The air in the grand ballroom hummed with a controlled energy, a symphony of hushed conversations, clinking champagne flutes, and the subtle strains of a string quartet. Midst the sea of dark suits and glittering gowns, Levi stood out in his impeccably tailored black attire, a stark and commanding figure. Beside him, I felt a different kind of conspicuous in my crisp white suit.

Levi's hand rested lightly on the small of my back, as we navigated the throng of elegantly dressed guests. His dark blue eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the room, taking in every nuance of the social landscape. He offered polite nods and brief acknowledgments to passing acquaintances, his demeanor the epitome of aristocratic charm.

As we settled into our designated seats at a prominent table overlooking the ballroom, the subtle tension of navigating the crowd didn't have a chance to fully dissipate. Almost immediately, a woman approached Levi. She was every inch the noblewoman; bearing, poise, and an air of effortless command that seemed to ripple through the immediate vicinity. Her gown was a deep emerald, accentuating sharp features and intelligent, assessing eyes. She greeted Levi with a familiarity that suggested a long-standing acquaintance, her voice a low, melodious drawl that carried even over the ambient noise.

Watching them interact, a knot of unease tightened in my stomach. Her elegance felt effortless, her confidence unwavering, a contrast to the slight awkwardness I still sometimes felt in these rarefied circles. A wave of inferiority washed over me, a whisper of doubt questioning my place beside this powerful, magnetic man.

Idiot, stop this. This wasn't some naive romantic entanglement; this was Levi's world, a world of intricate networks and carefully cultivated relationships. And yes, he used people. Men, women – whoever could provide information or an advantage.

Stop spiraling. I consciously unclenched my jaw, forcing a more relaxed posture. The woman's charm, her elegance – it meant nothing in the context of Levi's strategic mind. He wasn't captivated; he was likely collecting intel.

You know Levi uses those women as informants. You know that. Was this jealousy? I took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing a reassuring smile as I subtly leaned a little closer to Levi, a silent reminder to myself, and perhaps to anyone watching, of where his true allegiance lay.

Levi's arm tightened subtly around my waist, his warm smile radiating not just towards her, but encompassing me as well. "Please meet my husband, Lady Ophelia," he announced.

Lady Ophelia's smile in return was polite, almost regal, but didn't quite reach her emerald eyes. They were sharp, intelligent, and yes, calculating. Her tall, slender figure exuded an almost statuesque elegance, her black hair pulled back in a severe style that only accentuated the keenness of her features. Her eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than strictly necessary, taking in my white suit, my demeanor, before returning to Levi with a knowing glint. It was clear she was sizing me up, placing me within the complex social tapestry of their world.

The realization that, in this moment, I was likely perceived as little more than an aesthetic accessory stung. I hated that.

"Pleasured to meet you, Lady Ophelia," I said, my voice perhaps a touch too formal. I offered a polite smile, trying my best to meet her sharp gaze without betraying the insecurity that gnawed at me.

A tight knot formed in my chest as Levi addressed me, his tone polite but undeniably dismissive. "Raphael, if you will excuse us," he said, his hand already guiding Lady Ophelia away. My smile faltered as I watched them walk towards the terrace, disappearing into the night air without a backward glance.

The exclusion felt deliberate. My mind raced, searching for a reason. The last time, he included me in those terrace conversations with Lady Isolde, why exclude me now?

Then, a thought, sharp and unsettling, pierced through my confusion. Wait… Is that because of what I said last night, when I said ‘charm not terror’?

Asshole. The term felt inadequate to describe the sudden surge of betrayal I felt. My mind conjured images of Levi turning on the charm, that practiced, devastatingly effective charisma he possessed, directed at Lady Ophelia.

Was he gonna seduce that lady into being an informant? Is that why he left? The thought was like a bitter poison, spreading through me.

Stop spiraling, stop this. I squeezed my eyes shut for a fleeting moment, trying to regain control of the runaway train of my thoughts.

You know him, Raphael. Levi, for all his complexities and occasional ruthlessness, had been consistently honest with me about his disdain for the nobility.

