Silk & Sabotage

The ballroom glittered like a lie in motion — chandeliers casting gold halos over secrets, polished marble echoing the footsteps of enemies dressed as diplomats.

Mia Veyra stood at the edge of the balcony, back straight, wine untouched. Her posture was regal. Her mind, far from it.

She had felt it — the shift in the air, the shadow slipping through the crowd below. A presence from a life she tried to erase.

Mino Kael.

No one else noticed. Of course they didn't.

Only she knew the shape of his stride, the silence he moved with, the chill he left behind.

He had come to Lina Loas years ago — charming, reckless, full of purpose.

She'd fallen. Hard.

And when he had what he wanted — access, leverage, her heart in his hand — he vanished.

No explanation. No goodbye.

Only silence.

He had played her. Slept with her.

Left her bleeding in a bed she thought held something real.

Now he was here. Maybe.

Or maybe her ghosts had better timing than most.

Commander Lucas Drax didn't notice Mino. Not yet.

He was too focused on the change in Mia's body language — a quiet shift from poised to alert. Not obvious. But he saw it.

She was scanning the room. Breathing shallow.

He didn't know her well, but he knew how people looked when they were being hunted… or remembering the one who had done the hunting.

He didn't like the feeling settling in his gut.

And then, just as the string quartet drew to a slow cadence, a crystal glass rang out.

General Diego Veyra, decorated war hero and father to Mia, stepped into the center of the ballroom with a warm smile that commanded both reverence and affection.

"Honored guests," Diego said, his voice measured, proud. "Tonight marks not just the celebration of peace, but the beginning of something more enduring — unity."

All conversation paused.

Lucas straightened.

Mia's blood turned to ice.

"It gives me great joy to announce the upcoming union of two pillars of our nations — my daughter, Mia Veyra of Lina Loas… and Commander Lucas Drax of Rica."

Applause erupted.

Cameras flashed. Champagne glasses raised.

Mia didn't move.

Her expression didn't crack — not yet — but something behind her eyes dimmed.

She hadn't been told.

She hadn't agreed.

This was Diego's doing.

But her father looked genuinely proud — his hand resting gently on her shoulder, his voice low as he leaned in:

"It's the only way they'll believe the peace is real," he murmured softly, almost tenderly. "And I would never offer you to anyone unworthy, my girl."

The crowd cooed.

Lucas stood still — no outward reaction, though inside, his thoughts reeled.

A political marriage. Tidy. Strategic.

Except no one had informed him either.

His eyes found Mia's.

For a moment, neither blinked.

Two soldiers. Two chess pieces.

Two strangers bound by a headline.

High above, unseen, Mino Kael watched.

He didn't clap.

His lips curled into something sharp and unbothered.

He didn't feel guilt. Not for Mia. Not for what he did.

She'd been part of the job. A mission. A necessary step.

Too trusting. Too easy.

Still, he didn't expect to see her again — especially not standing beside Lucas.

That part amused him.

He lit a cigarette and stepped further into the dark, letting the smoke trail behind him like the sins he never planned to confess.

The applause still echoed in her ears.

Mia moved through the corridor like a ghost in heels, the silk of her gown whispering against the marble walls. A diplomat nodded as she passed, beaming as if she'd just won a crown instead of been shackled in diamonds.

She didn't look at anyone. Didn't speak.

She just kept walking — past the gilded staircase, past the portraits of dead men with medals — until she reached the side room tucked behind the state archives.

It was quiet. Empty. She shut the door behind her.

And exhaled.

One long, venom-laced breath.

But the silence didn't last.

The door opened again. And there he was.

Lucas Drax.

Still in uniform. Still unreadable.

He closed the door behind him and didn't say a word.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other.

Two unwilling pieces on a chessboard neither had set.

"I didn't know," Lucas said first. Low. Honest.

Mia turned back to the table, setting her wine glass down with too much control.

"Didn't you?" she replied, not looking at him.

He moved closer. Not threatening — deliberate.

"I was briefed on a treaty. Not a wedding."

She laughed — bitter and quiet. "Then we both got promoted without warning."

Silence settled again. Thick and tight.

Lucas watched her — her shoulders stiff, her spine too straight. She wore her anger like armor. Familiar.

"This wasn't your idea," he said.

"Congratulations, Commander," she said, turning slowly. "You're quick on your feet. That'll make the honeymoon bearable."

Lucas didn't react. But his jaw clenched.

"I didn't ask for this," he said.

"Neither did I," Mia snapped, her voice sharper now. "And for the record, I don't care what you want. I care that my father stood in a room full of reporters and handed me over like a trade route."

Lucas didn't respond immediately. He couldn't.

Because she was right.

They weren't partners. They were props.

And Diego had written the script without asking either of them.

"You didn't look surprised," she added, a quieter accusation. "You just stood there like you expected it."

Lucas met her eyes. "I've been trained not to flinch in public. Doesn't mean I wasn't furious."

That gave her pause.

She studied him — really studied him.

The square lines of discipline. The shadows under his eyes.

Not cruel. Not cold.

Just… caged.

"Is this how your country solves peace?" she asked. "With arranged marriages and flashy parties?"

He shook his head. "This wasn't Rica. This was Diego."

That silenced her again.

Mia turned her gaze to the window — the ballroom lights flickering below, laughter echoing like a lie. Somewhere down there, her father was accepting congratulations for breaking her future like a bottle across a ship's hull.

"He thinks he's protecting me," she whispered. "Like always."

Lucas stepped beside her but didn't get too close.

"Maybe he is," he said softly. "In his own way."

She didn't answer. Didn't agree.

She just stood there — tired, furious, heart cracking under layers no one could see.

And Lucas?

He didn't try to comfort her.

But he didn't leave either.