Midnight Champion of the Underwolves

The grand ballroom of Vynthera Palace glittered like a jewel in the soft glow of a thousand chandeliers. Nobles in their finest silks and jewels danced, drank, and laughed, their voices merging into a harmonious cacophony of wealth and power. Yet none shone brighter than Lady Seraphine Caldris.

She stood near the marble staircase, her emerald gown clinging to her slender frame like a second skin. Her raven-black hair was swept into an elaborate bun, a single diamond pin glinting like a shard of ice. Her piercing gray eyes scanned the crowd with practiced ease, taking in every whispered conversation, every sidelong glance.

Tonight, she wasn't merely a noblewoman. She was a predator among prey, cloaked in the guise of a gracious hostess.

"Lady Seraphine," purred a voice at her elbow. She turned, her lips curving into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Duke Alaric, her former betrothed, stood before her. His presence was a shadow she could never escape.

"Your Grace," she replied, her voice smooth as velvet. "How kind of you to attend tonight's celebration."

"Would I miss a chance to see the most radiant woman in Vynthera?" His smile was charming, but Seraphine saw the malice lurking beneath. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Still playing the perfect noblewoman, I see. One would think you've forgotten the past."

Her smile tightened. "I assure you, I forget nothing, Your Grace."

As Alaric moved away to mingle with the other guests, Seraphine's fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. He was testing her, as always, reminding her of his power. But he didn't know the fire simmering beneath her composed exterior. Not yet.

"Not enjoying the party, my lady?"