We made our way into the crowd, arms clasped, effectively waiting as a bait for some other predator to bite.

As we moved deeper into the throng, I couldn't shake the feeling of being on display. Levi's earlier display had likely deterred some, but there were always those too emboldened by their own sense of superiority, or too ignorant to recognize the danger they courted.

The air hummed with polite conversation and the clinking of glasses, but beneath the surface, I felt a subtle tension. Every glance that lingered a moment too long, every hushed whisper that seemed to follow us, felt like the prelude to another confrontation. It was a waiting game, a test of wills played out on the gilded stage of the Ascarian elite. And as we moved through the crowd, I couldn't help but wonder who would be foolish enough to take the bait.

The bait was taken a by an old noble woman. A woman with a cascade of perfectly arranged silver hair, draped in blue silk, approached Levi with a practiced smile that didn't quite reach her shrewd eyes.

The woman's smile tightened almost imperceptibly as her gaze lingered on me, a subtle coolness entering her shrewd eyes. "Levi, dear boy," she purred. "It's always such a pleasure to see you looking… well. Marriage certainly has been… interesting for you." Her emphasis on "interesting" was unmistakable. She then turned to me, her smile barely a polite curve. "And you are, Raphael. Cybil has mentioned you." There was a distinct lack of warmth in her tone, as if merely acknowledging my existence was a chore.

She then leaned towards Levi, her voice dropping conspiratorially, her eyes flicking back to me with a veiled disapproval. "Tell me, dear boy," she continued, her tone laced with a concern that felt utterly disingenuous, "are you truly… content? Cybil worries, you know. A mother's heart is always attuned to her son's happiness. Such… unorthodox arrangements can be… challenging. For a man of your… potential. One hopes you haven't allowed… sentiment to cloud your judgment regarding the future of your house."

Levi's arm remained firmly linked with mine, his smile unwavering, though a subtle hardening entered his eyes. "Lady Beatrice," he said, his tone polite but leaving no room for misinterpretation, "my happiness is entirely my own concern, and I assure you, it is currently quite abundant." He gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "Raphael is not a burden, but a joy, and the future of my house is more secure than ever with him by my side.”

Shit. An ally of Cybil. The warmth of Levi's hand now felt less reassuring and more like a shield against a brewing storm.

The woman, Lady Beatrice said something made me jump off my skin. “Your happiness is the utmost priority. But is it the same as your...husband, Levi, dear?”

What? What’s going on? My breath hitched. Lady Beatrice's seemingly innocent question, laced with that subtle venom, struck a raw nerve. It wasn't just about Cybil's disapproval of our marriage; it was a direct insinuation, a seed of doubt planted right in front of Levi and anyone within earshot. Was she suggesting I was somehow unhappy?

Levi squeezed my hand reassuringly. "My dear Lady Beatrice," he said, his voice smooth but with an underlying firmness that brooked no argument, "Raphael's happiness is intrinsically linked to my own. We are partners in every sense of the word, our desires and well-being intertwined. Any suggestion to the contrary is not only inaccurate but, frankly, rather impertinent." He turned his head slightly to look at me, his expression softening into one of genuine affection. "Isn't that right, Raphael?”

“Of course it is, Lady Beatrice.” I said while trying to shove my thoughts at the back of my head.

“Oh, such blatant lies in front of your husband, Raphael. Is it truly the spouse you chose for yourself, Levi?”

My breath hitched. Lady Beatrice's smile didn't waver, but her eyes held a sharp, knowing glint that sent a fresh wave of unease through me. What did she know? What was she implying? My heart pounded against my ribs, and I gripped Levi's hand tighter, my knuckles white. I looked at Levi, my own fear mirrored in the sudden tension in his jaw.

“Lady Beatrice, I assure you…”

The woman cut Levi off. “Assurances are needles when you see the truth with your own eyes, dear. Our social circles was buzzing with the whispers of your husband entangling with an ‘assistant’ at his workplace.”

My blood ran cold. An "assistant"? Liam. The whispers had reached this far, into the heart of Levi's social circle, and now, directly to an ally of his mother.

I felt Levi's grip on my hand tighten almost painfully. His jaw was clenched, his usual easy charm replaced by a dangerous stillness. His eyes, however, flickered to mine, a brief, unreadable flash before returning to Lady Beatrice, his expression hardening into one of icy resolve.

"Lady Beatrice," he said, his voice dangerously soft, each word measured and precise, "gossip is a fickle beast, often born of boredom and fueled by malice. Our 'social circles,' as you so quaintly put it, are rife with such creatures. I suggest you exercise caution in believing every whisper that tickles your delicate ears."

He paused, his gaze unwavering, a silent challenge in his eyes. "My husband's professional life is precisely that: professional. Any 'entanglements' you speak of are figments of overactive imaginations, no doubt seeking to find scandal where none exists. I trust you understand the implications of spreading such baseless rumors, particularly when directed at my spouse."

Lady Beatrice smirked. “Of course I do, dear boy. But what you do not understand is how easy it is to lose all of it away when you pursue worthless endeavors.”

She looked at my injured shoulder.