He had no regard for other people, especially a noble woman. He despised noble blood. Seducing Lady Ophelia, engaging in some sort of manipulative flirtation for information… it felt fundamentally at odds with everything he stood for, everything he had told me. His methods were often unconventional, even harsh, but they were rarely based on such petty, personal tactics.

Yeah. He wouldn't do something that petty. He would scoff at me, would call it ‘pedestrian’. Would think it is insulting to his intelligence.

But… Our contract stated that he would not interfere with my personal life. Did that mean a two-way agreement? I don’t interfere with who he fucks while he doesn’t interfere with mine? Is that it?

Stop this, stop this thought. The only way to know the truth was to confront it, to see for myself.

Pushing back my chair with a decisive scrape against the polished floor, I stood up. Each one a conscious effort to regain control of my emotions. The murmur of polite conversation faded into the background as I moved towards the large glass doors that led to the terrace.

My breath hitched in my throat as I reached the terrace doors. The scene that unfolded before me was a stark tableau against the backdrop of the glittering city lights. There they were, Levi and Lady Ophelia, standing close. Her hand, adorned with a constellation of emerald and diamond rings, rested lightly on Levi's forearm, her fingers tracing an invisible pattern on the dark fabric of his suit. And Levi… he was smiling.

The asshole.The casual intimacy of their interaction, her possessive touch, his genuine smile – it all coalesced into a sharp, undeniable image of betrayal. Was this his idea of "charm"? A calculated seduction, veiled beneath polite conversation?

My stomach churned with a potent mix of anger and hurt. I couldn't bear to watch any longer. Without a word, I retreated, my steps quick and unsteady as I navigated the crowded ballroom. The need to escape the suffocating atmosphere, to find a moment of solitude to process the sudden onslaught of emotions, became paramount. The nearest bathroom offered a temporary sanctuary, a place to wash away the burning sting of tears that threatened to surface.

The face staring back at me in the mirror was a mess – eyes slightly red-rimmed, a tight, unhappy line around the mouth. You fucking idiot. What was I doing? Letting a fleeting touch, a polite smile, unravel the fragile trust I had built with Levi?

Did you really get jealous over Levi and some arm touching? You complete, utter fool.

Our connection was intense, complex, built on shared experiences and a unique understanding, but love, in the traditional sense, had never been part of the equation. So why the sudden surge of possessiveness, the irrational fear of losing something I never truly had? I splashed cold water on my face, the shock a small attempt to jolt myself back to reality.

A mirthless chuckle escaped my lips as I stared at my damp reflection. I guess the fake husband thing really got over your head, you idiot.

Dumb. I had allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security, mistaking proximity for genuine intimacy, a public performance for private connection. Levi was Levi. His priorities were clear, his methods often opaque. To expect anything resembling conventional marital consideration was naive, bordering on delusional.

Emerging from the relative quiet of the bathroom, the cacophony of the gala hit me like a physical wave. The forced smiles, the empty pleasantries, the constant undercurrent of political maneuvering – it all stretched out before me, an endurance test in forced conviviality. Four hours. At least four hours of playing the charming, supportive husband, of smiling and nodding through conversations that held no genuine interest, all while the image of Levi and Lady Ophelia on the terrace flickered at the edges of my mind.

Right. Game face on. No more spiraling, at least not outwardly. I had a role to play, and I would play it. Still, I straightened my white jacket, smoothed down any imaginary creases, and rejoined the throng, a solitary figure determined to blend seamlessly into the glittering artifice of the evening.

As I approached our table, the empty chair beside mine a reminder of Levi's continued absence, a figure detached himself from the surrounding clusters of nobles and intercepted me. He was a man of middling height and girth, his expensive suit straining slightly at the seams. His face was florid, etched with the lines of too much rich food and perhaps too much wine, and his eyes held a disconcerting mixture of forced joviality and something sharper, more calculating. He exuded an air of entitled familiarity, the kind that made my skin crawl. This felt… like trouble. The forced smile I had plastered on tightened imperceptibly.

Here we go.

The middle-aged noble's smile widened, a greasy, knowing expression that sent a shiver of distaste down my spine. "Ah, the young bride of the Blake, correct?" he drawled, the emphasis on "bride" sickeningly deliberate. That word again. They keep using it to ensure that they are homophobic assholes.

