The Blackthorne Gala was the event of the year.
Gold chandeliers sparkled like stars. Men in black ties, women in glittering gowns, and whispers sharper than glass filled the air.
Aria stood at the top of the staircase, her entrance timed to perfection.
She wore black silk. Sleek. Simple. Devastating.
All eyes turned.
But she only cared about one.
Lucien.
He stood near the bar, locked in a conversation with a board member. His jaw tensed the moment he saw her.
Good.
She descended slowly, controlled. The room watched the beautiful wife of the infamous Blackthorne like she was a mystery dressed in elegance.
Let them wonder.
Let them talk.
By the time she reached the marble floor, the whispers had begun.
"That's her—Aria Lin."
"She wasn't at any of the Blackthorne events before."
"I heard she used to be nothing."
Perfect.
Aria moved through the crowd like a shadow in moonlight, gracious and lethal. Every smile a weapon. Every compliment a calculated step.
At one point, she slipped beside Lucien, just long enough to murmur:
"Don't worry. I'll behave… unless they push me."
He didn't respond.
But his glass was suddenly empty.
—
An hour in, the board members had warmed to her—surprised by her insight into mergers and her ability to dance through conversation without saying too much.
And then, Aria struck.
She took the microphone before the evening's toast. Unannounced.
Lucien froze.
"I wasn't on the program," she said smoothly. "But I thought it was time I introduced myself to the people I'll be working with in the future."
A ripple went through the room.
"My name is Aria Blackthorne. I may have married into this empire…" She smiled, slow and razor-sharp. "But I plan to earn my place in it."
Lucien narrowed his eyes.
This wasn't charm.
This was claiming territory.
And judging by the looks around the room, it worked.
When she stepped down, a dozen board members approached her. Laughing. Smiling. Hooked.
Lucien approached last.
"What the hell was that?"
"A preview," she whispered, brushing past him with a smile. "Next time, I might take the whole stage."
He watched her walk away—surrounded, admired, dangerous.
And realized with a cold twist in his gut:
He had invited a storm into his house.
And it was wearing heels.