...****************...

...THE ART OF DECEPTION...

...-J.M. Shea...

He was danger dressed as desire. And for years, I told myself I couldn’t stand him.

Aleksei Romanov- my brother’s so-called friend, my family’s perfect inconvenience.

Cold, unreadable, and always there with that maddening stare and sharper tongue.

He made it easy to hate him.

Until hating him became the only way to keep my heart intact.

We weren’t meant to collide.

But fate doesn’t care what I want.

Buried secrets start clawing their way back, and the life I thought was mine begins to crack. Turns out the man I swore to never trust might be the only one standing between me and the truth. Here the truth is his.

He’s fogged with nothing but darkness.

But I’ve carried light my whole life.

And if I have to, I’ll burn through that darkness to find what’s been hidden from me, from him, from us.

Even if it means destroying everything including lies.

– A story of twisted fate, love, and betrayal.

Coming soon.

...****************...

...THE ART OF DECEPTION...

...ADRIA...

Manhattan’s pulse thrums beyond the windows, a restless beast of neon and ambition nestled among skyscrapers that claw at the night sky. The air hums with the distant honk of cabs, the glow of NYC bleeding into the Kingsley Estate, where wealth and power collide in a dazzling spectacle. Inside, the grand hall feels alive, its marble floors gleaming under chandeliers that scatter the light like diamonds. Men in tailored suits and women in cocktail dresses weave through the crowd, their champagne glasses clinking, their laughter sharp with secrets.

It’s a dance of influence, every smile a transaction, every whisper a deal.

This is my family’s domain–opulent, unyielding, and just a little suffocating.

I lean against a velvet-draped column, my black off shoulder gown sticking to my curves as I nod at passing guests. I’m Adria Kingsley, youngest daughter of Hugo Kingsley and Kate Millers, here to play the part of the perfect daughter at my brother’s engagement party. But tonight, my chest tightens with a restlessness I can’t shake, like I’m a stranger in this glittering world I’ve called home my whole life.

At the center of it all is my father, Hugo Kingsley, his blonde hair streaked with gray, his stern face a mask of control as he commands the room. He’s the CEO of Kings Global Congregation, a name that opens doors and seals fates. “Never show you’re fazed,” he always says, his words echoing in my mind as I watch him navigate the crowd with that firm confidence only he can wield.

Beside him, my mother, Kate Millers, radiates grace, her hand tucked into his arm. Once a top-tier lawyer who could dismantle opponents with a single argument, now she chairs the Kings Foundation, pouring her heart into causes that make the world less broken. She’s the bravest woman I know, and the way Dad’s hand covers hers, his rare smile flickering, tells me he agrees.

I adjust the neckline of my dress as I flash a smile at a passing guest, my mask in place, but my chest tightens. No one prepared me for this night.

“Is there a reason my dearest sister dressed like she’s mourning my engagement instead of celebrating it?”

I turn to find Kyle leaning against a pillar, his wine glass tilted with that infuriatingly smug grin. My brother–four years older, the spitting image of Dad, has the same dark blonde hair, hazel eyes that cut through lies, and a commanding aura that fills the space. Where Dad’s build is broad and muscular, Kyle’s is leaner, though still strong, his navy suit tailored to perfection.

As CTO of KGC’s cybersecurity division, he’s the genius who guards our family’s secrets, wearing his brilliance like a second skin. Not blood, but you’d never know it. He’s the best brother I could ask for, the one who’d sneak me chocolate chip ice cream at midnight when I was eight, sobbing over adoption papers I barely understood. We’d huddle in the pantry, him whispering dumb jokes about aliens stealing my homework, his arm slung around me as we licked spoons clean under the flashlight’s glow.

Those nights stitched us together, closer than DNA ever could.

“Bold words for someone who looks like he raided Dad’s closet for that suit,” I shoot back, smirking. “What’s next, a PowerPoint on why you’re the family’s golden boy?”

He chuckles, low and dark, swirling his wine. “Careful, Adria. Keep throwing shade, and I’ll hack your phone to play funeral dirges on loop.”

“Oh, please. The only thing you’re hacking is your own ego. It’s crashing the servers, brother dearest.” I nudge him, my grin softening. “But seriously, what changed your mind all of a sudden?”

Kyle raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What do you mean, changed my mind?”

I roll my eyes, poking his side. “Don’t play dumb. Up until last week, you were dead set on not marrying anyone right now– especially my girl Ivy!”

“My girl?” He smirks, poking my forehead. “Not anymore. She’s mine now. Fiancée trumps girl code.”

I cringe, shoving him lightly. “Ew, please. I’m already in disbelief you actually agreed, now don’t tell me you’re getting all possessive. Mom called me like the sky was falling. I didn’t even ask what the occasion was about– just threw on this dress and showed up.”

Kyle’s grin widens. “What’s so surprising? We were always gonna tie the knot someday. Just a matter of time.”