Despite the boiling anger churning within me, I forced a polite, if somewhat clipped, smile. "Pleasure to meet you," I replied, my voice carefully neutral, each word chosen with precision. "I am Raphael Blake, the husband of Levi Blake. Accept my apologies for not knowing your name, sir."

His smile tightened. "Of course, Raphael," he said, the way he said my name making it sound foreign and slightly distasteful. "My apologies. One forgets the… modern sensibilities." He waved a dismissive hand, his rings glinting under the ballroom lights. "I am Lord Harrington. Though I doubt that name holds much significance for you." His eyes flicked around the room, subtly implying that my lack of noble lineage rendered me ignorant.

Lord? He called himself Lord? The audacity. Wait for a year, when we pass the bill that strip you everything you ever owned.

For now, however, I had to play the game, to navigate their condescension with a polite smile and a carefully measured tongue.

Despite the boiling resentment, a carefully neutral expression remained on my face. "Mr. Harrington," I acknowledged, my tone polite but devoid of any genuine warmth. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Indeed. 'Mr.' Harrington. How… quaint," he remarked, the word dripping with condescension. "Well, Raphael, I trust you are keeping our Levi suitably… entertained."

Oh, boy. Do you want to talk about our nights where he rams his cock into me, or where I suck his dick, or the time where I taught him how to suck one? Do you wish to hear all of that? As much as I want to whisper it to his ear, no everyone, I remembered Levi words from an earlier gala, kill them with kindness. A public outburst would only reflect poorly on Levi. A subtle, controlled retort, however, might just plant a seed of discomfort in his smug demeanor.

"Oh, Mr. Harrington," I said, my smile widening just a fraction, taking on a saccharine sweetness that belied the steel in my gaze. "You wound me with your concern. Levi finds me… endlessly fascinating. Though perhaps not in the ways your… traditional mind might imagine."

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice as if sharing a delicate confidence, though every word was perfectly audible to those nearby. "But since you seem so… intrigued by the nature of our connection, perhaps another time I can regale you with tales of our… shared intimacies. Though I must warn you," I paused, my eyes twinkling with a faux innocence, "some of the details might leave a gentleman of your… vintage rather… flushed."

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Mr. Harrington's florid face blotched with red, his smile vanishing completely. His eyes, moments before filled with condescending amusement, now held a spark of genuine outrage mixed with a palpable fear of social scandal.

"Good heavens, boy!" he sputtered, his voice a strained whisper that nonetheless carried an undercurrent of fury. "Such vulgarity! In such company! One does not… one simply does not discuss such… private matters in a public forum!" He glanced around nervously, as if fearing that the very chandeliers would tattle on our inappropriate exchange.

He leaned in, his face inches from mine, the smell of stale wine now more potent and unpleasant. "Are you deliberately trying to cause a scene? To embarrass your… protector?" The word dripped with disdain, a thinly veiled insult aimed at both Levi and me. "You would do well to remember your place, boy, and conduct yourself with a modicum of decorum. Some things," he hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously, "are best left… unspoken." He punctuated his words with a pointed glare, a clear warning to silence me.

When Levi married me, he gave me his full support of acting like however I wanted. He even said, he would find pleasure seeing those nobles embarrassed.

With a deliberate flourish, I extended my hand, turning it slightly to catch the light. Prominently displayed on my ring finger was Levi's signet ring – a heavy band of gold etched with the unmistakable crest of the Blake family.

My smile remained fixed, but my eyes held a sharp, challenging glint as I held his gaze. "This ring, Mr. Harrington," I said, my voice clear and carrying despite the surrounding chatter, "signifies more than just a marital bond. It signifies the full weight and power of the House of Blake. And my husband," I paused for emphasis, "trusts my judgment implicitly in how I choose to… navigate these social waters."

Mr. Harrington's eyes widened slightly as he took in the heavy gold band on my finger. A look of visceral disgust twisted his features.

"Blake's signet…" he choked out, his voice a low, scandalized whisper. "On a… common man’s hand? It's… unthinkable. Utterly… profane." He stared at the ring as if it were a defilement.

