The ballroom was filled with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the soft hum of conversation. Guests in their finest attire moved gracefully, their eyes gliding over the polished floor like shadows. It was a night that spoke of power, wealth, and untold secrets, all wrapped in the smooth veneer of social decorum.
Nia stood at the entrance, her heart pounding against the walls of her chest. The air felt thick, oppressive, as though it knew the weight of what she was about to do. Luciano's presence, his commanding aura, was felt even from a distance, and it made her skin prickle in discomfort.
She had expected many things tonight, but not this. Not the way the room seemed to hold its breath as she entered.
Luciano was already there, at the center of it all, the man everyone seemed to gravitate toward. His tailored suit, the confident stance, the way his eyes seemed to drink in every moment—it was all designed to make him untouchable. And yet, Nia couldn't help but feel the eyes of the room slide over her the moment she stepped forward. She was his wife, after all. And tonight, she would be introduced to the world as such.
Her heels clicked on the marble floor, each step echoing in her mind like a countdown to something inevitable. But as she approached Luciano, the tension in the air only grew stronger, heavier.
He turned to face her as she neared, his expression unreadable. He said nothing, just held her gaze, and for a split second, Nia wondered if he could see the storm inside her. Could he feel it, too? The way her hands trembled beneath the polished surface of her calm exterior, the anxiety she tried so desperately to mask.
The silence between them was broken by a voice, smooth as velvet, but with a hint of something sharper beneath it.
"Nia," Luciano's voice cut through the hum of the crowd, drawing the attention of everyone around. "Allow me to introduce you."
A hush fell over the room. All eyes were suddenly on her.
Nia felt her pulse quicken, but she didn't move. She stayed still, her gaze never leaving Luciano's, the tension thickening. She wasn't just stepping into the role of his wife. No, this was different. This was a performance.
Luciano smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice carrying easily over the crowd, "I present to you, my wife."
Nia's breath caught in her throat as she felt the weight of the words settle in. His wife. The title felt like a lie on her lips, but she held her composure, forcing herself to stand taller.
She gave a small, controlled smile, but inside, her thoughts were spiraling. How had she ended up here? Was this truly her life now?
Murmurs stirred among the congregation, low and curious at first, like ripples on still water. Whispers of admiration, confusion, and speculation danced from one corner of the room to the next.
A few clapped. Then more followed. The sound grew, clumsy at first—polite, unsure—but soon it swelled into applause that echoed off the chandeliers and golden walls. Nia stood there, frozen in her polished shell, barely blinking as the faces around her smiled, nodded, or simply stared.
Her heart wasn't in her chest anymore—it had climbed up to her throat. She swallowed hard, trying to calm the quiver in her spine. The room was spinning too slowly to notice, yet fast enough for her to feel dizzy.
Luciano stepped to her side, placing a hand gently on the small of her back. The touch was subtle, but grounding. Possessive. Calculated.
He leaned toward her, just enough for his breath to brush her ear.
"Smile a little more," he whispered, as if this were just another game he was winning.
So she did.
The applause faded into soft music, and the room began to shift again, the crowd flowing like silk toward the buffet, the bar, the dance floor. But eyes still lingered. Especially his. Luciano's gaze didn't waver from her, watching her like she was both a prize and a puzzle.
Then came the sound.
A loud crack.
Sharp. Sudden. Real.
The music stopped. Glass shattered. Screams erupted.
Nia's body jerked before she even realized what had happened. Her hand reached for something—Luciano, the air, anything—but it was too late. The room descended into chaos.
People ran. Someone shouted for help.
And Nia—
She crumpled.
Her dress bloomed with red blood.