The Ghost Between Us

The song ended, but the room didn’t exhale. Not really.

Don Romano stepped forward, raising his glass. His voice boomed, smooth and sharp.

“To the future of the Romano and Blackthorne families,” he declared, eyes gleaming like polished steel. “Tonight, we celebrate not only peace… but partnership. Our children, Sera and Rivan, will be married before the season ends.”

A hush. Then applause. Cameras flashed. Smiles widened.

But on the dance floor?

Sera froze.

Rivan’s grip tightened ever so slightly on her waist, grounding her.

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” she whispered.

“Welcome to the game, princess,” he murmured back.

[Then—right after the toast:]

He didn’t let go. Instead, Rivan leaned down, his lips barely brushing her ear.

“Smile one more time for the cameras,” he said. “Then come with me.”

They slipped away seconds later through a side hall, past confused staff and murmuring guests.

No one dared stop them. No one ever stopped a Blackthorne He didn’t speak until the door slammed behind them back in the Romano estate’s study, lights low, silence thick.

The door slammed shut behind them.

Silence followed. Not the comfortable kind. The sharp, waiting kind. The kind that came before blood spilled on marble floors. Sera stood in the center of the study, her back still straight, but her mask slipping. Rivan had seen her wear it all night that perfect doll-face of indifference. Now, it was cracking.

“Who was he?”

His voice was low, dangerous.

She didn’t turn. “Don’t start.”

“I already did.”

“I said he was no one.”

“And I said you’re a terrible liar.”

She turned to him then eyes flashing like storm-lit glass.

“Why do you care, Rivan? You’re not my lover. You’re not my husband. You’re just a pawn in this fucking game our fathers started.”

He crossed the room in two steps, the air shifting between them like it knew something was about to break.

“I care,” he said, “because I don’t like being blindsided. Because every time you flinch at someone else’s shadow, it becomes my problem now.”

“Oh, how tragic,” she spat. “Does the Blackthorne prince not like getting dragged into someone else’s hell?”

“No,” he said, voice low. “I like knowing who else you’ve given that fire to.”

Sera froze. For a moment, neither moved. And then she laughed sharp and humorless.

“You want honesty, Rivan?” she whispered. “Fine.”

She stepped closer, toe-to-toe now.

“He was my fiancé. Before your family got greedy. Before mine sold me to keep their power intact. Before you showed up at my father’s table like a wolf in a suit pretending to be salvation.”

His jaw flexed.

“He was going to die anyway,” Rivan said after a beat. “With or without this marriage. That’s how this world works.”

Her voice broke. Just slightly.

“Then maybe we deserve each other.”

He didn’t know what possessed him—maybe the guilt, maybe the heat still coiling between them from the dance—but his hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she looked up at him with a kind of sadness that felt too honest for someone like her.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said. “But not enough.”

And just like that the moment cracked. Because Sera stepped back. Walls up. Voice steady.

“I’m going back.”

He didn’t stop her. Didn’t follow. But when the door closed behind her… He didn’t move for a long time. Because tonight, Rivan had learned something dangerous: Sera Romano was already broken. And somewhere deep down…

He wanted to be the one to put her back together. Or destroy her completely trying.

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