Chapter 3 — Colliding Worlds

Lynette

The Delhencia Manor had always been a performance stage, its grandeur a mask for the cold machinations within. Tonight, it felt more like a gilded trap.

The chandeliers cast their warm, deceitful glow over the dining room, splintering light into jagged shards that danced across the walls. The faint scent of polished wood and my father’s cologne lingered, oppressive and unyielding. I stood at the base of the grand staircase, my heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet. My dress—a sleek black my father had chosen—felt like armor, every inch of it a reminder of the role I was being forced to play.

“Lynette, your guests are waiting,” my father’s voice called from behind me. Sharp. Calculated.

I turned slowly, meeting his gaze. His immaculate cufflinks caught the light as he adjusted his sleeves—an effortless display of control. To anyone else, he might have appeared calm, even fatherly. To me, he was a puppeteer guiding his pawns toward the inevitable.

“Guests,” I repeated, the disdain in my tone barely concealed. “You mean my fiancé and his entourage? Or should I say your pawns in this… arrangement?”

His expression didn’t flicker, but the tension between us coiled tighter. “You’ll behave tonight, Lynette. This family depends on it.”

This family. The words curdled in my stomach. I wanted to lash out, to tear down the oppressive expectations he wore like a badge of honor. But there was no point in fighting a man who thrived on obedience. Instead, I adjusted the neckline of my dress, straightened my shoulders, and ascended the staircase. If I had to endure this farce, I would do so with my head held high.

---

The dining room doors were open, their gilded edges catching the dim lighting like some gaudy invitation into hell. My gaze swept over the long table, the gleaming silverware, and the crystal glasses waiting to be filled. Everything was immaculate, a testament to my father’s obsessive need for control. But it wasn’t the decor that caught my attention.

It was him.

Dominic D’Angelo.

He sat at the far end of the table, impossibly composed. His dark suit hugged his frame with tailored precision, the sharp lines of the fabric mirroring the stone-cold confidence radiating from him. His piercing blue-gray eyes flicked toward the doorway the moment I stepped into view, locking onto me with a focus that stole my breath.

There was no mistaking him. He was the stranger from The Velvet Ember, the man who had unsettled me with his commanding presence and cryptic warnings. And now, he was here, seated at my father’s table, claiming space like he belonged in it.

The worst part was… he did.

“Ms. Delhencia,” Dominic said, rising to his feet as I approached. His voice was deeper than I remembered, steady and deliberate, like a blade honed to perfection. He extended a hand, his expression unreadable.

I froze, memories of our first encounter flashing vividly—a dimly lit club, his voice curling around my name like a secret, the magnetic pull of his presence. The weight of my father’s gaze burned into the side of my face, a reminder not to falter. Slowly, I placed my hand in his, allowing him to guide me into my seat. His grip was firm but measured, his touch infuriatingly calm.

“Mr. D’Angelo,” I said evenly.

“Dominic,” he corrected, lowering himself back into his chair.

There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable.

The hum of muted conversation filled the room as the others—my father, Matteo, and a handful of associates—continued their carefully orchestrated interactions. But I barely registered them. My focus was entirely on Dominic, this man who was now my fiancé in name. A stranger bound to me by ambition and manipulation.

“You look…” His gaze swept over me, calculated but not leering, as though he were piecing together a puzzle. “Different than I expected.”

I arched a brow, letting a faint smile curl my lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though I’m not sure it was meant as one.”

A ghost of a smirk touched his mouth. “It was.”

I turned my attention to the empty wine glass in front of me, its cool surface grounding me. “Do you always do what he tells you to?” I asked, my voice low enough that only Dominic could hear.

He didn’t react immediately. But then his hand, resting loosely on the table, tensed briefly, his knuckles turning white. “I could ask you the same.”

My gaze snapped back to his, sharp and unyielding. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Not yet,” he replied simply, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m beginning to have an idea.”

His arrogance stoked the fire simmering in my chest. It was the same fire that had flared in the nightclub, a defiance I clung to like armor. And yet, there was something else beneath it now, a stirring I didn’t want to acknowledge.

---

The room stilled as my father rose to make a toast. His voice was smooth and practiced, every word a calculated step in his endless game of control. He thanked the D’Angelo family for their presence, for their “cooperation,” and for the “brighter future” this union would bring. The bile rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down, forcing my spine to remain straight.

Dominic’s gaze lingered on me, heavy and assessing. I forced myself to stare straight ahead, refusing to let him—or anyone else—see the turmoil twisting inside me.

When the glasses clinked and the toasts were done, Dominic leaned closer, his voice brushing past my ear in a low murmur. “You’ve got fire. I see why he’s trying so hard to control it.”

I turned my head sharply, meeting his gaze head-on. “If you think I’m going to play along with this circus, you’re sorely mistaken.”

His smirk deepened, deliberate and maddening. “I wouldn’t dream of underestimating you.”

The dinner dragged on, every bite of food tasteless as tension coiled tighter around me. My father’s attempts at polite conversation grated against the growing knot of rebellion in my chest. When the meal finally ended, I slipped away, seeking refuge in the cool night air beyond the terrace doors.

---

The city skyline stretched before me, its glittering lights a sharp contrast to the suffocating opulence of the manor behind me. I leaned against the stone railing, my fingers curling around the cool edge as I breathed deeply, trying to steady myself. Beneath the satin fabric of my dress, I felt the faint outline of my mother’s locket pressing against my skin—a small comfort amidst the chaos.

“You’re not running, are you?”

I didn’t need to turn to recognize Dominic’s voice. Calm, edged with something darker, it cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Not yet,” I replied, keeping my gaze on the horizon.

His footsteps drew closer, his presence solid and undeniable. He stopped just short of invading my space. “Good. Running would make this a lot less interesting.”

I turned to face him, my hazel eyes locking onto his sharp, moonlit features. “You don’t scare me,” I said, my voice steady.

His lips twitched, that infuriating almost-smirk returning. “Maybe not yet.”

I bristled, but before I could retort, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “Careful, Lynette. In this world, fire is a dangerous thing. It can keep you alive… or it can burn you alive. I’d hate to see which one you choose.”

There was a weight to his words that lingered even after he turned and disappeared back inside. I stayed on the terrace, the city lights blurring slightly as the knot in my chest tightened further.

I hated him. I hated that he was right.

And I hated that some part of me wanted to prove him wrong.