Chapter 1 : The Read Threads
Aethelion’s annual diplomatic reception is not merely a celebration, it is a political theater where every smile is a hidden dagger and every handshake is a contract written in ink that has not yet dried. Under the soaring ceilings of the Grand Palazzo Valerossa, decorated with 18th-century frescoes depicting the bloody victories of the past, the continent’s elite gathered. They wore masks of benevolence, polished to perfection by protocol, moving across marble floors polished to a mirror-like shine, reflecting a false glow of luxury.For Lyra Selene De la Vega, this atmosphere was a poison she had grown used to breathing. As CEO of De la Vega Corporate, she had learned from an early age that in a room like this, weakness was a death sentence. But tonight, her defenses—usually as hard as diamond—were being tested by something far more dangerous than industrial espionage, the longing that was nearly killing her for the one man who, legally and politically, should be her sworn enemy.
Lyra arrived right at eight o’clock in the evening, just as the orchestra began playing a symphony that was both melodious and majestic. She entered with an elegance that stopped the heart of anyone who laid eyes on her. She wore a black, strapless gown cut with the precision of a mathematician, showcasing her smooth, porcelain-white shoulders and sharp collarbones—a symbol of both strength and measured vulnerability. Her long black hair was pulled back into a low, minimalist bun, leaving a few strands to frame her cool face. In her ears, a pair of black diamond earrings reflected the light from the crystal chandeliers, matching her reputation as “The Iron Rose”—beautiful to behold, yet deadly if touched without permission.She had sensed Elian’s presence even before her eyes found him. There was a sort of magnetic field—a gravitational pull understood only by the cells of her body.
Elian Theron Valerius, the youngest Prime Minister in Aethelion’s history, stood on the western side of the room, surrounded by foreign diplomats hungry for his influence. Elian wore a custom-made black suit that hugged his upright posture, reflecting his military discipline from the past. His expression was a blank canvas, his piercing eyes seemed to have already handed down a death sentence to anyone he looked at before the hearing began.
In public, they were two opposing poles. Elian was the face of the government striving to crack down on monopolies, while Lyra was the economic powerhouse safeguarding her family’s autonomy. Yet, behind the curtain of power, they are secret lovers—a blood alliance built upon the ruins of moral codes.
Dinner began at nine. Through a seating arrangement that appeared to be a diplomatic coincidence but was actually the result of subtle manipulation by Elian’s protocol team, Lyra was seated at the head table. She sat in the corner, diagonally across from Elian. The only thing separating them was a polished mahogany corner and a towering arrangement of white lilies, whose sweet, cloying scent seemed to try to mask the smell of adrenaline that was beginning to linger between them.
Through the first and second courses, they never exchanged direct eye contact. Lyra was busy answering routine questions from the Minister of Trade seated next to her, while Elian listened to a brief report from the military attaché. However, during the third course, when the other guests’ attention was fully diverted by a heated debate over export tariffs, Elian made his move.Beneath the linen tablecloth that hung heavily, draping all the way to the floor, Elian’s hand moved. He no longer cared about the risks. The man’s long fingers slipped in, creeping slowly along Lyra’s thigh beneath the silk fabric of her black dress.
The touch was not rough, yet it was filled with brutal intent. Elian traced the sensitive skin on the inner part of Lyra’s thigh with a slow rhythm, as if he were remapping a territory he hadn’t touched in two weeks due to the tensions at the border.Lyra froze, yet her face remained calm, like the surface of a frozen lake.
She sipped her red wine, feeling the warmth of the liquid clash with the fire beginning to spread from Elian’s touch beneath the table. Elian’s fingers moved higher, applying just the right pressure to the spots he knew would take Lyra’s breath away. Lyra gave a polite nod to the minister beside her, offering a brief comment on inflation, while beneath the table, her body trembled violently. That touch was the purest form of a claim of ownership, carried out in the midst of thousands of unsuspecting eyes.
At eleven o’clock at night, just as the event was moving into the dance segment, a brief vibration on Lyra’s wrist delivered the instruction she’d been waiting for. Through her encrypted smartwatch, a message appeared: West wing emergency staircase. Now. Lyra excused herself with effortless grace, offering the classic excuse of a sudden migraine.
However, as soon as the heavy steel door to the emergency staircase closed behind her, the “Iron Rose” mask shattered into pieces. There, inside the hallway lit only by the dim red glow of the emergency lights, the atmosphere felt drastically different from the luxury of the Palazzo outside. The cold concrete walls and the scent of industrial dust served as silent witnesses to their encounter.Elian was already waiting there. He’d taken off his suit jacket and draped it over the iron railing, his white shirt was slightly loose with the top button undone.
As soon as he saw Lyra, there were no sweet words. Elian rushed forward, kissing Lyra with a deep, wild kiss, full of the pent-up hunger of fourteen days of intense pressure. He pushed Lyra until her back slammed against the rough concrete wall. Elian’s hands wasted no time. He gripped Lyra’s breasts, which were beautifully exposed beneath her topless dress, squeezing them possessively, demanding obedience. Lyra moaned, her voice muffled by Elian’s lips, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her fingernails nearly tearing through the collar of his shirt.
Elian lifted the black silk dress upward, granting himself full access. Without further warning, he lifted Lyra’s body, letting her long legs wrap around his waist, and united them in a single powerful, deep thrust. Lyra pressed her head against the concrete wall, her eyes tightly shut as she felt Elian fill the emptiness that tormented her. Elian’s hips thrust back and forth in a rapid rhythm, as if trying to erase every second of the distance separating them.
Lyra bit her lower lip hard, trying to stifle her moans so they wouldn’t echo through the silent stairwell. The coldness of the wall against her back mingled with the heat of Elian’s body in front of her, creating a sensation that was almost unbearable. Beneath the flickering red light, they were no longer the leaders of a nation, they were simply two people hungry for one another, unleashing their desire on the brink of destruction.
Several minutes passed in silence, broken only by the sound of their ragged breathing. When the storm subsided, Elian remained clasped around Lyra, resting his forehead against her still-trembling shoulder.“Don’t ever make me wait again for two weeks, Lyra,” Elian whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with emotions he rarely showed.
Lyra caught her breath, smoothing out her black dress with hands that were still trembling slightly. She gazed at her secret lover—the man who could destroy the world for her sake, or destroy himself for the world’s sake.“Three months until the election ends, Elian,” Lyra replied softly, her eyes glinting in the darkness. “We have to hold on a little longer in the shadows.”Elian kissed her forehead for a long moment—a silent promise stronger than any oath of office—before he put his jacket back on and stepped out first, leaving Lyra in the warm yet dangerous red shadows.
