The transformation was complete by sunset.
Evelyn stood before the tall mahogany mirror in her suite, staring at a woman she barely recognized. The midnight blue velvet dress didn't just fit her; it seemed to possess her. The fabric was so dark it was almost black, but when the light hit it, it shimmered like the deep Atlantic. The plunging neckline was bold, framing the Nightwood Star that hung against her pale skin like a drop of frozen lightning. The weight of the diamond was a constant reminder of the man waiting for her—a man who had turned her into a weapon and was now ready to unsheathe her.
She applied a dark, crimson lipstick—the color of dried blood. It was a war-paint for the modern age.
A knock. "The car is ready, Mrs. Nightwood." Marcus's voice was, as always, a cold command.
Evelyn took a breath, feeling the USB drive pressed against her thigh in the hidden pocket the stylist had sewn into the lining. She wasn't just going to a party. She was going into the lion's den with a grenade in her pocket.
She walked out into the hallway, the train of her dress whispering against the marble floors like a warning. Silas was waiting at the head of the grand staircase. He was in a bespoke black tuxedo, his white shirt blindingly crisp against his tanned skin. Sitting in his wheelchair, he looked like a king on a portable throne.
As Evelyn approached, Silas's gaze traveled slowly, agonizingly up her body. For the first time, she saw his stoic mask slip. His jaw tightened, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrests of his chair. He didn't say she was beautiful. He looked at her as if she were a storm he wasn't sure he could contain.
"The jewelry is a bit much," he muttered, though his eyes never left the curve of her throat.
"You said you wanted me to command attention, Silas," Evelyn replied, her voice cool and steady. "I'm just following the rules. Chapter one, section three: A Nightwood wife must reflect the status of her husband."
Silas let out a low, dangerous chuckle. "Careful, Evelyn. If you quote my own rules back to me too often, I might have to add a fifty-third page regarding your punishment."
He reached out a hand. Evelyn hesitated, then placed her fingers in his. His palm was broad and calloused, a warrior's hand. He pulled her closer, his scent—sandalwood and sharp, cold air—overwhelming her. "Try not to look like you're plotting my murder during the first dance. It ruins the romance for the cameras."
The Vance Manor was a palace of hypocrisy, lit up like a carnival for New York's elite.
As the black Nightwood Rolls-Royce pulled into the gravel driveway, the flashes of the paparazzi began to pop like small explosions. Evelyn watched the manor through the tinted glass. This was the house where she had been born. The house where she had watched her mother die. The house where, three years ago, her father had called her a "stain on the family name" and told her to never return.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, but Silas's hand suddenly covered hers. His touch was heavy and grounding.
"Head up, Evelyn," he hissed. "You're not the girl they kicked out. You're the woman they can't afford to offend."
The door opened. Marcus unfolded the wheelchair with practiced efficiency, and Silas transitioned into it with a graceful strength that Evelyn now knew was a carefully maintained facade. She stepped out after him, the midnight velvet catching the light, and the world seemed to go silent for a heartbeat.
The whispers began almost immediately.
"Is that... Evelyn Vance?" "The one with the scandal?" "My god, look at that diamond. It's the Nightwood Star."
Silas led the way, Marcus pushing him, with Evelyn walking at his side. She felt every gaze like a physical weight, but she didn't flinch. They entered the grand ballroom, a sea of gold leaf and crystal chandeliers.
The music didn't stop, but the conversation withered. At the far end of the room, near the towering champagne pyramid, she saw them. Her father, Arthur Vance, was mid-laugh with a senator, but the laugh died on his lips as his eyes locked onto Evelyn. Beside him, Eleanor clutched her champagne glass so hard it nearly snapped. And Victoria... Victoria, in a loud, neon-pink dress that looked cheap compared to Evelyn's velvet, looked like she was about to have an aneurysm.
"Evelyn," Arthur stammered as they approached. He looked at Silas, then at the diamond around Evelyn's neck, and his face turned a sickly shade of gray. "We... we didn't think Silas would be well enough to travel tonight."
