WebNovels

Chapter 8 - Chapter 8

18:07 PM | Veil Society Gala, Ironcliff City

Adrian's gaze traced upward. Aveline stood taller than expected, the cream silk of her dress hugging her in all the right places.

The fabric caught the dying light like liquid ivory, clinging to every subtle movement — controlled, deliberate. Her shoulders squared, her head tilted slightly in that infuriatingly confident way.

He squinted, eyes flicking to the brick wall beside them — six-inch bricks stacked up the length of her silhouette. He started counting under his breath, thumb twitching as he traced the air. Six inches times… what, twelve bricks? Maybe thirteen? Roughly seventy-eight inches. Six-foot-Six inches. Damn. That made her three inches taller than him.

"How tall were you again?" he asked casually, though his voice carried a faint challenge.

"Six foot-Six inches," she replied, not missing a beat.

He grinned, small but satisfied.

"What?" she demanded, brow arching.

"Nothing. Just… I was right."

She gave him a look. "Right about what?"

He shrugged. "Calculated it. Based on the bricks."

"You calculated my height?"

"Eyeballed, technically. Bricks are six inches each. You hit twelve and a half. Simple math."

Her lips curved, amusement breaking through the steel. "You're out of your damn mind."

"Probably," he muttered, fighting a smile.

Every movement she made was precise, rehearsed. Every glance — measured. Then she leaned in for a side hug, and heat crawled up Adrian's neck. She had him pinned in the pretense before he could react.

Her scent hit him first — sharp and confusing. Gunpowder and metal, like the aftermath of a fired round, tangled with faint spice, sweat, and something floral and heady — jasmine, maybe. Arabian. Expensive. Dangerous. Addictive.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he blurted.

Aveline only smirked, her hand settling against his waist. Her fingers were long, veins tracing beneath pale skin, faint tendons flexing with deceptive gentleness. Her nails were clean, cut short, the kind of hands that had seen both blood and silk.

"We're on a pretend date, remember, dumbass? Try to act like you've been in public before."

His throat tightened. "Yeah… whatever."

She tilted her head. "What are you, a teenager? Never had a girl hug you?"

He exhaled, somewhere between a groan and a laugh. Never confessed, never looked weak, never blushed. And now? He looked like a tomato. A fucking tomato. Great.

18:10 PM | Back Alley

They slipped away from the gala's main hall into a narrow alley — the air cooler, the dim quiet more bearable than the gold-dripped decadence inside.

"We've got ten minutes before the auction starts," she said. "You and I need to talk strategy — or at least figure out how not to shoot each other mid-operation."

"So… like a first-date icebreaker?" he asked dryly.

"Sure. If your last first date involved potential homicide."

The alley smelled faintly of damp stone and something floral — roses, maybe from the balconies above. Cobblestones clicked under their steps, the sound of their shoes echoing between the walls.

A figure stepped out of the shadows — a boy, no older than seven. Dark hair, pale blue eyes. Clothes worn but not filthy.

"Sir… would you like to buy my sandwich, please?"

Adrian crouched automatically, already reaching for his wallet. "Here, kid—"

"Stop."

The word sliced the air. Aveline drew her pistol in one fluid motion, leveling it at the boy.

"Now scurry off, you little piece of—"

BANG!

The bullet whizzed past the boy's ear, embedding itself into the brick behind him. The kid froze.

Aveline smiled faintly. "Shame. I missed."

Adrian snapped, "Are you insane? He's just a kid!"

She turned, eyes cold, voice colder. "Even if it's a kid, you wouldn't know if that sandwich was laced with poison, would you?"

The boy's lip trembled. He bit Adrian's hand — reflexively — before bolting down the alley, disappearing into the dark. Adrian groaned, clutching his hand.

"You're insane," he hissed.

"Maybe. But alive."

He wanted to argue, but her logic was solid. Of course it was. Everything she did, even madness, was calculated. He groaned internally. Just follow her, idiot..

Aveline spun on her heel, jaw tight. "That little scene just wasted three minutes. Let's move."

And she strode back toward the gala without waiting for him to reply.

18:15 PM | Entrance Hallway

Golden sconces cast long shadows on marble floors. Champagne flutes sparkled in soft amber light as laughter drifted from every corner.

Adrian adjusted his collar, feeling underdressed beside her. Aveline didn't seem to notice — or care.

A guard stepped forward, blocking their path. "Where are you trying to go?"

Aveline's fingers brushed the guard's shoulder, firm and commanding. "He's with me. He's my date."

The man froze, pupils dilating, then lowered his gaze and bowed slightly. "Apologies, ma'am."

Adrian blinked. Terrifying . Brilliant. Completely unhinged. And yet I'm still following her. Why the hell am I following her again?

18:20 PM | Gala Interior

Chandeliers hung like glass constellations, scattering light across the golden décor. The scent of roses and sandalwood mingled with wine and money. Every guest looked like a secret wrapped in silk.

Aveline's gaze swept the room — calculating, sharp. She noted exits, cameras, guards. Always one step ahead.

Adrian's thoughts drifted. Part Italian, huh... and here you are betraying your own bloodline. La Sangre Nera would call that heresy.

{Since Aveline is part Italian, her choosing to expose Nexo Pharmaceutical Corporations along side Adrian even though La Sangre Nera collects the receipt is in a way, A betrayal}

18:35 PM | Dinner Table Discussion

The mahogany gleamed beneath candlelight. Servants moved in near silence, plates arranged like art.

