Location: Tavara, Capital City — Montclare Private Gala
The ballroom shimmered under a dome of crystal chandeliers, their glow dancing over tailored suits and silk gowns. Laughter floated like perfume in the air, but under the glamour lay a current of tension that Damien could taste on his tongue.
He stood near the grand staircase, flanked by two of his trusted men in civilian attire. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes — dark and calculating — scanned the crowd with the cold precision of a hunter. This wasn't just a gala. It was a declaration. A message to the corporate titans and aristocrats in attendance that Damien Blackthorn was done operating from the shadows.
"Do you see them?" Damien murmured under his breath, not turning his head.
Micah, ever sharp and observant, gave a slight nod. "Three Kane-affiliated board members. Fourth near the bar with someone from the Goldwyn syndicate."
Damien's jaw tightened.
The Kane family.
Their name had no place here, not in this story, and not in his world — but whispers of their return had begun. Perhaps they thought Tavara was weak now. That the Blackthorns were vulnerable.
Fools.
He straightened his collar, adjusting the cufflinks Nora had gifted him last winter — engraved with his initials and hers. Just a touch of her calmed the storm that had been rising all evening.
As if summoned by thought, she appeared at the top of the stairs, descending with a grace that stole the breath from every onlooker. Her sapphire gown shimmered with every step, her hair twisted into an elegant updo that framed her serene, yet confident expression. But only Damien could see the flicker of guarded tension in her gaze.
"Late?" she teased softly as she reached him.
"Just in time to steal the spotlight," he murmured, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers. "Are you ready?"
Nora leaned in close. "Always."
They moved as one, a power couple cloaked in elegance — but beneath the polished surface, both were warriors, tacticians, and protectors. This gala was a chessboard, and their enemies were arrogantly stepping into place.
Across the room, Victoria Greaves — a socialite with more secrets than jewels — watched Damien with thinly veiled disdain. Her father's company had just lost a bid to Blackthorn Holdings, and rumors swirled she was brokering a deal with the rival faction forming behind the Kane shadow.
"Victor Kane sends his regards," she said with a saccharine smile as they passed.
Damien paused, the weight of her words crashing into the air like a gong.
Nora's hand gripped his arm tighter.
"Funny," Damien said, his voice smooth and low, "I don't recall inviting ghosts to my party."
He didn't wait for her reaction. The night wasn't over, and he had no intention of letting old names steal his momentum. Kane belonged in Legacy in Ashes, not Tactical Desire. This was his empire, his legacy. And he would protect it — and Nora — with every ounce of cunning and fire he possessed.