"For my wife?" Silas's voice was like grinding stones, carrying across the silent ballroom. He reached out and pulled Evelyn's hand onto his shoulder, his thumb stroking her skin possessively. "I would crawl through fire to make sure she gets what she deserves. And tonight... I think she deserves a lot. Don't you agree, Arthur?"
Arthur's Adam's apple bobbed. "Of course. Of course. It's... it's a surprise."
Eleanor stepped forward, her brittle, fake smile held in place by sheer willpower. "It's so... modern of you to bring her, Silas. Considering her history. That diamond... is it real? It seems a bit vulgar on a girl who was nearly in the headlines for all the wrong reasons."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Evelyn felt Silas's body go rigid beneath her hand. Before she could react, Silas looked at Eleanor with a gaze that could have frozen a volcano.
"The Nightwood Star is only worn by the woman who holds the Nightwood heart," Silas said, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with a lethal edge. "If you find it offensive, Eleanor, perhaps it's because you've spent your entire life looking at cheap imitations. Like that necklace you're wearing—didn't that come from the 2018 clearance collection?"
A ripple of gasps went through the crowd. Eleanor's face turned bright red, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"You're just a nurse, Evelyn!" Victoria shrieked, her voice high and piercing, unable to contain her jealousy any longer. "A high-priced nurse for a broken man! You think that dress changes what you are? You're still the disgrace of this family!"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Evelyn felt the familiar sting of the old Victoria—the one who used to hide her shoes and tell lies to their father. But that Evelyn was dead. She stepped away from Silas, the velvet of her dress whispering against the floor as she walked right up to Victoria.
Evelyn was taller, her posture perfected by years of hiding in the shadows and learning how to strike. She leaned in close to Victoria, her voice a sharp, cold blade that only her sister could hear.
"A nurse?" Evelyn whispered. "No, Victoria. I'm a student of anatomy. And after tonight, I'm going to show you exactly where the most painful place to cut is. You think this family is yours? I'm here to take back everything you stole. Starting with the dignity you never had."
She turned back to Silas, her blue eyes blazing with a dark, terrifying beauty that made the men in the room catch their breath.
"I believe the music is starting again, husband," Evelyn said, her voice clear and commanding. "Shall we show them how a 'broken man' and a 'disgrace' dance?"
Silas's lips curled into a smirk that was pure, dark sin. He reached up, his hand tangling in her hair for a brief, electric second. "With pleasure, Mrs. Nightwood."
They moved to the center of the floor. Silas steered his chair with a rhythmic grace that forced Evelyn to weave around him, their bodies a blur of dark velvet and black silk. It was a dance of war, a public declaration of dominance. Every turn, every touch was a slap in the face to the Vances.
For a moment, Evelyn forgot the USB drive. She forgot the audit reports she needed to steal. She only felt the heat of Silas's gaze and the rush of the revenge she had waited three years to taste. He was holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, and for a split second, she almost believed the lie.
But as the song ended and the crowd began to applaud, a waiter passed by, accidentally brushing against Evelyn's hip. She felt a sharp prick at her waist.
A small, folded note had been shoved into the sash of her dress.
Evelyn's blood turned to ice. She didn't react until Silas led her back toward the table. Under the cover of the heavy tablecloth, she pulled the paper out.
The handwriting was jagged, elegant, and chillingly familiar.
I know you're 'V'. Meet me in the Maze Garden at midnight, or I'll tell Silas exactly what's on that drive. - J.
Evelyn's heart plummeted. She looked across the room, past the laughing socialites, and saw him. Standing by the open terrace doors was a man with golden hair and eyes that promised nothing but chaos.
Julian Vane. Silas's greatest rival, and the only man in the world who knew Evelyn's secrets better than she did.
He raised his glass to her in a silent, mocking toast.
The war wasn't just about her family anymore. It had just moved into the shadows of the Nightwood empire itself. And Evelyn was running out of time before the man sitting next to her realized he had married a ghost.