The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic of betrayal and calculated malice. Liam. His overly eager attentiveness on set, the casual questions about me... It wasn't admiration; it was reconnaissance. He was their informant, Cybil's rat.

And the address… that's how they found us. That's how the assassin knew where to find us. Lady Beatrice's smug smirk, her pointed look at my shoulder – it wasn't just a cruel reminder of the event; it was a chilling acknowledgment of their orchestrated attack. My grip on Levi's hand tightened, not just for reassurance, but with a sudden surge of protective fury. They wouldn't get away with this.

“Lady Beatrice. Is that why you shot me with a sniper in the living room of our house?” I asked with a furious smile.

A collective gasp rippled through the immediate vicinity. The polite hum of the ballroom died down, replaced by a stunned silence. Lady Beatrice's smirk faltered, her painted composure cracking for the first time, replaced by a flicker of genuine shock and something akin to… fear? Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, darting between my furious smile and Levi's now thunderous expression. The game was no longer one of subtle insinuations; the gloves were off.

Levi's hand tightened on mine, his knuckles bone-white. The playful warmth that had been there moments ago was gone, replaced by a terrifying stillness. His eyes, however, blazed with a cold, incandescent fury as he turned his gaze from my furious smile to Lady Beatrice's now ashen face.

His voice, when it came, was low and dangerously controlled, each word a precise and lethal weapon. "Lady Beatrice, did I hear my husband correctly?”

Lady Beatrice's initial shock dissolved into a mask of icy disdain. She let out a short, dismissive laugh that echoed in the sudden silence. "Really, Levi," she sneered, her gaze sweeping over me with undisguised contempt. "To give credence to such melodramatic accusations from… him? A 'sniper'? In your 'living room'? It sounds like the plot of some tawdry melodrama, hardly befitting this esteemed gathering."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She turned her attention back to Levi, her expression one of weary disappointment. "This is precisely what I meant by 'worthless endeavors,' dear boy. This… entanglement has clearly addled his judgment and yours. Such outlandish claims only serve to highlight the instability and inherent drama that inevitably accompany such… unnatural unions. I suggest you disregard these hysterical outbursts and focus on maintaining some semblance of decorum."

"The 'tawdry melodrama' involved a high-velocity projectile and a considerable amount of pain, Lady Beatrice," I stated, my voice calm. "The trajectory, the caliber… rather specific details for a figment of my 'addled' imagination, wouldn't you agree? Especially considering the sutures that are still holding my shoulder together, a rather tangible souvenir from this supposed 'drama'." I subtly shifted my posture, just enough for the faint ridge beneath my collar to become visible, a silent, undeniable testament to the violence I had endured. "Were you perhaps mistaking attempted murder for a particularly dull parlor game, one where the losing player ends up bleeding on the carpet?"

Lady Beatrice's painted composure finally began to fray. Her eyes flickered down to the barely visible ridge at my collar, a flicker of something akin to… unease? But it was quickly masked by a return to her haughty disdain.

"Sutures," she scoffed, her voice regaining some of its earlier imperiousness, though with a slight tremor. "Accidents happen, dear boy. Life is full of… unfortunate incidents. To leap to such outlandish conclusions, to accuse someone of my standing of such a heinous act based on a mere… injury… it's frankly hysterical." She waved a dismissive hand, as if swatting away an annoying insect. "I suggest you take a calming draught and cease this ridiculous spectacle. You are embarrassing yourself, and by association, Duke Blake."

The fragile thread of polite society had snapped. The stunned silence of the onlookers was broken only by the faint strains of the orchestra attempting to continue their performance, a surreal soundtrack to the unfolding drama.

"Oh, it was an 'accident,' was it?" I echoed, my voice dripping with a sarcasm so thick it could be cut with a knife. "A rather precise accident. One that involved a trained marksman and a silenced weapon. Do 'accidents' typically come with such professional accoutrements in your social circles, Lady Beatrice? Perhaps you could enlighten us on what other 'unfortunate incidents' you've encountered that required such… specialized tools."

I took a deliberate step closer, invading her personal space, my furious smile never wavering. "And while we're on the subject of 'hysterical outbursts,' Lady Beatrice, perhaps you could explain why your gaze keeps flicking to my shoulder? Are you perhaps… reminiscing? Or perhaps just admiring your handiwork?" My eyes narrowed, boring into hers. "Tell me, what does it feel like to order someone's death from the comfort of your elegant drawing-room? Is that also just an 'unfortunate incident' in your rarefied world?"

"You… you are delusional!" she stammered, her voice losing its usual smooth tone and rising in pitch. "This is outrageous! I have never… I would never… This is a slanderous accusation!"

She took a step back, as if physically recoiling from my proximity. "Blake, surely you don't believe this… this nonsense? This man is clearly unstable, grasping at straws! A 'trained marksman'? 'Silenced weapon'? It's preposterous!"

Her gaze flicked desperately towards any potential allies in the crowd, her earlier confidence completely evaporated. "Someone… anyone… tell him he's being ridiculous! I am a respected member of this society! I would never involve myself in such… such criminal behavior!"

