The Grand Ballroom of the King Tower was not designed for parties. It was designed to intimidate.
Sixty-foot ceilings, walls of black obsidian glass, and chandeliers that looked less like light fixtures and more like frozen explosions of diamond. It was a display of wealth so aggressive it felt like a physical blow.
Damien King stood on the mezzanine balcony, looking down at the sea of people.
To anyone else, this was the social event of the year. The Charity Gala for Rare Artifacts. Billions of dollars in net worth swirled around the room, clutching flutes of vintage champagne.
To Damien, it was a livestock pen.
"She's not here," he said, his voice flat.
Kael adjusted his earpiece, standing a respectful step behind his Alpha. "The guest list is cleared, sir. Every ID has been scanned. No 'Dr. Vera'. No one matching the facial recognition of Aria either."
Damien gripped the railing. The metal groaned under his hand, leaving the imprint of his fingers in the steel.
"She wouldn't come as Aria," Damien murmured, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator tracking movement in tall grass. "And she knows I'm hunting Vera. If she's smart—and she is—she'll come as someone who doesn't exist."
He checked his watch. 8:00 PM.
The auction was about to start. If she didn't show up soon, he would burn this city down block by block to find her.
"Sir," Kael hesitated. "The Board Members are asking why you're not mingling. The stock dropped 2% after the port closure rumors. You need to be seen."
Damien turned, his tuxedo straining against the muscle of his shoulders. His face was a mask of cold, bored cruelty.
"Fine," he said. "I'll mingle. But keep the perimeter sealed. If a mouse squeaks, I want to know."
---
**The Entrance Hall – 8:05 PM**
"Testing audio. Mom, can you hear me?"
Aria tapped the pearl earring in her left ear. "Loud and clear, Leo. How's the signal?"
"Strong," Leo's voice came through, accompanied by the crunching sound of potato chips. "I'm tapped into the building's security grid. I've disabled the facial recognition on the main camera for exactly... three seconds every time you pass a lens. Don't linger."
Aria took a deep breath. She pressed a hand to her thigh, checking the small, cold lump of the auto-injector beneath the silk. The high-grade suppressant was burning through her veins, masking her scent, locking her wolf in a chemical cage. It would hold for two hours. Not a minute more.
She looked down at herself.
Gone were the oversized scrubs. Gone was the messy bun.
The dress was a weapon. It was a liquid column of gold silk, backless, plunging dangerously low in the front, held together by sheer engineering and audacity. It clung to every curve she had gained since giving birth—the wider hips, the fuller chest. It wasn't a dress for a girl. It was a dress for a woman who owned the room.
Her hair was swept up in a severe, architectural style, exposing the long line of her neck. Her makeup was sharp, gold-flecked, making her grey eyes look almost metallic.
"Remember the mission," Leo said, his voice losing its childish playfulness. "We need two things to open the vault. A retinal scan and a voice print. You need to get close to him. Within twelve inches."
"Twelve inches," Aria repeated. "That's biting distance."
"Don't get bitten," Leo warned. "Mia needs the serum. The timer starts now."
The chauffeur opened the door.
A flash of cameras went off instantly. The paparazzi were starving wolves, and she was fresh meat.
Aria stepped out.
She didn't shrink. She didn't shield her face. She looked directly into the flashing lights, her chin tilted up, her expression one of utter, bored indifference.
"Who is that?"
"Is that a celebrity?"
"Look at the dress..."
The whispers started like a ripple and turned into a wave. Aria ignored them. She walked up the red carpet, the heavy silk of her train hissing against the velvet rope like a snake.
She reached the check-in desk. The Beta security guard looked up, flushed, and stammered. "Name, miss?"
"Lady V," Aria said. Her voice was an octave lower than usual, smooth and smoky.
"I... I don't see a 'Lady V' on the list..."
"Check again," she said softly. "Under the VIP addendums."
Leo, miles away in a safe house, hit 'Enter'.
The guard's tablet blinked green. "Ah. My apologies, Lady V. Welcome to the King Tower."
Aria took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and didn't look back. She pushed through the heavy double doors and stepped into the lion's den.
---
The ballroom went quiet.
It wasn't a polite silence. It was the silence of a disruption. The kind that happens when an apex predator enters a room full of grazers.
Aria stood at the top of the grand staircase. The gold dress caught the light of the chandeliers, turning her into a living flame against the black glass walls.
She felt the gaze before she saw him.
It was heavy, physical, like a hand pressing between her shoulder blades.
Slowly, deliberately, Aria turned her head.
Across the room, in the center of the crowd, the sea of black tuxedos parted. Damien King stood there. He was frozen, a glass of whiskey halfway to his mouth.
He was looking at her.
For five years, Aria had imagined this moment. She thought she would feel fear. She thought she would feel the urge to vomit.
Instead, she felt... power.
He didn't recognize her.
He saw the dress. He saw the curves. He saw the arrogance. But he didn't see the frightened, stuttering girl he had married and discarded. That girl was dead.
Damien set his glass down on a passing waiter's tray without looking away. He started to walk toward him.
"He's moving," Leo warned in her ear. "Mom, heart rate check. You're spiking. 110. 115. Calm down or he'll smell the adrenaline."
"The suppressant is working, Leo," Aria whispered, barely moving her lips. "I'm not scared. I'm hunting."
