SHADOWLESS LOVE

NOTICE: CONTAINS MENTION OF WEAPONS AND DESTRUCTION.

"Shall we get to the real business now?" Ivelle's voice was like velvet, smooth yet laced with something darker. She slid two files across the table with precision, their covers stark—one blood-red, the other obsidian black. Her movements carried an elegance that irritated me; everything about her was too perfect, too rehearsed.

I leaned back, letting my eyes linger on her hands. Those hands had likely orchestrated more chaos than anyone in Ivanova could guess. She tapped the files lightly, a subtle taunt as if daring me to take a closer look.

"Hmm. So, what are these?" I asked, keeping my tone deliberately casual. But beneath the calm façade, anger simmered. It was a silent, steady fury, born not just of her audacity but of the ghosts she awakened in me.

Her face shifted, the polite mask cracking to reveal a wicked smirk. Her eyes gleamed with a predatory light, the same look a hunter gives when cornering its prey.

"The red file," she began, her voice a mix of triumph and amusement, "contains the layout for the FAEs—Fuel-Air Explosives—the former president was so determined to pass through Parliament."

Her smile deepened, cutting through my composure like a blade. It wasn't just her words; it was the confidence behind them, the audacity to flaunt her cunning before me. For the first time in years, someone had managed to surprise me—and I hated it as much as I admired it.

"But the Ivanovas weren't involved in the FAEs' development," I said sharply, my fingers tightening around the edge of the table. Her words had landed too close to something I couldn't yet name.

She chuckled softly, the sound both mocking and infuriating. "We wouldn't be the top weapons developers if we couldn't slip a hand into something as delicate as a government project."

I grabbed the red file, flipping it open. The diagrams inside were a testament to human ingenuity and cruelty. Fuel-air explosives weren't just weapons—they were nightmares brought to life. The mechanism dispersed a fine mist of fuel into the air, igniting it to create a monstrous explosion. The shockwave alone could level entire blocks, but it was the aftermath that truly horrified me. The fire consumed oxygen, suffocating anyone left alive, leaving nothing but ashes and silence.

And there she sat, sipping her tea like she was reading me a bedtime story.

Closing the file, I studied her. "The Ivanovas have ties to the Ghost Fleet, don't they?" Something inside me felt burning as I utter those words. It was just a guess, a guess I dared to make.

Her hand froze mid-air, a barely perceptible pause. A lesser observer might have missed it, but I didn't. Her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly before she recovered, her expression smooth once more.

"What if we do?" she asked, her voice steady, but the faintest crack had appeared in her armor.

"You're aware of my bad blood with Ghost Fleet, aren't you?" I said, my smile cold, a challenge veiled in calm.

Her pale complexion faltered for a moment, but she didn't back down. "Everything in Ivanova is business," she replied, her tone dismissive, but I could see the wheels turning in her mind.

Ghost Fleet wasn't just any shadow organization—it was Alexander's blade, the blade I put in his hand years ago only to become it's target. Their relationship was a well-guarded secret, known only to me, Alexander, and the Ghost Fleet's leader. What's the probability of her being aware of it? 

Maybe zero, or maybe more than a hundred percent.

The Fleet had been Alexander's blade for years, cutting down anyone who dared oppose him behind the screen The assassination of the former president? It had their fingerprints, a message carved in blood and silence.

"What business does Ivanova have with Valentino, Princess?" I pressed, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "You say you want to be the Queen of Helhim, yet here you are, coming to me—not the King. Why?"

She tilted her head, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Because I have nothing to offer the King. He would see me as a liability—a woman with power, yes, but without a leash."

Her words were sharp, deliberate, and laced with fire. She wasn't just ambitious—she was dangerous. A wildfire waiting for the right spark.

"But you," she continued, her voice softening into something almost seductive, "you need me, Aeron Valentino. Not the House of Ivanova—" She paused as if letting me understand the weight of her words.

"You need me more than I need you," she said, her voice a mix of amusement and menace as if she were stating an undeniable truth. "Because you have much to lose than me."

Her words hit like a dagger, twisting deep. Her smile was faint, almost mocking, but her eyes burned with triumph. She wasn't just playing this game—she believed she was winning it.

For a moment, the room felt smaller, her presence suffocating. I let her words settle, watching her closely, my silent anger rising like a tide. It wasn't the arrogance in her tone that struck me—it was her futile confidence to believe,

 She was right.

Her hand reached out, her fingers cold against my cheek. Her touch was soft and disarming, but her eyes betrayed her true nature—a serpent's gaze, full of promises and poison.

"The design of stealing FAEs layout? My doing. Ivanova's ties to Ghost Fleet? Also mine. The monopoly over weapons while keeping a philanthropic façade intact? All me." Her voice was low, intoxicating—a melody I hated myself for finding beautiful.

I clenched my fists beneath the table, my anger a quiet storm. At first, I had resolved not to let her replace Erika. Erika, my only love, the woman whose death had carved a hollow in my chest that no one could fill. But now, watching Ivelle manipulate and scheme, something inside me shifted.

If she was going to use me, try to mold me into her pawn; why shouldn't I use her too? If she wanted to play games, I would let her. I would let her become Erika's shadow—a hollow echo of what I had lost.

"You're right." My voice dropped to a whisper, my anger buried beneath layers of control. "I need you, Princess."

Her eyes widened slightly as I tilted my face into her palm, brushing my cheek against her cold fingers. I could see the flicker of hesitation, the realization that she might have overplayed her hand.

"If that's the case," she said, her voice quieter now, "what else do you want from me?"

I let my mask slip for just a moment, enough for her to glimpse the broken man behind it.

"Treat me kindly," I whispered, my voice raw, a plea I hadn't meant to voice. "Even if it's for the sake of your ulterior motive."

Her expression shifted, her lips parting in shock. She looked at me not as a rival but as a man consumed by grief, clinging to the ghost of a love long gone.

"Act like you love me," I finished, the words heavy, desperate.

Her eyes flickered with something undefinable—pity, confusion, maybe even guilt—but I didn't care. If this was the game she wanted, I would play it.

Because in her, I saw the tools to destroy my enemies, to take back the pieces of myself I had lost. And if I let myself hope for something more—if I let myself desire for the real in the process—I would destroy that hope myself for even thinking about someone who wasn't Erika.

For now, I would let her win. But only because I intended to take everything from her in the end if she dares to betray me.