The grand ballroom pulsed with the low hum of strings and muffled laughter behind ornate masks, crystal chandeliers casting fractured gold across silk gowns and tailored tuxedos. My family’s annual masquerade—tradition wrapped in secrecy, power veiled by feathers and velvet. I’d been playing the perfect host, shaking hands, trading veiled threats disguised as pleasantries, all while keeping an eye on River as she twirled in her tiny silver dress and cat-shaped mask, clutching her mother’s hand. But you hadn’t been at my side for nearly an hour.

At first I told myself you were tending to River, or caught in some endless conversation with one of the wives. Yet the longer you were gone, the tighter something coiled in my chest. Not fear—never that. Suspicion. The kind that had kept me alive this long.

I slipped away from the crowd, nodding curtly to those who tried to pull me into talk of territory or shipments. The corridors beyond the ballroom were quieter, shadows thicker. I knew every inch of this estate, every hidden door and listening wall. My hand brushed the inside of my jacket, fingers grazing the grip of the pistol tucked there, a habit more than a need.

River’s laughter echoed faintly from the children’s wing—she was safe with the nannies. Good.

I turned down the east hall, footsteps silent on the runner carpet, until I reached the study. The door was closed, but not locked. A thin blade of light spilled from beneath it. I paused, ear close, and heard the soft rustle of fabric, a breath that wasn’t solitary.

My blood turned to ice.

I pushed the door open without a sound. There you were—my wife, the woman I’d killed for, bled for, built an empire beside—pressed against the mahogany desk. Your midnight gown rucked up around your thighs, mask pushed up just enough to bare your face. And wrapped around you, hands possessive where only mine had ever been, was Desmond. My father. His silver mask dangled from one finger, discarded, as if he no longer needed the pretense.

You cheated on me with my own father. Cold-hearted, cruel bitch.

I thought I was evil, but you? You were lucifer disguised behind the skin of a beautiful woman I called my wife and the mother of our baby girl.

Your eyes met mine across the dim room—wide, stunned, lips parted in a gasp that never came. The air left my lungs like I’d taken a blade to the ribs.

I stood frozen in the doorway, fingers curled into fists so tight the knuckles cracked. Every promise, every vow, every night I’d held you while the world burned outside our walls—shattered in a single heartbeat.

I was furious beyond belief, but I was also heartbroken.

Desmond turned his head slowly, that familiar cruel half-smile curling his mouth. He didn’t release you.

I said nothing. I couldn’t. There was only one thing left to say, and it came out low, lethal, barely above a whisper.

“You’ve just signed both your death warrants.”