“Lord Hassan,” he replied, his tone laced with unease.
Good.
Let him fear me.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, his gaze calculating.“Rumors reach my ears,” he murmured, voice deceptively smooth.“Whispers of the Black Wraith’s intentions to raze my dominion.”
Of course, he was afraid.
The Black Wraith was not a ghost to him.He was a nightmare.
And nightmares were relentless.
I allowed a slow breath, ensuring my next words landed precisely where I intended.
“Which is exactly why the grand masquerade is crucial.”
Lord Alexander’s fingers twitched, but I did not give him time to interrupt.
“It will serve as the perfect lure.”
I let the idea settle, let him feel the edges of its possibility, its inevitability.
“A gathering of such magnitude will draw him out.He cannot resist.”
A pause.
And then, with methodical finality, I added?—
“After all, he has his spies.”
I met Lord Alexander’s gaze, unflinching.
“Just as we have ours.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and waiting.
I stood firm, my resolve steeling me against the filth of both this room and these men.Every instinct screamed to torch it all, to unsheathe a dagger and carve their monstrous arrogance from their bloated bodies.
But I did not.
Not yet.
This was a dance, a careful, intricate performance where missteps meant ruin—not just for me, but for Elizabeth.
I had to play my part.
The wet, muffled thud of Lord Winston’s cigar hitting the ashtray made my stomach coil.His trembling hands relinquished the sullied roll of tobacco, his saliva gleaming on its end like a mother’s nipple, wet from the suckling of a greedy babe.
Revulsion licked at my throat.
“Are you sure this will work?”Winston’s ponderous voice dragged through the room like something dead being pulled through the streets.“He’s stopped every trap we’ve set for him.”
Doubt.
His skepticism was a burden I had neither time nor patience for.
I did not hesitate.“Certainty is a luxury we cannot afford,” I said, my voice an edge of steel wrapped in velvet.
