Nocturne pulsed with electricity that night—parties glittering in glass towers, the upper elite sipping from blood-crystal goblets, unaware that danger had already slipped past their gates.
At the center of it all, the Dusk Foundation Gala stretched across three floors of opulence. It was a yearly affair—charity, masks, fashion, power.
Mia hated it.
"I feel like a porcelain doll," she muttered, adjusting the fitted black silk that clung to her like smoke.
Dusk smirked. "You look like death dressed in elegance."
She rolled her eyes. "And you look like someone preparing for war under a tux."
He didn't argue.
Because he was.
Tensions with Velmara were rising. The border patrols had caught unfamiliar scents. The Council was restless. Dusk had felt her—Olivia—like a scar pressing from beneath the skin.
But tonight was for appearances. For calm.
For now.
Elsewhere in the ballroom…
She moved like she belonged. Chin raised, crimson gown sweeping behind her like fire. No one questioned the new guest. No one stopped to ask for her name.
That was the power of disguise—it wasn't just illusion, it was performance.
Olivia hadn't planned this.
But when the opportunity arose—a stolen invitation from a blood banker too drunk to make it—she had taken it. Instinct.
And now, here she was, surrounded by vampires who had no idea she was once meant to rule them all.
Her magic veiled the scent of wolf. Her glamour cloaked her true face, softening the sharpness of her cheekbones, changing the silver in her eyes to gold.
But one thing remained the same.
Her heart.
And it stopped the moment she saw him.
Dusk.
She hadn't seen him in centuries. Not through a screen, not in shadow. Not like this.
He hadn't changed much. Still cold. Still flawless. Still walking like the room bent for him.
And beside him… the woman. Mia.
Olivia's jaw clenched—not with rage, but something worse: ache.
So she turned. Moved away. She told herself this was just reconnaissance. She would find the layout. Slip in. Vanish.
But fate has always had a sense of drama.
The collision was gentle but sharp.
A glass spilled. A sleeve tugged. A shoulder brushed.
Dusk caught her.
Their eyes met.
"Forgive me," Olivia said, voice wrapped in silk. Not hers, but close.
"No harm done," he said, instinctively steadying her arm.
He froze.
There was something in her. Familiar. Faint.
Not scent.
Presence.
"I don't believe we've met," he said cautiously.
Olivia tilted her head. "No… I suppose we haven't."
She turned to go.
"What's your name?" he asked, before he could stop himself.
She paused.
And smiled.
"You can call me… Evelyn."
From across the room, Mia watched.
Her gaze flickered from the woman in crimson to Dusk's frozen stance. She didn't recognize the stranger—but her instincts whispered something wasn't right.
"Who's that?" she asked Arabelle, one of the elder vampires.
Arabelle frowned. "I don't know. But she carries old magic. Not vampire."
"Wolf?"
"No. Not tonight. But…"
Arabelle's eyes narrowed.
"…something close."
Back in Velmara
Kael paced like a storm in a cage.
"She's been gone too long," he growled. "This wasn't the plan."
"It never is," murmured a younger wolf. "She said she'd just observe."
"She went to see him," Kael snapped. "I can feel it."
The air thickened.
Because if Olivia saw Dusk—and if he saw her—then everything they'd built in the shadows would unravel.
Unless…
Unless she intended to unravel it herself.
Back in Nocturne
Dusk stood alone by the balcony now, staring out into the horizon.
"Evelyn."
The name felt like a lie. But the fire in her eyes—it had struck something buried. Something old. Something painful.
Could it be?
No. Olivia would never walk into his world so brazenly. Would she?
He turned, searching the crowd—but the woman in crimson was gone.
Far beneath the Tower, in Mia and Dusk's private chambers…
Olivia stood in the shadows, unglamored. Watching.
Her fingers drifted across the edge of a photo—a candid of Dusk and Mia laughing. Truly laughing.
And for the first time in a long, long while…
Olivia felt jealous.
Not of the crown.
Not of the kingdom.
But of the smile.