A slow smile spread across my lips as I met his horrified gaze. "Oh, Mr. Harrington," I said, my voice clear and carrying, cutting through the nearby polite chatter. "You are perceptive. I am not just a 'commoner,' as you so delicately put it." I paused for dramatic effect, letting his discomfort build. "I am not even Ascarian."

"What… what are you implying?" Mr. Harrington stammered, his voice losing its earlier confident drawl and rising in pitch. His eyes darted around the immediate vicinity, as if fearing eavesdroppers. "What are you?" He leaned in conspiratorially, his earlier disdain replaced by a raw suspicion that bordered on fear. "Blake wouldn't… he couldn't… You're lying. This is some sort of trick, isn't it? Some… elaborate jest at our expense."

A knowing smile played on my lips as I observed his growing agitation. "A trick, Mr. Harrington?" I echoed, my voice calm and steady against his rising panic. "Why would I need to resort to trickery when the truth itself is so… delightfully disruptive?"

Just as the tense silence stretched between us, a deep, familiar voice cut through the surrounding murmur. "Is there a problem here, Harrington?"

Levi appeared as if from nowhere, his imposing figure suddenly beside me. His dark eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked from my face to Mr. Harrington's pale and flustered countenance, taking in the charged atmosphere in an instant.

"Harrington," Levi said, his voice smooth but carrying a distinct undertone that made the surrounding conversations seem to fade into the background. His dark eyes, sharp and unwavering, locked onto the noble's pale face. "I trust you weren't regaling my husband with any… misinformed opinions on matters you clearly understand so little about?" He placed a hand on my shoulder, his touch a silent claim.

"My dearest," I said, turning slightly to meet Levi's gaze, offering a practiced, innocent smile. "Of course not. Mr. Harrington was just expressing his… admiration for the, ah, unique qualities of the Blake family's… associates."

Mr. Harrington, emboldened by Levi's arrival and perhaps misinterpreting his polite inquiry as weakness, puffed out his chest slightly, a flicker of his earlier arrogance returning. "Blake," he said, his voice carrying a dismissive edge, "one would think a man of your stature would concern himself with more traditional unions. This… arrangement of yours is certainly… eye-catching. Though I confess, some of us old guard find it rather… perplexing. A powerful lineage such as yours… diluted in such a manner." He offered a tight, condescending smile.

Levi's smile vanished, replaced by a chillingly serene expression that made his features seem predatory. "Harrington," he said, his voice dropping a register, losing all trace of polite society. "You mistake my… unconventional choices for weakness. Allow me to disabuse you of that notion."

He leaned in slightly, his gaze unwavering and intense, making Harrington visibly flinch. "While you were busy upholding your 'traditional unions' and perhaps neglecting certain… less public aspects of your own life – the whispers of young Theron's parentage are becoming quite the town gossip, aren't they? – I was building an empire. My marriage to Raphael is a strategic alliance built on mutual respect and a shared vision that far eclipses your antiquated notions of lineage."

Levi's eyes flickered down to Harrington's visibly trembling hands. "As for diluting my 'powerful lineage'? Please. I have resources and methods you couldn't possibly comprehend to ensure the continuation of my house, should I so desire. Perhaps you should concern yourself with the rather precarious state of your own affairs. The Cygnus Bank is growing impatient, I hear, and those charming sketches of your youngest daughter circulating in certain circles? They paint a rather… unflattering picture."

His gaze returned to Harrington's face, his eyes holding an unnerving coldness. "My marriage to Raphael is a matter of law, fully recognized. Your prejudices are irrelevant. Disrespect my husband again, Harrington, and you'll discover that a 'younger' man with ambition and resources can dismantle an old, corrupt structure with remarkable speed. Consider this your only warning."

Levi's gaze remained fixed on Harrington, the unnerving coldness in his eyes unwavering. "And since we are on the rather delicate subject of lineage, Harrington," he added, his voice smooth but carrying a distinct edge of superiority, "perhaps you've forgotten a few pertinent details of our respective houses. Your family, if I recall correctly, holds the title of Marquess. My own, however, is the sole remaining line of a Dukedom, a distinction that carries a certain… weight in these circles. And by law, Raphael is my husband. Therefore, your condescending remarks are not only ill-mannered but also directed at someone under the protection of a house that outranks yours. Perhaps a refresher course on the intricacies of noble hierarchy is in order, Harrington. Where, indeed, is your respect?"

