Still, I had no intention of gutting my wife in front of the city. But when I came through those doors and saw her face—her eyes going wide, her mouth tightening, the humiliation she swallowed just to keep her chin up—it did something I wasn’t ready for. I felt pissed. Not at her. At myself. At the entire fucked-up chain of events that dragged us here. I’d hurt her on purpose before, more times than I bothered to count, but tonight it landed differently. It hit in a place I didn’t want touched.
I walked back into the ballroom, replaying her words in my head while the music kept playing. I automatically scanned the room for her. She was gone and I couldn’t blame her for leaving. I also could not stand the fact that it bothered me.
I headed for the Big Six table where Hollister, Draven, Marquette, and Crowhurst were seated.
And then there were the Sawyer’s, sitting at the table only because they were trying to force their way into the council and take the seat the Veylor’s once held. The father, Senior, sat with a stiffness that looked rehearsed, his suit too polished to hide how desperate he was to be seen as an equal. His son, Seylan, held his glass with the careless confidence of a man who had not yet realized he had made the stupidest move of his life. He was tall, about my height, with caramel skin and a handsome face that most women would fall for without a second thought. Judging by his looks and the way he carried himself, I doubted he had any trouble getting women into his bed. Maybe that’s why he thought he could be reckless enough to approach what belongs to me. I’d heard he was three years older than me, but I was ready to show him just how much of a little boy he was in my eyes, and why he ought to be very careful how he moved aroundhere.
Eleana settled into the chair beside mine the moment I sat, waiting for attention I would never give her. I didn’t look at her. My focus stayed locked on her brother.
“…we bring strong numbers through our private galleries and offshore collections,” Senior was saying, leaning slightly toward Judge Marquette. “Our networks are stable. Our partnerships run deep across cultural foundations, private buyers, and international curators. We believe our presence could restore the balance that was lost when Veylor fell.”
Marquette and Hollister listened closely. Crowhurst pretended to be interested, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. Draven looked so bored he was watching everyone else instead of the speaker.
“So you want a seat at this table. You want your family name carved into Emberwick the way ours already are.” My words dropped low, pulling every ear toward me.
Senior turned to me. “That is our ambition, yes. We believe we can strengthen what has already been built.”
I nodded once, still watching Seylan. The boy shifted under my gaze, fingers tightening around his glass.
“Tell me something. You understand the rules that govern this council?”
Senior straightened. “We understand the importance of loyalty, discretion, and profit. We know how important the Big Six families’ connections are for the growth of—”
“I was not talking to you,” I cut in, eyes never leaving the son. “I am asking him.”
Silence settled over the table. Seylan swallowed, surprise flashing across his face before he forced a smirk he did not have the weight to carry.
“I would say the main rule is business first,” he answered. “Money on the table before anything else.”
My hand closed around the steak knife beside my plate. One smooth motion. No warning. The blade kissed his skin and drove straight through his hand into the thick wood beneath it.
“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” his scream ripped through the gala, high and raw.
Glass toppled. Chairs scraped.
“Oh my God,” Eleana screamed, shooting to her feet beside me. Bright blood spread fast across the white tablecloth.
I didn’t move. I kept my palm pressed against the knife handle, my expression unbroken as Seylan thrashed. My gaze never left his as every muscle in my body held in a quiet, unshakable control.
“You are wrong,” I said with cold settled into every word. “The most important rule for this council is simple. When two families go to war, the others stay the fuck out of it. Each family is sovereign. Which means if you offend me, I can decide to kill you right here and not a single one of these men will move.”
Marquette didn’t flinch. Hollister didn’t speak. Draven watched and Crowhurst didn’t give a fuck.
“What the fuck, Korven? He’s bleeding!” the father hollered, his son breathing hard like a horse as he tried to bear the pain.
“You made two mistakes tonight,” I kept pressing down just enough to make him shout again.
“Ahhhhh fuuuuuck!!!”
“First, you walked into this gala thinking your name weighed anything in this room. Second, you stepped onto that balcony and reached for my wife as if she were something you could taste when my back was turned.”
His eyes blew wide. Fear finally pushing through the arrogance.
“Now I’m debating whether I should cut off the hand that dared touch what’s mine or put a bullet in your head. Because motherfucker, you did the one thing you never do if you want aseat at this table. You disrespected the wrong house.”
“Konflict,” Marquette’s voice cut through. “You have made your point.”
I heard him but did not look away from Seylan. My hand stayed on the knife another heartbeat, letting the boy feel exactly how thin the line was between warning and execution. Then I eased my grip and pulled the blade free. Blood rushed up from the wound, his hand jerking back to his chest as he howled.