Levi's movement was swift and decisive, a wall of elegant muscle and expensive fabric separating me from the visibly unraveling Lady Beatrice. His gaze, however, remained fixed on her, a chillingly polite smile playing on his lips that promised nothing but retribution.

"Lady Beatrice," he said, his voice smooth as velvet, "since you brought up my mother's anxieties, please do convey my warmest regards to her. And while you're at it, perhaps suggest she take a leisurely stroll through the back gardens of the island.”

“Back gardens?”

"Indeed, Lady Beatrice," he continued, his voice still smooth. "The back gardens. Such a peaceful and permanent place for contemplation. A place where one can truly reflect on the consequences of their… actions. Do ensure Cybil takes a good long walk there. Perhaps she'll find some solace amongst the enduring residents."

The back garden of the island. Yeah, the noble cemetery.

Lady Beatrice's face contorted in a mask of outrage, her voice rising to a shrill pitch that cut through the stunned silence of the ballroom. "You monster!" she shrieked, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and fury. "How can you speak such vile words about your own mother? Even if she disapproves of this… this abomination of a marriage, she is still your mother! To wish her ill, to speak of her in such a way… it's unconscionable!"

Levi's expression remained serene towards Lady Beatrice's escalating hysteria. He raised a calming hand, his voice regaining its earlier smooth cadence, though now laced with a pointed irony. "Lady Beatrice," he said, his gaze sweeping gently around the stunned onlookers, many of whom were now whispering amongst themselves. "Perhaps you've forgotten the occasion. We are, after all, at a charity gala. A gathering dedicated to supporting the victims of abuse and violence."

He turned his attention back to Lady Beatrice, his smile unwavering but carrying a sharp edge. "In such a compassionate setting, your passionate defense of familial bonds, even in the face of potentially harmful actions, is certainly… noted. However, I would hope that your empathy extends to all victims of cruelty, regardless of their familial ties. It would be rather… unfortunate if one were to appear to condone, or even facilitate, such behavior, especially within these hallowed halls of benevolence.”

Lady Beatrice visibly struggled to regain her composure, her chest heaving slightly. The pointed reminder of the charity gala, and the implicit contrast between her behavior and the cause they were supporting, seemed to land its mark.

"Of... of course," she stammered, her voice still trembling slightly. She offered a tight, insincere smile to the nearest onlookers. "You are quite right, Duke Blake. My… my concern for Cybil's well-being momentarily overcame my sense of propriety. Forgive my… passionate outburst. This is, indeed, a very important cause, and we should not detract from it." She cast a fleeting, venomous glance in my direction before attempting to smooth her ruffled feathers and rejoin the flow of the party, though a palpable tension still clung to her.

Levi whispered to my ear. “Now, tell me why shouldn’t I burn every single one of them, Raphael.”

"Tell me, Raphael," he repeated, his voice low and intimate, yet carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of violence, "why shouldn't I unleash a firestorm upon this entire wretched nest of vipers? They dare to threaten you, to bring their poison into our lives. What reason is there for their continued existence?"

His question wasn't a casual inquiry; it was a test. He wanted to know if I would condone the kind of retribution that his power could easily unleash. He wanted to know the boundaries of my morality, especially when it came to those who had sought to harm me.

"Charm, not terror," I murmured back, my own voice low, a counterpoint to the dangerous rumble of his. "You vowed by it, Levi.”

A mischievous glint danced in Levi's eyes, the dangerous edge of his earlier fury now tempered with a spark of wicked amusement. "Ah, but Raphael," he whispered, a sly smile curving his lips, "who said charm couldn't have a touch of terror woven within it? We can be… persuasive in our smiles, can't we?"

"I know the terror of your charm, okay?" I said, my voice still a little shaky despite my attempt at bravado. "No need to flaunt it right now. Also," I swallowed hard, glancing back at the oblivious crowd, "I just met the person who might have wanted me dead. So yeah, 'kinda shaken' is putting it mildly."

Levi's expression softened immediately, all traces of playful cunning vanishing. "Of course, dear. My apologies for my… strategic inclinations. You've been through a terrible shock. Let's find somewhere quiet, where you can catch your breath."

"No, no," I insisted, my hands still trembling visibly as I held them out. "Quiet won't help right now. I need to… I need a cigarette. My nerves are shot. The adrenaline is still pumping."

Levi's arm tightened around my shoulders, a silent offering of support. His gaze, though still sweeping the room with a protective vigilance, softened as he looked down at my trembling hands. "Understood," he murmured, his voice low and devoid of any playful undertones. "Fresh air and nicotine it is. Lead the way, pulla. I'm right behind you." He steered me gently towards the terrace doors, his presence a solid anchor against the lingering tremors of fear and adrenaline that coursed through me.

“Ugh, I don’t have my pack on me.”

"No matter," he said, a hint of his usual resourcefulness returning. He gestured to a nearby waiter. With a subtle nod and a few hushed words, Levi conveyed his request. The waiter, his eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and deference, hurried away.

"Consider it taken care of," Levi murmured, turning his attention back to me. "A fresh pack of your preferred brand, arriving momentarily. In the meantime," he guided me out onto the cool night air of the terrace, "let's put some distance between us and that… delightful woman."