The Dacre estate’s private dining hall buzzed with conversation, crystal, and carefully rehearsed laughter. Another celebration, another flawless affair arranged by Don Nikolai Dacre with the same precision he used to run his empire.
To everyone else in the room, the evening looked elegant, powerful, and enviable—a portrait of loyalty, wealth, and family.
To me, it felt like slow suffocation wrapped in silk and candlelight.
I stepped inside wearing a dark green gown, understated but refined, the kind of dress that didn’t beg for attention. It was nothing like the ruby piece Via had been given. In this world, the don’s wife was expected to command the room without effort, to be dazzling without seeming desperate.
Tonight, I felt invisible.
Not because I lacked presence.
Because another woman had made sure the spotlight no longer belonged to me.
Nikolai met me near the entrance, polished and commanding in a black dinner jacket. A smile spread across his face as he looked me over, smooth and practiced enough to fool anyone watching.
“You kept everyone waiting,” he said, amusement lacing his tone, though the sharpness in his eyes suggested he didn’t appreciate it.
“I had business to finish,” I answered, lifting my lips into a polite smile that carried none of the warmth he expected.
He bent toward me and brushed a kiss against my cheek, brief and hollow, like a gesture performed for an audience rather than a wife.
“You still know how to make an entrance,” he murmured.
I said nothing to that. I simply let him escort me farther inside.
The moment we entered together, heads turned. Glasses lifted. Applause rippled across the room. Men nodded respectfully, women smiled with admiration, and Nikolai acknowledged them all with the ease of a man born to be watched.
I remained at his side, composed and silent, playing the role expected of me.
The room glittered with old money and criminal power. Capos exchanged stories over whiskey. Their wives traded pleasantries. Laughter rose from every corner as if this gathering were genuine and not built on fear, leverage, and blood-soaked loyalty.
Nikolai slipped into the center of it effortlessly, charming and untouchable, every inch the don they worshipped.
But my attention drifted elsewhere.
At the far end of the room, Via Lousar stood with a glass of red wine in one hand, dressed in a scarlet gown that hugged her body like temptation itself. She looked less like a guest and more like a provocation.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
The moment her eyes found mine, the corners of her mouth curved. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her glass in my direction, as though sharing some private joke only the two of us could understand.
My fingers tightened around the stem of my own glass until the chill of it bit into my skin.
Humiliation burned hot beneath my calm face.
“Vivica.”
Nikolai’s voice cut through my thoughts. I turned to find him watching me, one hand resting lightly on my arm.
“There’s something I want you to have,” he said.
I looked at him evenly. “Another offering?”
He either ignored the edge in my tone or chose not to hear it. Reaching into his pocket, he handed me a small velvet box, confidence already curling at the corners of his mouth.
“This one should please you.”
I opened it.
Inside lay a pair of sapphire earrings, exquisite and expensive, chosen to match the necklace he’d already presented earlier. Blue again. Always blue. Elegant, tasteful, controlled.
Never what I actually wanted.
“They’re beautiful,” I said in a low voice, though there was no real feeling behind it.
I closed the box and set it aside without ceremony.
For the briefest second, irritation flickered across his face. Then it vanished behind the same effortless mask he wore for the rest of the world.
“Come,” he said. “Sit with me.”
He guided me toward the head of the table, where power was always most visible.
We hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Via crossed the room toward us, every movement sleek, graceful, deliberate. She drew attention without asking for it, the way dangerous women often did.
She stopped in front of Nikolai first, smiling as though she had every right in the world.
“You look especially dangerous tonight, Don Dacre,” she said softly, letting one hand rest against his sleeve with an intimacy that made my stomach twist.
Nikolai gave a low laugh, and instead of removing her hand, he let his fingers briefly settle over hers.
“And you never fail to make an impression, Via.”
The exchange lasted only seconds.
It was enough.
I felt the moment like a blade sliding between my ribs.
Then she turned to me, her expression warm on the surface and poisonous underneath.
“Mrs. Dacre,” she said sweetly. “That necklace looks lovely on you. Nikolai has always had exceptional taste.”
I met her smile with one of my own. “Thank you. And your dress certainly demands attention. Not everyone can wear something so bold and survive it.”
The sweetness in her expression sharpened.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
The air between us tightened, invisible and razor-thin, our words still dipped in civility while everything underneath them threatened war.
Beside me, Nikolai shifted as if sensing the tension he had helped create.
“Let’s not turn dinner into theater,” he said with a strained chuckle. “Tonight is supposed to be enjoyable.”
Via’s gaze stayed fixed on mine as she lifted her glass. “Of course. It’s a night for devotion, loyalty, and the ties that last.”
The words landed exactly where she meant them to.
My pulse kicked harder, but I refused to let her see the hit.
So I raised my own glass with measured grace.
“To the connections that endure,” I replied. “Whether they’re spoken aloud or hidden in the dark.”
Her smile grew tighter.
Nikolai, whether blind to it or simply unwilling to intervene, turned away and began speaking to one of his captains as if the quiet bloodletting between us had never happened.
The dinner dragged on.
Every laugh grated against my nerves. Every toast sounded false. The room was full of smiling faces and polished lies, and with every passing minute the act became harder to endure.
I could feel the weight of every betrayal pressing harder against my chest. Every glance. Every lie. Every time I had been expected to stand still and look regal while my marriage rotted in plain sight.
By the time dessert was served, I knew I couldn’t sit there another second.
I set down my glass and rose with a faint excuse about needing air.
No one stopped me.
The hallway outside was quiet, dim, and blissfully free of witnesses. I walked farther than necessary, my heels clicking against the marble floor, until I reached the shadowed corridor near the west wing.
Only then did I let myself breathe.
Anger surged through me in violent waves, hot enough to make my hands shake. I pressed one palm to the wall and forced my breathing to steady, fighting to keep my composure from splintering.
Then a man’s voice broke the silence behind me.
Low. Sharp. Unmistakable.
“How much longer is she planning to keep up the performance?”
I froze.
Every muscle in my body locked.
Slowly, I turned, my heartbeat thundering as my eyes searched the corridor for the person who had spoken.
