A Dance with Knives

The silence after the threat hung in the air like smoke.

Sera hadn’t moved. Neither had Rivan.

He was halfway out the door when a voice not hers broke the tension.

“Enough,” Don Romano said from the hall, stepping into view. His gaze flicked between them. “You’ll play nice. At least until the gala.”

Rivan arched a brow. “So that’s what this was? A rehearsal?”

“Think of it as a test run,” the Don replied coldly. “The world needs to see unity between our families. And you two… will give them a performance they’ll never forget.”

Sera’s hands curled into fists. “And if I refuse?”

“You won’t.” The Don’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

“I made the deal. Your presence is not optional.”

Rivan didn’t speak. He just watched her. And Sera hated that she couldn’t tell if the look in his eyes was pity… or victory.

The ballroom was drenched in opulence crystal chandeliers, black marble floors, and shadows dressed in silk and secrets.

It was the kind of event where people smiled while plotting murder, where champagne flowed like blood, and where appearances were more important than loyalty.

Tonight, the Blackthornes and Romanos were making their first public move. And they were using their children to do it.

Sera stood at the top of the stairs in a fitted black gown, every inch the heiress they’d trained her to be. Her hair was pinned into a style too elegant for how violently she felt inside.

Below, the crowd parted as Rivan entered. He wore a tailored black suit, no tie, the top button undone like rules didn’t apply to him. They didn’t. Not really.

Eyes met. And the room disappeared. Neither smiled. They didn’t need to. The tension between them did it for them loud and dangerous and electric. A low murmur rippled through the guests as Rivan ascended the stairs and offered his arm. It was tradition. Theater. Sera hesitated just a breath. Then placed her hand on his arm. To the world, it looked like unity. But up close, it was war. They walked through the crowd like royalty soaked in gasoline. The air bent around them.

“Smile,” Rivan murmured under his breath, his hand lightly resting on the small of her back.

“I’d rather choke,” Sera replied through gritted teeth.

“Later,” he said with a ghost of a grin. “We’re in public now. Try not to stab me.”

“No promises.”

The music shifted. A waltz began. It was time. He led her to the dance floor with practiced ease, spinning her into his arms.

“You’re enjoying this,” she accused as he pulled her closer.

“Only the part where you have to touch me,” he said, lips brushing her ear.

Sera leaned in, her voice sweet and sharp.

“Careful, Rivan. You’re just one wrong move away from bleeding.”

“And you,” he whispered, “are one slip away from falling.”

Their eyes locked—darkness and fire colliding in the middle of a room full of liars. They moved in perfect rhythm. Like enemies dancing on the edge of a blade. Then he saw him. Across the room. Watching. Dark hair. Pale eyes. A scar along his jaw. Rivan didn’t know his name, but he didn’t like the way the man looked at Sera. Like he knew her. Like he had known her. Sera’s body tensed a second too late.

“You didn’t tell me you had ghosts, sweetheart,” Rivan said softly.

She didn’t answer.

“Who is he?” he pressed.

“No one,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

Rivan grinned. “Now you’ve made me curious.”

The song ended. They broke apart with the perfect amount of space and venom .The applause masked their sighs of relief. But the tension didn’t fade. If anything, it burned brighter. Because tonight, they had played the part. Pretended to be a couple. Smiled for the world. But behind closed doors?

The knives were still in their hands.....

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