The gala lights felt like a spotlight on her mistakes as Livia stepped back into the crowd. Every conversation, every laugh, sounded hollow now. She had seen too much—Valen's ruthlessness in motion, and the chilling calm with which he threatened someone.
Her fingers clenched around the strap of her clutch. She needed a plan. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement. Valen. Of course. He didn't chase her, didn't yell. He didn't need to. His presence stretched across the room like a shadow, suffocating and magnetic at the same time.
She tried to focus on the gala, on the Verlane Contract. But the memory of his words burned in her mind: "I need to decide if I should silence you, or keep you close…"
And now, he was approaching. Slow, deliberate, his gaze fixed on her like a predator studying its prey. Livia forced a smile, but her stomach twisted.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, voice soft but dangerous.
"I am," she said, keeping her tone light. "And you? Planning more… negotiations in the shadows?"
A smirk played on his lips. "Perhaps. But don't flatter yourself—I'm not interested in playing with amateurs."
She met his gaze, steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "I'm no amateur."
He tilted his head, as if tasting the truth of her words. Then, almost casually, he slid closer. "We'll see, Livia. Tonight, the game has just begun."
Every nerve in her body screamed danger, but an inexplicable thrill ran through her. She was in the lion's den, but the lion was watching her like she might be the one to bite back.
And for the first time, Livia Vale didn't want to run.