Two weeks had passed since the contract was signed, but it felt like lifetimes in practice—Dante, cool and unmoving, was a shadow I could feel more than see.
The lights hit like a thousand suns the moment we stepped out of the car. Red carpet, flashing cameras, reporters yelling questions I barely heard over the roar of the crowd
"Are you nervous?"
I turned to him , and smiled
Fake
"Never" i said simply
We were both invited to an award show I was nominated for my latest movie and I want surprised at all, I was good at everything I did
. My heels clicked sharply against the marble floor of the gala hall as I kept a graceful pace, long hair falling perfectly over my shoulders.
Dante walked beside me, tailored black suit hugging him like armor, eyes scanning the crowd, hand hovering close to mine, protective without a word. I noticed him, of course—the way he moved, the way he kept anyone from brushing too close. My smirk grew; it wasn't intimidation I felt, just the thrill of seeing him act subtly, deliberately, for me.
"Seraphine Kane, over here!" a photographer shouted. "Best actress nominee!"
I waved lightly, letting the cameras capture a charming, poised smile. Inside, though, I was amused—this world, this spectacle, was a stage I could play without fear. But I was careful not to let anyone see the fire beneath my calm exterior.
I took a deep breath and let the usual Seraphine smile slide across my face: polished, playful, untouchable. My dress clung just enough to remind the world I was a model without revealing anything about the woman beneath it—the woman who controlled three companies, ran an underground empire, and could take a life before breakfast.
"Seraphine! Over here!" a photographer shouted, and the crowd roared as I glided past, my heels clicking sharp against the marble floor. I threw a wave, a quick nod, and a wink that said, I know what I'm doing—and I enjoy every second of it.
A reporter pushed forward, mic extended. "Seraphine! Can you tell us about the unexpected silent marriage with Dante Moreau? Are you officially—"
I cut him off with a teasing smile, tilting my head just enough to catch Dante's eyes. He was behind me, his hand brushing against my arm as if by accident—or maybe not. The protective instinct was subtle but deliberate, a reminder that he was there, and I wasn't untouchable—not entirely.
To everyone it was a silent weeding that led to marrigar but to us it was a contract
"I think the rumors are greatly exaggerated," I said, voice light, playful. "Dante and I… we'll see what happens. But right now, I'm more concerned with keeping my heels from killing me than any contract."
The flashbulbs popped in rapid succession. Someone whispered behind me, "She's fearless." Another muttered, "And cold as ice. He better watch out."
A young paparazzo leaned forward, microphone quivering in excitement. "Avon! What about your thoughts on the marriage? People are saying Dante is—"
I froze for a heartbeat. Avon. I wasn't expecting that. Dante, however, didn't react—his expression unreadable, cold, as he stepped closer, subtly shifting so his presence brushed mine. Protective, silent, watching every word I spoke.
"Ah, Avon," I said with mock surprise, tilting my head. "I think the world enjoys its own version of stories, don't you? Dante and I? We're figuring out the details—let's not get ahead of ourselves." My tone was airy, teasing, yet firm, the perfect combination of charm and danger.
The reporter looked flustered but tried to recover. "So… you don't need his influence, his protection?"
I smirked, a flash of my signature firecracker attitude. "
Dante's eyes caught mine, and for the briefest moment, I saw something flicker—amusement, admiration, and maybe something unspoken that made my pulse quicken. But he remained distant, untouched, a predator disguised in tailored black, giving nothing away.
As we moved further down the carpet, whispers followed, cameras clicking, flashes strobing, and the world felt like a stage built for us—though only I knew the real performance wasn't public.
Finally, we reached the edge, and I let a small laugh escape. "Next time, Dante, you should let me handle the fans," I said lightly, my tone half-warning, half-playful.
He didn't answer. He never had to. The brush of his hand on my back, the way he positioned himself at my side—it was enough. Enough to make everyone around us curious, enough to make me aware that beneath his calm exterior, he noticed everything.
And that, of course, made me smile.
Moving into the venue, photographers still taking pics, famous actors moving in left and right and talking and laughing.
Eyes on is but I didn't care
Are seats alrwdy had our name on it, close to the stage, probably because of Dante.
He pulls out a chat for me to seat and he sat down close to me.
"Who knew the world most dangerous man could be so gentle."
He just smirked "stick around, and you'll know more."
The gala began
Awards were been given and some performances
The host called out names for the "Best Actor" award. I leaned slightly into Dante's side, whispering with playful exaggeration, "Let's see if your famous influence can help me snag this one."
Dante didn't reply, only gave me the smallest quirk of a smile, but his hand brushed mine briefly. That small contact made my pulse quicken, though I hid it behind a light laugh.
"Seraphine Kane!" the host announced. "And the nominees are… Julian Markwell, Damien Cole, Marcus Li, and of course, Seraphine Kane for her role in Midnight Mirage!"
I let the applause wash over me. Dante subtly adjusted my stance, his hand brushing my waist for a moment, and I caught the flash of pride in his eyes. It wasn't obvious to the crowd, but I noticed, and it made me smirk.
During the crowd photos, a reporter leaned close. "So, Seraphine… this marriage to Dante Moreau—are we seeing love? Or… convenience?"
I laughed lightly, a sound carefully measured to charm. "Love? That's a very strong word and from what you see you call tell we're more that in love ," I said, giving Dante a cheeky glance. "He's teaching me patience, strategy, all those things you would learn in marriage and he's a softie."
