, my tone gentle but unmistakable. “How does it feel?”

She hesitated — a shiver crossed her shoulders. “Strange,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Heavy. It’s… different. It inflates, master. I’m so full.”

“Good different?”

Her eyes flickered up at me, desperate and honest. “Yes, master.”

She clung to my jacket as the music swelled again, her breathing uneven. Each spin drew her closer, her head tilting, her focus fraying around the edges. I could see it in her eyes — the way she was fighting not to betray herself, not to show too much, not to let anyone else notice.

“Hold yourself together,” I whispered. “You’re doing beautifully.”

She swallowed, nodding once. Her lips parted as if to speak, but I shook my head faintly. “Not a word.”

Her lashes fluttered. “Yes, master.”

The song lingered on its last chords, strings sighing like breath drawn too deep. Around us, people applauded softly, unaware of the current pulsing between us.

And then, over her shoulder, I saw him — Salvatore, threading his way through the crowd like a man parting water. Heads turned to follow him; smiles froze. Nova didn’t see him yet, her attention fixed entirely on me.

“Your father’s coming,” I murmured, my voice barely audible, though she heard it — I felt her body go still against mine. “You’ll dance with him. You’ll speak as though nothing is amiss. He cannot know.”

Her pulse jumped beneath my hand. For a moment, she looked as if she might protest — then her expression shifted, determination hardening beneath the surface of obedience. “Yes, master,” she breathed, every word a promise.

By the time Salvatore reached us, her composure was nearly perfect again — the same woman, but painted over with the careful veneer of poise and grace. Only I could see the tremor beneath it, the small signs of strain, the fire hiding just under her calm surface.

“Salvatore,” I greeted evenly.

“Santiago,” he said, voice smooth, controlled. “A moment, please. You and Belen both.”

I nodded, pressing a final touch to Nova’s back before steering her toward Sean. Her eyes lifted to me, filled with something between gratitude and relief — or maybe it was defiance.

Either way, when I followed Salvatore through the crowd, the sound of the orchestra felt different now — too bright, too loud — as if the music itself had caught on to what we’d just done.