Beneath a velvet mask

pte

Promises

ace, and a Glock tucked into the back of his tuxedo trousers like it belonged there. It was midnight inside Maison Rouge, the infamous est

ked guests sway between opium-laced kisses and cruel delight. Her black dress clung to her like a second skin, her heels ta

he collar as he stumbled through the crimson-draped archway below. A

lk choker at her neck with her fingers. She descended like a black swan. He straightened. No words were exchanged as she approached. He didn't even bother to explain the blood. That impressed her.

tended her hand. "

aking her gaze. "Damien Leclair. I

flowers or sweet lies, but with

littered like a thousand lies told by candlelight. Overhead, a drone hovered. She had followed a

wasn't bleeding

he said, perched on the

ng."" "I thought you

ht you we

er. Their silhouettes touc

ouching her cheek with the back of his gloved ha

flinch. "S

ur charity tempts them. We're t

ressed it to her ches

pped in urgency. Beneath the chandeliers of Maison Rouge's hidden chamb

ripped, bitten, discarded. Her nails made crescent-shaped cuts in his back. He bruised her hips wit

geance," he whisper

ke coming hom

eets, the sound of a whip cracking somewhe

ir back from her d

't blink when you see me." Damien leaned in, resting h

SM club lit by red lanterns. She gave him encrypted flash drives that were hidden in designer perfume bottles in the sterile

bove Maison Rouge, under the soft hum of security drones and a moon fat with secr

, reverent. "Then let me

Beneath the velvet opulence of Maison Rouge, power danced not in broad daylight but in whispers, glances, and the shimmer of silk-cloaked secrets. Isadora Vellore, the enigmatic protégée of one of the nation's most f

emperament of a scholar and the ruthlessness of an old-world tyrant, he had raised Isadora not as a daughter, but as a masterpiece. Her role w

and a moral compass that bent only when broken. He was drawn to Isadora, even though he had no faith in her or a full understanding of her. Their alliance was

ep. Damien and Sebastian had once been partners. Now, their rivalry was the stuff of whispered legend in intelligence corridors. Where Damien pursued with logic, Seb

yalty was less to the nation than to the balance of power-and perhaps to Isadora, whom she viewed with a blend of maternal indulge

sly intelligent, Valentina understood that seduction was not just an art-it was currency. She danced her way into the confidences of ministers, sm

ments of scandal. Ana had previously been silenced for exposing a false affair. She was now unrelenting, unafraid, and far to

o, Isadora's elder brother was once a rising military officer with dreams of reform. He had been mourned, archived, and forgott

her. But perhaps she had only buried the idea of him. Now, as storm clouds gathered over the Republi

, there were no innocents. only member

red silk. Her eyes locked with a masked guest near the staircase, a man who moved with the calm precision of someone used to danger. Damien. Unbeknownst to her, he was no mere guest but an

opulent parlor's shadows, first with words and then with mouths, testing boundaries that neither of them could define. Sh

lt the chill. Inside: a single sentence, demanding the client list of Maison Rouge, or else. The signature wasn't a name-but a crescent carved through a star. etched into the ashes of their previous exis

ered a classified file li