Heir To Silence. Book 1 The Pact of Blood Series

3.

They tell me about the gala over breakfast.

Father talks about my attendance as if it’s already decided.

“We’d rather you attend with us,” he says, folding his napkin carefully. “Than be left alone in a house you’re still learning.”

My quiet brother nods. “You’ll stay close.”

“And you’ll be on your best behavior,” my twin adds lightly, though his hand finds my knee under the table. Protective even when he’s joking.

I promise. I mean it. Mostly.

The house becomes a machine that day.

Tailors. Stylists. Jewelry laid out on velvet trays. No one asks what I want. They tell me what works, what’s appropriate, what sends the right message.

The dress is dark silk, heavy and fluid. Elegant enough to satisfy my family. Sharp enough to feel like myself.

I choose my shoes alone.

High heels. Thin straps. A small, private decision.

The ballroom is overwhelming.

Light spills from chandeliers like it’s alive. Music hums beneath layers of conversation. Perfume clings to the air. Everyone looks like they belong, like they’ve been rehearsing for this their entire lives.

I stay close to my brothers at first, fingers brushing sleeves, hands at my back. Protection disguised as affection.

Then I feel a gaze that isn’t assessing or polite.

Curious.

“You look like you’re counting exits.”

I turn.

She’s standing beside me with a glass of champagne, her smile easy, her posture relaxed. Dark hair pulled into a sleek knot. Red lipstick worn like confidence instead of armor.

“Is it that obvious?” I ask.

She laughs. “Only to people who’ve done it themselves.”

“I’m Lucia.”

She raises her glass slightly. “I know.”

I arch a brow. “That so?”

“You’re new. You still look impressed.” Her eyes flick briefly to my family. “And overprotected.”

I laugh. “I arrived three days ago.”

“That explains it,” she says. “I’m Alessia.”

She says it like she expects me to remember it.

“I’m guessing you’re not new,” I say.

She snorts softly. “I grew up in rooms like this. I learned to walk in heels before I learned to lie convincingly.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is. You get used to it.” She studies me for a moment. “You’re doing fine, by the way. Standing tall. Not shrinking. They notice that.”

“Who’s they?”

She smiles. “Everyone.”

I glance down at my dress. “Any advice?”

“Yes,” she says immediately. “Don’t confuse attention with safety. And don’t let men tell you who you are before you decide for yourself.”

I like her instantly.

“Do you live nearby?” I ask.

“Close enough to know better. Far enough to escape when I want to.” She pauses. “Give me your number.”

Just like that.

I pull my phone from my clutch and hand it over. She types quickly, then texts herself from my phone.

“There,” she says. “In case you need a friendly face. Or an excuse to leave.”

“I have a feeling I’ll need both.”

Before she can reply, a man approaches and asks me to dance.

I hesitate, then glance toward my family. Father watches me for a long moment before giving a small nod.

I take the man’s hand.

The music swells. He’s confident, practiced, his palm warm at my waist. I let myself move, let the silk of my dress slide against my skin, let the room fade into rhythm.

That’s when I feel it.

Not a touch.

Attention.

I don’t need to search for him.

When I look, he’s there.

Standing at the edge of the room, one hand wrapped around a glass he hasn’t lifted. His suit is dark, his posture relaxed, his presence unmistakable.

His eyes are on me.

Not angry. Not amused.

Focused.

They follow the movement of my body, the way I respond to another man’s hands. His jaw tightens slightly. Just enough that I notice.

My partner spins me gently. I don’t break eye contact when I turn back.

Something sharp and warm coils low in my stomach.

Across the room, his fingers curl around the glass. The gold of his cufflink catches the light against his tanned skin. Tattoos peek from beneath his sleeve when he shifts.

I shouldn’t.

I know that.

But I let my hips move slower. Let myself lean closer to my partner. Just a little.

His gaze darkens.

The music ends. Applause ripples through the room.

My partner thanks me and steps away.

I return to Alessia’s side.

She follows my line of sight and lets out a quiet laugh. “Ah.”

“You noticed,” I say.

“Everyone noticed.” She leans in. “Be careful with that one.”

“Why?”

“Because men like him don’t like being reminded they can feel.”

Before I can ask anything else, my brother touches my arm.

“That’s enough for tonight.”

I nod, though my pulse hasn’t slowed.

As we leave, I glance back once more.

He’s still there.

Still watching.

This time, his mouth curves slightly. Not a smile. Something sharper.

A promise.

My phone vibrates in my hand.

A text from an unknown number.

Alessia: Survived your first ball. That’s something. Drinks soon.

I smile to myself.

I don’t know his name yet.

But I know one thing for certain.

He didn’t like seeing me touched.

And that knowledge settles deep in my body, warm and dangerous, as the night closes around us.