Dante shot me a glance and I almost burst out laughing
The reporter's gaze shifted to Dante. "And you, Mr. Moreau?"
Dante's golden-brown eyes locked with mine for a fraction of a second before looking back at the cameras. "I show it in ways she can appreciate and how a husband should be to his wife. Discretion, suppoo, care and most importantly consistency ," he said, his voice calm but layered with that hidden intensity I'd felt from the start.
A murmured comment from the crowd caught my attention: "You can tell… see how he's holding her waist?"
Dante's hand rested lightly on my waist, just enough to signal ownership without touching too much, and our eyes met. Time slowed for a heartbeat, just him and me, unspoken understanding passing between us. Then, as if the world insisted on moving, he guided me down the carpet, careful, protective, his presence both a shield and a thrill.
Inside the hall, the ceremony carried on. Award nominees were called up, speeches made. I kept my mask of cheerful elegance, but behind it, I felt the subtle thrill of knowing Dante's attention never wavered. He noticed every laugh I gave, every pose I struck, every moment I claimed as my own.
When the "Best Actress" award was finally announced, my name rang out. Applause thundered through the hall, flashes lighting the space. I rose gracefully, allowing Dante to guide me to the stage. My hand brushed his briefly, just enough for the cameras, and I felt that quiet satisfaction—he had my back, and I had his.
"Congratulations," he murmured softly, almost inaudible to anyone but me. His golden-brown eyes glimmered with something I couldn't name—pride? Admiration? Something deeper. I merely smiled, letting the applause drown out words I didn't need.
Back at our table, the evening flowed—fine wine, witty remarks, whispered jokes between us that no one else could hear. A reporter tried again, "Are we seeing sparks? Or is it just business?"
I leaned lightly against Dante, whispering so only he could hear, "I don't need sparks. I've got enough fire on my own."
He gave a small, approving nod, hand brushing mine once more under the table. The rest of the night was a dance of poise, control, subtle tension, and quiet amusement—the perfect public performance with all the undercurrents only we could feel.
By the time we left the gala, the crowd still buzzing, I knew one thing for certain: our contract might be for a year, but the chemistry, the silent war of wills, and the unspoken power between us were going to last far longer.
THIRD PERSON POV
The drive back was quieter than the ride to the gala.
The city lights slid across the windshield in long, lazy streaks, and for once, Seraphine didn't feel the need to fill the silence. Dante drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gear, posture relaxed but alert—like a man who never truly switched off.
She watched him from the corner of her eye.
Not openly. Never obviously.
"You did well tonight," he said at last, voice calm, measured.
She smiled, turning her gaze back to the road ahead. "I always do."
A corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. More like restrained amusement.
"The press believed it," he continued. "The way you handled them. The way you handled me."
She hummed lightly. "They believe what they're fed. I just make it look convincing."
The car slowed as they reached her house—warm lights glowing behind black-and-white walls, understated, elegant, nothing like the gilded cages people expected someone like her to live in.
Dante parked and cut the engine.
For a moment, neither moved.
"You don't have to play tonight anymore," he said quietly. "No cameras. No audience."
Seraphine unbuckled her seatbelt and turned toward him, resting her elbow casually against the door. "Careful, Dante. That almost sounded like concern."
His gaze met hers—steady, unreadable. "It's strategy."
"Of course it is." She opened the door, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "Goodnight, husband."
She stepped out, heels clicking softly against the pavement, then turned back just once.
"Oh," she added lightly, eyes glinting. "Don't miss me too much."
And before he could respond, she walked inside, the door closing behind her with finality.
Sleep came faster than she expected.
Exhaustion claimed her the moment her head touched the pillow, the night replaying itself behind closed eyes—flashes of cameras, Dante's hand at her waist, the weight of lies spoken smoothly enough to pass as truth.
Then—
Buzz.
Buzzbuzzbuzz.
Her eyes snapped open.
Her phone was vibrating violently against the bedside table, the screen lighting up the dark room. She frowned, grabbing it, irritation flickering—until she saw the caller ID.
Jessica.
Seraphine sat up instantly, all traces of sleep evaporating.
She answered without a greeting.
"Boss," Jessica's voice came through, low and tight, stripped of its usual composure. "We have a problem."
Seraphine swung her legs off the bed, already moving. "Talk."
"There's been movement," Jessica continued. "Not sloppy. Not loud. Clean. Someone accessed one of the lower tunnels—didn't trip alarms, didn't leave a trace, but they were there. And—" She hesitated. "Tiger says it wasn't one of ours."
Seraphine's jaw tightened.
"When?"
"Less than an hour ago."
Her fingers curled slowly around the phone. "Any casualties?"
"No," Jessica said. "That's what worries me."
Silence stretched.
Then Seraphine spoke, her voice calm, controlled, cold as cut glass. "Lock down the inner sectors. No panic. No announcements. I'll handle it."
"You're coming down?" Jessica asked.
Seraphine glanced toward the window, where the city slept unaware beneath a veil of lights and lies.
"Yes," she said softly. "And make sure no one follows protocol Alpha without my say."
"Understood."
The call ended.
Seraphine stood still for a moment, the quiet of her room suddenly oppressive. Then she reached for the second phone hidden beneath the mattress—the one no one knew about, the one that carried no name, no identity.
Her lips curved into something dangerous.
"So," she murmured to the empty room, already slipping into motion. "You finally decided to knock."
Outside, the city remained calm.
But somewhere beneath it, shadows were shifting.
And Seraphine Kane was already awake.