The color had completely drained from his face, leaving it a sickly white, but a spark of resentful defiance flickered in his eyes. "Duke Blake," he began, his voice still shaky but laced with a desperate attempt at regaining composure. "While your… unconventional union may be legal, it still flies in the face of tradition. And tradition, Duke Blake, has a way of… enduring, regardless of fleeting laws. As for lineage," he scoffed weakly, "everyone knows a true line follows blood, not… sentiment." He cast a fleeting, disdainful glance at me before returning his gaze to Levi, a final, pathetic attempt to undermine our relationship.

Levi closed the distance between himself and Harrington, his eyes, moments ago alight with a dangerous amusement, now held a chillingly focused intensity. His voice dropped to a silken whisper that somehow carried a greater threat than any shout. "You cling to the past, Harrington," he murmured, his breath ghosting across the older man's pale face, "because you have no future. My marriage, this unconventional union you find so distasteful, is merely a single brushstroke in the vibrant tapestry of the future. A future that will undoubtedly leave relics like you gathering dust in history's forgotten corners."

He leaned in further, his gaze unwavering. "You fancy yourself a keeper of tradition? A guardian of bloodlines? How pitiful. You are not a guardian, Harrington. You are an obstacle. And obstacles, eventually, are… removed." His final words were a bare whisper, a promise of social and perhaps even literal erasure. "Speak of my husband with such disdain again, and I will personally ensure your irrelevance becomes your permanent epitaph."

"Levi!" I said, my voice a low but urgent plea, my grip tightening on his forearm. My fingers pressed into the taught muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his jacket, a deliberate anchor in the storm of his barely suppressed fury. “Charm, not terror, remember?” I whispered.

"Of course, my dear," Levi said, the dangerous edge melting from his voice as he turned his dazzling smile towards Harrington. The transformation was unnervingly swift, like a predator sheathing its claws.

"Lord Harrington," Levi continued, his tone now light and almost apologetic, as if we had merely been sharing a humorous anecdote. "Please forgive my fervor. My husband inspires such passionate defense. You understand, I'm sure." He gave a brief, insincere nod.

Harrington, still visibly shaken and acutely aware of the razor's edge he'd just skirted, managed a weak, trembling smile in return. "Of... of course, Duke Blake," he stammered, his eyes flicking nervously between Levi and me. "Perfectly understandable. A… spirited defense of one's… spouse. Quite… admirable." His forced joviality fell flat, his voice betraying his lingering unease. He clearly wanted nothing more than to escape the interaction, but social decorum, and perhaps a healthy dose of fear, kept him rooted in place for a moment longer. He offered another jerky nod. "Well, I… I should circulate. Important matters to attend to, you understand." He didn't wait for a response before turning and practically melting into the crowd.

I let out a shaky breath. “How do you even say those things without flinching? What was that ‘you cling to the past because you have no future’? So ruthless.”

Levi turned back to me, the chillingly serene mask softening into a familiar, almost boyish smile. He reached out, gently taking my hand, his thumb stroking the back of it. "Pulla," he said, his voice now warm and reassuring, "when you've spent your life navigating vipers in silk, you learn to speak their language. Sometimes, the only way to make them understand is to show them the fangs beneath the charm."

He leaned in conspiratorially, a playful glint in his eyes. "And besides," he murmured, his breath tickling my ear, "it's rather exhilarating, wouldn't you agree? To see their smug little worlds crumble with a few well-chosen words?

“Yeah. It kinda was. Do you know what he asked me?”

Levi's playful glint intensified, a spark of intrigue now dancing in his eyes. "Oh? Do tell. After his rather… uninspired commentary on our marital bliss, what pearls of wisdom did Lord Harrington bestow upon you?"

“He asked about how I ‘entertained’ you.” I said while scrunching my nose with disdain.