I cross my arms, shooting him a side-eye. “Oh, really? What happened to ‘I’m not marrying the epitome of immaturity and annoyance in this lifetime,’ brother dearest?”

He laughs, a rare, full sound that makes heads turn. “There’s no grand reason, Dree. Like I said, it was just time.”

I pause, narrowing my eyes. “You sure she didn’t threaten to strangle you with her scarf collection?”

Kyle’s smirk turns wicked. “She might have. I was oddly into it.”

I groan and hug his side as he pats my head like I’m still that teary-eyed kid. “You’re such a menace. But I love you.”

He smiles softly, then arches a brow. “Still haven’t answered why you’re dressed like you’re auditioning for a gothic novel.”

I scoff, gesturing at my dress. “This is couture, thank you very much. Not my fault you can’t appreciate style.”

“Style?” He snorts. “You look like you’re plotting to haunt the estate.”

“You two are impossible,” Mom’s voice cuts in, warm and teasing. She glides over, her silver gown shimmering, her hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “Kyle, you’re about to get engaged. Try not to torment Adria into disowning you first.”

Kyle raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m innocent, Mom. Adria's the one throwing daggers with that dress.”

I grin, leaning into Mom’s side “He’s just jealous I pull it off better than his CEO cosplay."

Mom laughs, her eyes crinkling as she swats at Kyle’s arm. “Enough, you two. The guests are watching.” She glances toward the grand entrance, her brow furrowing slightly. “I wonder why they’re running late?”

I wrap my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder. “Maybe Ivy finally realized tying the knot with this gremlin was a terrible idea and bolted for the hills,” I tease, shooting Kyle a playful smirk.

He snorts, stepping closer to ruffle my hair before slipping an arm around my neck in a mock headlock, gentle but annoying enough to make me squirm. “Love you as much as I wanna strangle you, sister dearest.”

I yelp, swatting at his arm. “Kyle, you–let go!”

“God, you two are embarrassing me,” Mom gasps, her tone half-scolding, half-amused as she pries us apart. “Behave, or I’ll make you both stand in the corner like when you were kids.”

Kyle releases me with a dramatic sigh, and I smooth my dress, glaring at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t knee you where it hurts.”

“Try it, Dree. I’ll have your phone playing sad trombone sounds for a week,” he quips, winking.

Our laughter fades as a bright voice cuts through the crowd. “Dree!”

I turn, and there she is–Ivy Scott, my best friend, gliding toward us like a vision in a strapless pink gown that blooms with delicate rosettes, the fabric shimmering like it’s woven from starlight. Her ginger hair is swept into a floral clip, the top half cascading in soft waves, her gray eyes sparkling with that infectious warmth that makes everyone love her. She’s elegance and chaos wrapped in one, the kind of girl who’d design a couture dress in the morning and trip over her own heels by noon.

“Ivy!” I squeal, meeting her halfway. We collide in a hug that’s all giggles and swaying, her perfume–something sweet like jasmine, mixing with the champagne in the air. I pull back, holding her at arm’s length. “You look like you stepped out of a fairy tale. How is this fair?”

“Says the girl who’s serving gothic goddess vibes,” Ivy shoots back, her grin wicked as she flicks my dress’s hem. “This dress is a slay, Dree.”

I laugh, warmth flooding me. Ivy’s been my ride-or-die since we were teens, sneaking into fashion shows and whispering secrets over late-night coffee. She’s the only one who gets my restless heart, the part of me that feels like it’s searching for something I can’t name. Soon, she’ll be my sister-in-law, and the thought makes my chest ache with love–and a tiny pinch of worry I can’t place.

Mom steps forward, enveloping Ivy in a hug. “You look stunning, dear. What’s got you running late?”

Ivy’s smile falters for a split second, but she recovers fast. “We left early, but we had to swing by the airport.”

“Airport?” Mom’s brow lifts. “Oh, Alek’s back?”

The name hits me like a rogue wave.

Aleksei Romanov.

The headache. The insufferable, smug, six-foot-something thorn in my side who thinks the world should kneel at his feet. He’s been gone for eighteen months and one week, doing God-knows-what–probably building his precious club or plotting world domination with that cold, calculative brain of his. I’ve known him since I was ten, when he was a lanky fourteen-year-old who’d mock my pigtails and steal my snacks just to see me fume. He’s Kyle’s so-called friend, but to me, he’s a walking migraine wrapped in a tailored suit. Arrogant. Infuriating. And yet, the thought of him back in Manhattan makes my pulse stutter in a way I refuse to analyze.

I force a casual shrug, sipping my champagne to hide the tension coiling in my chest. “Oh, he’s not here yet?” My voice is breezy, but Ivy’s gray eyes glint with mischief, catching something I didn’t mean to show.

“Curious, are we?” she teases, nudging my arm. “Don’t worry, Dree. Your *headache* will grace us with his presence soon enough.”

I roll my eyes, but my cheeks heat. “Curious? Please. I’m just bracing myself for the inevitable ego storm.”