Aveline leaned in, voice low, even. "There's a group called Voronola Region, North Ironcliff city. Russian and Italian roots. Rivals of La Sangre Nera. Old alliances, bad blood, politics."

She paused, gaze momentarily distant.

"Their leader — blonde as winter light, eyes like fractured crystal. Moves like a storm in a glass cage. She can command artillery with a whisper. Runs half the Ironcliff armory under false contracts. Controlled chaos — that's her art form."

Her words flowed like poetry sharpened into knives. Adrian stared.

Holy hell.. she's describing a murderer like it's a sonnet. And she's not even smiling.

He smirked. "Why are you in the C.R.I.M.E. division again? You should just write poetry about psychopaths."

Her head turned, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowing with deadly precision. That side-eye alone could kill a man.

"Shut up," she said smoothly, sipping her champagne.

18:55 PM | Main Hall

Dinner wound down. Aveline was in the middle of talking to Adrian, her accent clearly, slightly Russian.Laughter echoed. Then came the voice — harsh, arrogant.

"Mongrels like this bring disgrace to the Canadian pureblood," a man, Cedric sneered. "They don't know a thing about being pure."

{TS- 'Mongrel' is a racial slur for mixed raced people}

Aveline froze. Her lips curved into something that looked like a smile but wasn't. The champagne glass in her hand cracked under her grip.

A soft crunch. Blood pooled down her wrist as shards dug into her palm, red glinting against ivory silk.

Adrian flinched. She didn't.

She rose, calm as a glacier, pulled a strip of gauze from her clutch, and began wrapping her hand. Her fingers trembled only slightly. Beneath the shimmer of her dress, he caught glimpses of scars — pale lines, puckered tissue, old burns, bullet marks poorly concealed by fabric and shadow.

And here I was thinking I had it rough..

Her body was a map of survival.

The man laughed again. Big mistake.

Aveline's smile softened — that quiet, psychopathic calm.

This idiot doesn't even realize he's poked a viper ha...

Moments later, he excused himself to the washroom. She followed — soundless, deliberate.

18:58 PM | Washroom

Cedric leaned over the sink, humming softly as he washed his hands. Mirrors reflected his own pale face, oblivious to the danger. Then a whisper of heat brushed the back of his neck — a breath, sharp and scented with gunpowder and spice.

He froze.

Aveline's shadow stretched across the tiles like a predator. Her eyes glinted under the fluorescent light, almost glowing, wild but controlled. Cedric's spine pressed against the cool basin as she moved silently behind him, each step deliberate.

Before he could turn to look up, her knee snapped into his lower abdomen, nearing his crotch with precision. The air whooshed out of his lungs. He gasped, arching backward, spine scraping the porcelain edge.

A knife appeared at his neck, the steel cold, wet with anticipation. He felt the subtle tremor of her muscles as she balanced herself — deadly grace.

"Move, speak, or flinch," she whispered. "And I won't act so kindly."

Cedric's eyes widened, the reflection of her face in the mirror fractured by fear. Her other hand pressed lightly, impossibly, against his shoulder, holding him in place. Every motion was calculated, practiced.

She leaned closer, eyes narrowing. The faint glint of light off the blade traced the line of his throat. Her knee remained anchored, forcing him to stay pinned, and yet her voice remained deceptively soft, almost conversational.

"Say that again and it'll be the last thing you'd ever say."

He tried to speak, but only a strangled cough escaped. The knife pressed with subtle, terrifying intent — enough to remind him of its presence, not to kill yet.

Her lips curved in that terrifyingly calm smile. The world beyond the washroom vanished; only the scent of her — gunpowder, spice, and faint florals — filled the air. Her body hummed with contained power, and outside Adrian's mind raced: She could kill him in a heartbeat, and I'd watch and not even blink.

Then, almost imperceptibly, she eased the pressure. The knife pulled back slightly, but her gaze never wavered. Cedric sagged slightly, trembling, realizing he had just survived her silent judgment.

Adrian, hidden just outside the washroom, watched the scene unfold with his pulse hammering. Oh hell no.. she actually tried to kill him? No, she definitely did..

Her knee released, and she stepped back, a ghost in motion, leaving Cedric pale and gasping. The mirror reflected nothing but her composed silhouette and the faint glimmer of scars along her arms — the hidden map of past battles she carried with effortless menace.

19:00 PM | Auction Hall

Throughout the night, Aveline and Adrian played their parts. Hands brushed, elbows touched, whispered exchanges crafted to look like affection. Stolen glances that almost felt too real.

Adrian's mind buzzed. She's everywhere. In control. My instincts scream at me to stay away— but I can't. Somehow I trust her calculated chaos more than I trust calm..

The auctioneer raised the gavel.

"Lot one — begins now."

The gavel came down with a sharp, echoing BANG!

The crowd hushed.

The game had just begun.

{Content Disclaimer:

The bathroom scene in this chapter is a fictional depiction created for dramatic and emotional effect. Please don't attempt to recreate or imitate anything portrayed here in real life — it's meant to explore the characters' psyche and tension, not promote risky or unsafe behavior. Remember: Aveline is a trained, fictional character in a controlled narrative — not a real-world example to follow.}

Stay safe, and enjoy the story responsibly

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