She descended the stairs. Each step was a calculated beat. *Click. Click. Click.*
She didn't walk away from him. She walked on a diagonal, intercepting his path near the artifact display cases. It was a challenge. *I am not running.*
Damien reached her just as she stopped in front of a glass case containing a 12th-century jade dagger.
He stopped two feet away.
The air between them crackled. The scent of him—sandalwood, rain, and raw, suppressed violence—hit her like a physical wave. Her wolf whined inside her, scratching at the chemical walls of the suppressant, desperate to submit to her mate.
Aria crushed the instinct ruthlessly.
"Beautiful," Damien said.
His voice was deeper than she remembered. It vibrated in the floorboards.
Aria didn't turn immediately. She kept her eyes on the dagger. "It's a fake."
Damien blinked. The response threw him off. "Excuse me?"
Aria turned to face him. She forced herself to look him in the eye—not at his shoes, not at his chest. His eyes.
"The jade," she said, gesturing with her champagne flute. "It's from the wrong province. The real dagger was lost in 1942. This is a factory copy. Mid-Ming Dynasty reproduction, at best. Pretty, but hollow."
She tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "You paid... what? Three million? You overpaid by three million, Mr. King."
Damien stared at her. The scar on his eyebrow gave him a dangerous edge. His eyes were a storm of grey and gold, searching, analyzing.
"And who are you?" Damien asked softly. He took a step closer. The gap closed to eighteen inches. "To insult my collection in my own house?"
"I am Lady V," Aria said. She held out a hand. "I heard you were looking for an expert on... rare things."
Damien stared at her hand. He didn't take it. Instead, he leaned in.
He sniffed.
Aria held her breath.
Damien frowned. He recoiled slightly, the heavy scent of *Midnight Orchid* offending his nose.
"Lady V?" he scoffed. "Sounds like a stage name for a magician."
"And 'Mr. King' sounds like a god complex," Aria countered smoothly, dropping her hand. "But I suppose we all wear costumes tonight."
"You have a sharp tongue," Damien said. A flicker of amusement—or perhaps intrigue—lit up his eyes. "I'm looking for someone. A woman. About your height. Smells like rain."
"Rain?" Aria laughed. It was a practiced, throaty sound. "How poetic. Does she have a name? Or is she just another one of your conquests?"
Damien's jaw tightened. "She is my wife."
The word hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
Aria's heart skipped a beat. *Wife.* Not ex-wife. Not mistake.
"I thought the tabloids said you were divorced," Aria said, keeping her tone light, disinterested.
"The tabloids are wrong," Damien said darkly. "She left. But she belongs to me. And I found a trace of her yesterday. She was here. In this building."
He took another step. They were twelve inches apart now.
"Leo, get the scan," Aria hissed internally.
"Hold it," Leo's voice crackled. "I need a clear shot of his retina. He's blinking too much. Make him widen his eyes. Shock him."
Aria looked at Damien. She needed to break his composure.
She reached out.
It was a move of suicidal bravery. She placed her gloved hand on the lapel of his tuxedo, smoothing the fabric.
Damien froze. No one touched him. Not without permission.
"Perhaps," Aria whispered, leaning in until her lips were inches from his ear, "she ran away because you hold on too tight. Some birds die in cages, Damien. Even golden ones."
She pulled back to look at his face.
Damien's eyes were wide, blown open by shock. The phrase. *Bird in a cage.* It was something she had written in a letter she destroyed five years ago.
"Got it!" Leo shouted. "Retinal map acquired. 98% match. Now I need the voice print. Get him to say the phrase: 'Access Authorized'. Or something with those phonetics."
Damien grabbed her hand that was on his chest. His grip was iron.
"Who are you?" he growled, the gold bleeding into his irises. "How do you know that?"
"Know what?" Aria played innocent, though her wrist was throbbing. "It's a common saying. You're hurting me."
"You feel..." Damien trailed off. He looked at her hand in his. The size. The shape. "You feel familiar."
"I get that a lot," Aria said coldly. "Now, let go. Or I will scream, and your stock price will drop another 5% by morning."
Damien stared at her for a long, agonizing second. Then, slowly, he released her.
"I apologize," he said stiffly. But he didn't step back. "To make up for my rudeness... dance with me."
"I don't dance."
"I insist," Damien said. It wasn't a request. "The first waltz is starting. If you are truly an expert on artifacts, Lady V, then you should know how to handle priceless things without breaking them."
He held out his hand.
"Accept it," Leo urged. "I need more audio data for the voice synthesis. The ballroom acoustics are perfect. Get him on the floor."
Aria looked at Damien's hand. The hand that had signed their marriage contract. The hand that had tried to lock down a city to find her.
If she took it, she was escalating the game.
Aria smiled. It was a smile of knives.
"One dance, Mr. King," she said, placing her hand in his. "But I lead."
Damien's lips quirked up in the first genuine smirk she had seen in five years.
"Try your best, Lady V."
He pulled her onto the floor. The music swelled—a haunting waltz. As his arm circled her waist, pulling her flush against his hard chest, Aria realized two things.
First, she had the retinal scan.
Second, she was in terrible, terrible danger.
Because his body didn't react to her like a stranger. It reacted to her like a magnet finding its North.
And the night had only just begun.