Embers Beneath Silk

The rain had stopped, but the storm inside Aylin burned stronger than ever.

She sat in the back of the black SUV, its interior glowing with soft red lights, as the city’s skyline drifted past like ghosts of the past. Her arms were folded, eyes fixed on the reflection of her face in the window—eyes that once belonged to the weak, naive girl she used to be. No more. That girl had died in flames.

Now, she was fire.

"You're quiet," the man beside her said. His voice was deep, with a dangerous softness that teased like velvet over a dagger.

"Get used to it, Lucien," she said, not even turning toward him. "I’m not here to be your entertainment."

Lucien Morello smirked. He liked her fire—even if he didn’t know it was forged from the ashes of a life he helped destroy.

"Don’t flatter yourself," he said lazily, adjusting the cufflinks on his charcoal suit. “I have other ways to be entertained.”

She turned then, meeting his gaze head-on. “Like killing people’s families?”

His brow arched, just slightly, but she caught it. Good. She wanted him uneasy, off-balance. She couldn’t kill him yet. But she could plant the seeds.

Lucien gave her a long, unreadable look. “You speak like you’ve lost someone.”

“I’ve lost everything,” she whispered.

They arrived at the Morello estate—no, mansion wasn’t the word. It was a fortress, perched atop a hill like a predator watching over the city. Sharp edges. Cold stone. Iron gates. And cameras. So many cameras.

“You’ll be living here now,” Lucien said, opening her door like a gentleman, but there was something mocking in his smile. “Welcome to your cage.”

She stepped out, heels clicking against marble. “You mistake me for a bird. I don’t get caged.”

“No?” His voice was amused. “I guess we’ll see.”

---

The estate was as opulent as it was sterile—gold-framed mirrors, chandeliers that dripped like icicles, floors polished to perfection. Everything screamed wealth. Everything screamed control.

Lucien led her through the halls like a wolf guiding a lamb—only the lamb was hiding fangs.

“This is your room,” he said, pushing open a door.

Room was an understatement. It was a suite. With a walk-in closet, vanity mirrors, and a bed big enough for five people.

She glanced around. No windows. Just like a prison.

She walked in. “Planning to lock me in at night, husband?”

He smiled faintly. “Only if you bite.”

She smirked. “Try me.”

He left, the door closing behind him like a vault sealing a secret. She waited five seconds before checking the corners of the room. She found the hidden camera in less than a minute—tucked above a painting.

She pulled her compact mirror from her purse, aimed it toward the lens, and whispered, “I see you.”

Then she sat on the edge of the bed and let the wave of emotion wash over her.

This was it.

She was inside the belly of the beast. The man who had orchestrated the destruction of her family now thought he had her wrapped in silk. A trophy wife. A puppet bride.

But silk could burn.

---

Three Weeks Earlier

When Aylin had awoken in the hospital, her body broken and her soul shattered, she realized fate had gifted her something most never got: a second chance.

The explosion that killed her parents… it was no accident. It was orchestrated by Lucien Morello’s father, and Lucien himself had signed off on it during his rise in the underworld. The Morello family had wiped hers out for refusing to sell the last parcel of land standing between them and complete control of the eastern district.

And Aylin? She had been collateral.

But the universe had different plans. She had survived.

And now, she was reborn—with a new identity, a new face, and a purpose carved in vengeance.

She had trained, studied, and hunted. She had reshaped her voice, her posture, even her smile. She had made herself desirable—irresistible. A woman who could walk into the lion’s den and make him offer her a crown.

And he had.

Lucien had fallen for her mystery, her beauty, her fire. And when she had feigned a brush with danger—set up just perfectly by her hacker friend, Mira—Lucien had swooped in like the predator he was.

Within two months, they were married.

And now she was here.

Living in his palace.

Plotting his downfall.

---

Present

The next morning, Aylin was already dressed in an elegant silk robe, sipping coffee on the terrace of her assigned suite when Lucien appeared. He wore black, of course—everything from his shirt to his watch was sleek, deadly.

“I have a meeting downtown,” he said. “You’ll come with me.”

“Charming,” she said flatly. “Do I get a leash, too?”

He gave her a look. “Don’t tempt me.”

She stood, letting the robe slide just slightly to expose one smooth shoulder. “Maybe I’m trying to.”

For a second, just a second, Lucien’s mask slipped. His eyes darkened. And she knew—knew—she had struck a nerve.

Good.

Let him want her. Let him need her. It would only make his fall more satisfying.

---

The drive downtown was silent, except for the hum of tires on wet asphalt. Lucien seemed distracted. Good. Her presence unsettled him.

They arrived at a towering skyscraper. Morello Enterprises. The heart of his empire.

She walked in beside him like a queen, head high, heels precise. Every assistant turned to look. Some with awe. Others with fear.

Lucien took her to the top floor. His office was an ivory-and-glass war room. The skyline stretched behind his desk like a conquest.

He gestured to the leather couch in the corner. “Sit. Don’t touch anything.”

She smiled sweetly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He turned his back. She pulled out her compact mirror again, whispering to herself: “Camera above the bookshelf. Possible safe behind abstract painting. Two exits. One elevator override panel.”

She memorized it all. Every inch. Every angle.

He thought she was watching him. He didn’t know she was watching everything.

---

That night, Lucien returned late.

She was sitting in the library, pretending to read. When he walked in, she didn’t look up.

“You haven’t eaten,” he said.

“I’m not hungry.”

He stepped closer. “You think you can win this game by starving yourself?”

She turned a page slowly. “No. But I can make you think I’m fragile.”

He chuckled. “You’re anything but fragile.”

Their eyes met.

And something in his gaze flickered—not amusement, not desire—but something deeper. A question. A crack.