Silk & Sabotage

The press room smelled of roses and politics.

Gold-trimmed chairs lined the stage. National flags hung in perfect symmetry — Rica on the left, Lina Loas on the right. Between them, a podium, two chairs, and one too-perfect engagement ring glinting in a velvet box under the lights.

Mia Veyra stood behind the curtain with her back to the wall, hands laced so tightly her knuckles burned.

Across from her, Lucas adjusted the collar of his dress uniform.

Neither spoke. Not yet.

There were twenty journalists waiting behind that curtain. Fifty more watching live from every embassy in the region.

Mia's lips curled slightly — not in humor, but in practiced elegance.

"Ready to play the happy bride?" she murmured.

Lucas didn't answer. He just offered his arm when the aide signaled.

They stepped out together.

Applause. Cameras. Flash.

They smiled.

They sat.

And when Diego took the podium, his voice was velvet and fire.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "in the spirit of transparency, I wanted you to meet the alliance that symbolizes the future — not just of peace, but of trust."

He turned to Mia and Lucas with a father's affection, his voice warm enough to melt steel.

"My daughter, who has served this nation with both grace and defiance, and Commander Drax, a man of principle from a country that once stood across from us — now beside us."

More applause. More cameras. Mia didn't blink.

Lucas nodded at the right moment. Said the right lines. Shook the right hands.

A ring was placed on the table.

The crowd leaned forward.

Mia didn't reach for it. Neither did he.

A pause.

Then, Diego chuckled softly into the mic.

"They are both warriors — forgive them if they're slower with rings than they are with tactics."

The room laughed.

The ring box was opened with a delicate flourish. Lucas had to as there were just to many cameras watching them.

A reporter zoomed in. The velvet interior caught the light — silver glint, diamond restraint, politically chosen perfection.

Mia didn't move.

Not until Lucas did.

He reached for the ring slowly, his movements measured, expression unreadable. His fingers brushed hers — brief, clinical — as he took her left hand.

"Shall we, fiancée?" he murmured, too quiet for the microphones.

Mia raised an eyebrow — just a flicker. Her voice didn't match her smile.

"Do I have a choice, fiancé?"

He said nothing.

And then he slid the ring onto her finger.

A whisper of applause rose in the room. Flashbulbs flared. One diplomat audibly sighed.

They turned slightly to face the cameras, their hands linked in a carefully rehearsed clasp.

Together, they looked like peace.

Under the surface — in the press of skin, the stiffness of posture, the chill behind her eyes — the war still raged.

But Mia felt it — like static at the back of her neck.

The kind of presence that didn't belong. That didn't move, but watched.

She glanced toward the far corner, just for a second.

Nothing.

Just a cameraman. A journalist. A vase of lilies.

But the air was wrong. Familiar. Cold.

Lucas shifted beside her. "What?" he murmured, too quiet for the mics.

She shook her head, lips still smiling. "Nothing."

But it wasn't nothing.

It was Mino.

She didn't know how she knew. Just that she did.

He was near. Not visible. Not loud.

But watching.

---

Somewhere in the back of the crowd, half-obscured by a camera rig and a technician's shadow, a man in black leaned just slightly forward.

Not enough to be seen.

Just enough to see.

Mino Kael lit a match, let the flame dance before snuffing it out between his fingers.

The ring on the stage caught the light.

So did the flicker of something in his eyes — not jealousy. Not longing.

Just memory.

He turned before they looked his way.

Mia's voice rang over the speakers.

"We understand the weight of this decision," she said smoothly. "And we carry it with honor. Together."

Polished. Perfect. Lie.

After the questions ended, after the applause faded, after Diego shook one last hand and the cameras went dark, Mia pulled her hand free of Lucas's.

No words.

Just breath.

She walked offstage, her heels echoing through the hall.

Lucas followed a beat behind.

The ballroom was quieter now. The applause had faded, the cameras packed away, and the dignitaries were slowly filtering out — escorted by aides and armed pleasantries.

Mia stood near the edge of the room, staring at her reflection in the tall arched window.

Behind her, soft footsteps approached. Familiar. Unhurried.

"Quite the evening," Diego Veyra said, voice warm as ever.

She didn't turn. "You could've warned me."

"I thought you'd like the surprise," he replied, with a smile she could hear.

She finally faced him.

"I don't like being paraded," she said. Calm. Controlled. But her eyes burned.

Diego tilted his head, hands folded behind his back. "You weren't paraded. You were honored."

She didn't answer.

He stepped closer, brushing a curl from her shoulder the way he had when she was a child. "You looked powerful tonight. Poised. Regal. You made Lina Loas proud."

"Is that what I made?" Her voice was lower now. Dangerous. "Or did I just make your deal with Rica look prettier?"

Diego's smile didn't falter. "It's not just a deal, Mia. It's peace. And peace always needs symbols."

She took a step back. "You used me."

"No," he said softly. "I trusted you. To carry this weight. To stand where only you can stand."

Mia clenched her fist around the ring box. "You decided for me."

"I protected you," he said, a little sharper now — not angry, just edged. "From harder paths. From worse choices. From becoming someone you'd hate."

That stopped her.

Because he meant it. He believed it.

And somehow, that made it worse.

"I'm not a girl anymore," she said quietly.

"You're my daughter," he replied, as if that was answer enough. "And this world… this war-in-peace game we play? It won't stop. But if I can place you in a position of strength — beside someone strong — I will. Again and again."

He stepped forward. Rested his hands gently on her arms. Fatherly. Sincere.

"Lucas is a good man," Diego continued. "And this alliance matters. To both nations. To our future."

She searched his face. There was no cruelty in his eyes. Just calculated love.

And that, more than anything, made her want to scream.

But she didn't.

Because she knew this game too well.

So she tucked the box into her clutch. Smiled faintly.

And let her father kiss her forehead like the good daughter she wasn't sure she could keep being.

Later, as she slipped out of the ballroom into the hallway's cool silence, she paused by a wall of faded portraits.

Old generals. Dead heroes.

And one security camera perched high above — blinking red.

She stared at it.

Somewhere far above them, unseen once again, Mino watched them walk away.

His smile was unreadable.

And he was already planning what came next.

The ghost of Mino still lingered in her bones.

She didn't know if it was grief, betrayal, or unfinished anger.

But she knew he was near.

And she hated that part of her still hoped he'd come out of the dark and say it meant something.

Even if it never had.