38

38
VIVIENNE

I stood in front of the mirror. The room around me was quiet, but inside my chest everything felt restless. The red dress hugged my body, every line of it made to draw eyes, to make a statement.

Red was not a color for softness—it was for blood, for fire, for power.

I reached for the last piece of jewelry, a slim gold bracelet The bracelet clicked shut, and I smoothed my dress with my hand.

A sigh escaped me, one I had been holding for days. It had been an endless week. Every morning and night filled with preparations for tonight—the seating charts, the wine lists, the guest order.

The rest of my days stolen for moving pieces of the Moretti base into this mansion. My people needed to know that though my name had changed, I had not abandoned them.

And yet… through all this, Lucian had been absent. Since that night—since the moment he almost kissed me but chose to walk away with that smug smile—I hadn’t spoken a word to him.

He had avoided me as if I carried fire in my hands. Always leaving the room when I entered, always staying just a step out of reach.

I stared hard at my reflection, searching her eyes. “You can’t falter now,” I whispered to the woman in the mirror. “Tonight, you are untouchable.”

A knock came at the door.

I turned, and there they were—Maria and Marisol, waiting.
“You look beautiful,Boss,” Marisol said, her voice bright. “No one will be able to look away.”

Maria gave me a knowing smile, one that carried reassurance without words. She didn’t shower me with compliments—she didn’t need to. Her nod told me she approved, and that was enough.

Marisol offered her arm to guide me toward the stairs. I let her walk me through. The sound of distant voices, laughter, and music came up from below.

The banquet had already begun. Every important name in this city—politicians, dons, businessmen, and their wives—was gathered under this roof. Waiting for me.

Lucian.

He stood under the chandeliers, surrounded by the the guests, he was wearing a black suit that made him look strong. His hair was neatly styled, and though he stood with an easy posture, he still carried a presence that made people move aside for him. His eyes found mine.

For a moment, his expression slipped. His gaze stopped on me, and the corner of his mouth lifted, like even he was surprised to be caught off guard.

My stomach twisted, not from flattery, but annoyance. Just the sight of him made my jaw tighten. After days of silence, days of ignoring me, he would dare look at me like that? As if he had every right?

I slipped my arm free from Marisol’s, leaving her behind as I began to walk down. Lucian extended his hand as I drew near, offering it as the perfect gentleman.

For one moment, I considered ignoring it. Letting him stand there, empty-handed, humiliated in front of everyone. But as my eyes swept the room—the watchful faces of my people, his people, the elite of this city—I forced myself to take a deep breath.

This banquet was about unity. About strength. A united front was the whole reason for tonight.

So I sighed softly, just enough for only me to hear, and placed my hand into his.

Lucian’s smirk spread like he had won something. His fingers closed around mine and he led me down the last step. He leaned closer, his voice was a low murmur only I could hear.

"You look stunning, Tigress,” he whispered, low enough that only I could hear.

I rolled my eyes, tearing my hand away the moment he released me.

But the room—ah, the room was mine.

I decided to move through the crowd with my purpose in mind. I walked calmly ,smiled when I meant it, and made sure people in the crowd felt my eyes on them. Some tried to test me, but I didn’t back down. My words were few, but they carried power, enough to make people pause and listen.

All the while, Lucian stayed close, never speaking for me. He didn’t need to. His presence was like a shadow that never left my side. When I caught his eyes once, I saw something flicker there—pride, maybe. Or amusement. As if he enjoyed watching me play this game and win.

The tigress, as he called me, was showing her claws, and he seemed to enjoy every moment.

The night carried on. Music rose and fell. People were at ease now, sinking into the the banquet. And then, someone tapped a glass for silence.

It was time for the toast.

I stood with my glass raised high. “To alliances,” I said. “To power that is shared, not stolen. And to the future we will shape—not as enemies, but as rulers of a city that belongs to us all.”

The room answered with a chorus of glasses raised, their voices started murmuring approval.

But before the wine touched my lips, Lucian moved.

No one saw where the blade came from. One moment his hand was empty, the next a blade was pressed hard against the waiter’s throat.

Gasps filled the hall. Guests turned, their voices breaking into whispers that spread like fire.

The tray in the waiter’s hands rattled, wine spilling over the edge of the glass. His eyes darted wildly and sweat started dripping down his temple.

Lucian’s voice cut through the noise,
“Why does this wine smell of death?”

The man froze. His face turned pale but no words came.

My chest tightened. Poison. The wine had been poisoned. I had almost lifted it to my mouth. Right here. In front of everyone.

The guards seized him, dragging him back as he stammered protests. The room buzzed with shock. Who would dare? Who could be bold enough to try this, here, under our roof, in front of the entire city’s power?

Lucian turned his head slightly, eyes finding mine across the chaos. For one brief moment, our eyes locked.

For a moment, it felt like the whole room fell away. My mind whispered one word: Rivera. It had to be. They had motive, history, reason.

Questions rained down on him, He was shoved against a pillar, his collar was torn as fists drove into his ribs. “Who sent you?” “Which family?” “Answer!”

Then, before another question could leave their mouths, the man jerked violently. His teeth clenched. Foam bubbled at the corner of his lips. His body convulsed once, twice—and then he collapsed in the center of the banquet hall.

The poison had been his own. He had chosen death.

Gasps and cries rippled through the guests. A woman screamed. The chandeliers above seemed too bright, mocking.

The guards knelt, searching his lifeless body.
There was no Rivera insignia. No mark of any known family. Only a small black card tucked inside his jacket.

It was pulled from his jacket and handed to Lucian. His fingers turned it over, On it, scrawled in red
ink, were words that sent a chill down my spine:

“Poison tastes sweetest in the mouths of kings.”