Ivy smirks, leaning closer. “Sure, keep telling yourself that. Bet you’ve been counting the days till he shows up to ruin your vibe.”

“Ruin my vibe?” I scoff, flicking her arm. “He’d need a personality transplant to even get close.”

“Oh, you’re so full of it,” she laughs, but her gaze darts to Kyle, who’s been watching her since she walked in, his hazel eyes tracking her every move like she’s the only person in the room.

Kyle steps forward, his arm sliding around Ivy’s waist, pulling her to his side with a possessiveness that’s… new. Ivy tenses, her smile flickering as she glances up at him, their eyes locking in a way that feels too intense for a crowded ballroom.

“Enough girl talk,” Kyle says, his voice low, almost a growl. “It’s time, ginger. Let’s go.”

I blink, confused. Ginger? Since when does Kyle call her that? And what’s with the sudden caveman act? My brother, the guy who once swore Ivy was “too chaotic” for him, is looking at her like she’s the only thing he sees. Something’s off. Last week, he was dodging Mom’s marriage talk like it was a plague, and now he’s all in? There’s a story here, and my gut tells me it’s not just love making him act like this.

My thoughts spiral back to the headache. Aleksei. The one person who could make a room feel too small just by existing. I don’t know why my brain keeps snagging on him, but the idea of seeing that smug face after eighteen months makes my stomach twist–half dread, half something I refuse to name.

A commotion at the entrance snaps my head up. Heads turn, whispers ripple through the crowd, and there he is.

Aleksei Freaking Romanov.

The headache himself, striding through the double doors like he owns the damn place. His tailored black suit hugs his broad shoulders and lean frame, every stitch screaming money and menace. His dark hair, tousled just enough to look effortless, catches the chandelier light, and those dark blue eyes–sharp enough to cut glass, scan the room with that smug infuriating look. Some women flutter like moths to a flame, their giggles grating on my nerves, while men step back, sensing the predator in their midst.

How can someone be so annoyingly perfect after eighteen months? It’s unfair. Obnoxious. And–damn it–stupidly.....hot.

Behind him, his bodyguard, Jaewon, trails in, all sharp cheekbones and colder-than-ice vibes. His calculating gaze sweeps the room, but–oh my God–is he beelining for the dessert table? The man trained to snap necks with his bare hands is eyeing a tray of macarons like they’re his next mission. I almost snort, but my focus snaps back to Aleksei, who’s already drawing every eye in the room.

The crowd parts as Dad takes the stage, his voice booming over the murmurs. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate a momentous occasion–the engagement of our son, Kyle Kingsley, to the remarkable Ivy Scott.” He gestures to Kyle and Ivy, who step forward, her hand tucked in his arm. Dad shakes hands with Lloyd Scott. Mom beams, her joy genuine, but Ivy’s mother, standing beside Lloyd, offers a smile that’s strained, like she’s holding her breath.

The room erupts in claps and clinking glasses, but my eyes keep drifting to Aleksei. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve glanced his way, each time cursing myself for it. He’s leaning against a column, sipping a drink, his posture lazy but his gaze anything but. He’s watching the crowd like a chess player studying the board, and I hate how my skin prickles under the weight of his presence. I hate his stupid suit, his stupid smirk, his stupid everything.

Then it happens. My eyes flick to him again, and this time, they lock with those dark blue eyes, peeking through the soft, tousled strands of hair that fall carelessly over his forehead. That effortlessly sharp, slightly undone look makes my pulse spike, but it’s the smirk–the goddamn smirk–that sets my nerves on fire. It’s like he knows he’s getting under my skin, and he’s enjoying every second of it.

Asshole Supreme, I think, fuming as I glare back, refusing to blink first. My heart’s pounding, and I’m two seconds from marching over to wipe that look off his face when–poof–he’s gone. Vanished into the crowd like a ghost.

I blink, scanning the room, confused. Where the hell did he go? Jaewon’s still there, annihilating a tray of éclairs like it’s his life’s purpose, but Aleksei’s nowhere in sight. Did he just… teleport? Typical. Always pulling some dramatic nonsense to mess with my head.

I’m still craning my neck, muttering curses under my breath, when a low, taunting voice brushes my ear, sending a shiver skittering down my spine. “Careful, printsesa. Keep looking for me like that, and I’ll think you’ve been pining for me these past eighteen months.”

My heart stumbles, the traitor. His scent–cedarwood and something darker, like smoke and sin–wraps around me, making my head spin. I whip around, ready to unleash a verbal lashing, but Aleksei’s standing too close, his dark eyes pinning me in place. That smirk is still there, daring me to react, and his presence feels like a storm cloud swallowing the room.

“Pining?” I snap, crossing my arms to hide the way my hands tremble. “I’d rather French-kiss a cactus than waste a single brain cell on you, Romanov.” But my voice betrays me, a little too breathy, and his eyes glint like he’s caught me red-handed.

Damn him. Damn him and his stupid face.

...**********************************...