A shadow flickered across Levi's amusement, a brief tightening of his jaw before it smoothed out into a look of cool disdain. "Entertained me?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft again, the playful glint replaced by a sharp edge. "The presumptuous imbecile. As if your worth could be reduced to mere… amusement." He took a slow, deliberate breath, visibly reining in his anger.

“Calm down now, I am big boy. But I am curious about something else… What were you talking with Lady Ophelia?”

"Lady Ophelia," he mused, a hint of weariness in his voice. "The usual pleasantries, my dear. She was lamenting the rather predictable floral arrangements this year and then proceeded to offer her unsolicited advice on… well, let's just say it involved the proper way for a Duke to select his evening attire." He rolled his eyes subtly. "Why do you ask?"

It was a lie. I could feel the lie in my stomach. He was lying about what he talked with the Lady Ophelia. A knot tightened in my chest, mirroring the one I felt in my stomach.

"Just curious," I replied, trying to keep my tone light, mirroring his own earlier nonchalance. "She seemed… rather intense when you were speaking with her. More than just discussing floral arrangements and your impeccable fashion sense." I kept my gaze steady, searching his eyes for any flicker of guilt or discomfort that might betray him.

Levi met my gaze, his expression open and guileless, a perfect mask. "Intense, you say?" He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a picture of innocent inquiry. "My dear pulla, you do not know how Lady Ophelia can be. She has a flair for the dramatic, even when discussing the most mundane of topics. Perhaps it was the lighting? Or the unfortunate placement of that ghastly sculpture near the champagne fountain? Everything with Lady Ophelia takes on the air of a grand tragedy." He offered a charming, slightly exasperated smile. "Trust me, it was nothing of consequence. Just Lady Ophelia being… Lady Ophelia." He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, a small, intimate gesture meant to reassure and distract.

He was lying, and he was good at it.

"You're right, of course," I said, offering a small, perhaps too bright, smile. "Just my mind wandering. All these nobles and their endless dramas. It's easy to get caught up in it all." I reached out, placing my hand over his on my arm, a gesture of connection that felt… hollow. "So, floral arrangements, you say? Terribly important decisions for a gala such as this." I deliberately steered the conversation towards the trivial, wanting to drop the subject of Lady Ophelia and the lie that hung between us. The knot in my stomach remained, a cold, hard lump of unease, but for now, I would let it lie. I wasn't ready to confront the truth I suspected.

“Yes, pulla. Now, someone needs to deliver a speech. Do you wish to?”

“No. My legs are still trembling because of your earlier ‘protection.’”

Levi chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through my hand still resting on his arm. "Pulla," he murmured, his eyes crinkling at the corners, the earlier tension completely gone. "You wound me. Was my display of… affection truly so… forceful?" He leaned in, a playful smirk on his lips. "Perhaps a more… tranquil evening is in order to restore your equilibrium?" He squeezed my hand gently.

“I’d rather not.” I said, thinking about how this asshole just lied about Lady Ophelia.

He studied my face for a moment, his gaze searching. “Are you alright, pulla?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur, the surrounding chatter of the ballroom fading into a dull background. “You seem… distant. Is it just the lingering effects of our little encounter with Harrington, or is there something else troubling you?”

“No it’s just the homophobic assholes, you know. Yesterday, my family’s letter, now here, some random man coming and asking about our relationship. It’s just… disgusting.”

“It is pathetic cries of dying embers, pulla. I will eradicate the ‘honor’ they flaunt to undermine anyone.”

“Yeah, but not with terror.”

“Pulla, they are bags of squishy meat and bones. Crushing them to pebbles is neither fun or effective.”

He leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone, the dangerous edge replaced by a hint of amusement. "Consider this, a masterclass in the art of power. Observe how I wield influence, how I navigate their intricate social web. Kindness, when strategically applied, can be far more disarming than any threat. It sows seeds of doubt, exposes their hypocrisy, and ultimately leaves them far more vulnerable. We will let their own narrow-mindedness be their undoing. Trust me, Raphael. Our victory will be all the sweeter for its subtlety." He squeezed my hand gently. "Now, pay attention. The lesson is about to begin."