Marco sat at his desk, flipping through a black and gold envelope that had arrived earlier that day. The paper was thick, embossed with intricate designs, and the message inside was simple but powerful.
An invitation.
A highly exclusive event that only the most powerful figures in the underground world were invited to.
The kind of ball where men in tailored suits and sharp smiles discussed things far deadlier than business deals.
Marco tapped the card against his desk, thinking.
This wasn’t just a social event.
This was an opportunity.
A way to mingle, gather intel, and hear whispers about what was happening in the underground world.
If Ella was making moves, if her organization was stirring, someone at that ball would know something.
Marco leaned back in his chair, exhaling.
He had to go.
And he wasn’t going alone.
“You want me to what?” Carmen asked, crossing her arms.
Marco smirked from his seat, twirling the invitation between his fingers.
“You’re coming with me to the Monarch Ball.”
Carmen let out a dry laugh.
“I think you forgot, Marco, but we’re not exactly on ‘go to fancy balls together’ terms.”
Marco shrugged.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re still my wife.”
“On paper.”
“Still counts.”
Carmen rolled her eyes.
“Why do you even want me there?”
Marco stood, closing the distance between them.
“Because,” he said smoothly. “These events are where information flows. Where connections are made. If Ella’s name comes up, I want to hear about it. And if I’m there with you? It’ll send a message.”
“What message?” Carmen scoffed.
Marco’s eyes darkened.
“That no one touches what’s mine.”
Carmen’s breath hitched for a second, but she quickly masked it with an unimpressed scoff.
“You are so full of yourself.”
Marco smirked. “Dress nice.”
And with that, he walked away. Carmen groaned, muttering curses under her breath.
That evening, Carmen stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the straps of the deep-red satin gown she had chosen.
The dress hugged her figure perfectly, with a slit that ran up her leg and an open back that showed just enough skin to drive men insane.
Her dark curls cascaded over her shoulders, framing her sharp cheekbones. A swipe of red lipstick completed the look.
For the first time in a while…
She felt like herself again. Powerful. Untouchable. Dangerous.
A soft knock on the door. “Come in,” she said, not bothering to turn around.
Marco stepped inside—
And froze. His usual cocky arrogance flickered for a second, replaced by something else.
Something darker. Something hungry. Carmen met his gaze through the mirror, smirking.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
Marco’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.
“You look…” he trailed off, his voice lower than usual. “Beautiful.”
Carmen scoffed, turning to grab her clutch.
“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”
Marco chuckled, shaking his head.
“You could just say thank you, you know.”
“I could.”
She didn’t.
Marco smirked again and extended his hand.
“Shall we?”
Carmen sighed dramatically but placed her hand in his.
“Let’s go before I change my mind.”
The Monarch Ball was held in a grand, ancient estate, with golden chandeliers casting a soft glow over the marble floors.
Elegant couples moved gracefully across the ballroom, laughter and whispered deals mixing with the soft hum of classical music.
Carmen had to admit—it was stunning.
But behind every charming smile and polite greeting…
Was a predator. This wasn’t just a ball. This was a battlefield.
“Stay close to me,” Marco murmured into her ear, his palm resting on the small of her back. “This place is full of vultures.”
Carmen raised an eyebrow.
“I can handle vultures, Marco.”
Marco chuckled.
“I know. But I don’t like sharing.”
Carmen rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
As they moved through the crowd, men greeted Marco with nods of respect.
Women looked at Carmen with envy.
Everything was going fine—
Until he appeared.
“Carmen,” a deep, velvety voice drawled behind her.
Carmen turned, finding herself face to face with a man she didn’t recognize.
Tall. Dressed in an impeccable black suit. Sharp jawline. Icy blue eyes. There was something dangerous about him.
Something familiar. “You know my name?” she asked, tilting her head.
The man smirked.
“Of course. A woman as stunning as you? Hard to forget.”
Carmen felt Marco stiffen beside her.
His grip on her waist tightened.
“And you are?” she asked, ignoring the heat of Marco’s glare.
“Lorenzo Salvatore,” the man introduced himself smoothly. “I handle operations in the East. But lately, my interests have… shifted.”
His gaze flickered to Marco briefly—before settling right back on Carmen.
A silent challenge. Marco’s jaw clenched.
“Her interests haven’t shifted,” he said coldly. “So keep your eyes somewhere else.”
Lorenzo chuckled.
“Relax,. I’m just being friendly.”
“Friendly isn’t a word I associate with men like you.”
Lorenzo smirked.
“Touché.”