One Night in Valeria - Chapter 27: Chapter 27

The masquerade pulsed around her—velvet gowns, murmured laughter, strings humming beneath crystal chandeliers. Faces covered. Motives hidden. The ballroom swirled like a secret.
Jessica stood in the middle of it, red and unflinching.
Eyes followed her. Whispers clung to her heels.
Liam hovered a few paces away, his gaze sharp even behind the mask. But Jessica didn’t need protection tonight.
She needed answers.
And August Hale was waiting.
He stood beside the grand piano, dressed in a stark white tuxedo, mask molded to perfection, like porcelain. A red rose pinned to his lapel. Too curated. Too symbolic.
When she approached, he didn’t blink. Didn’t shift.
Just smiled.
“You wore red,” he said. “How fitting.”
Jessica’s voice was calm. “You sent the invitation.”
“I only opened the door. You chose to walk through it.”
She studied him. “Let’s not pretend we’re playing chess. You’ve been stealing my mother’s work. Selling it under her initials. Building a lie out of her silence.”
August took a sip of wine.
“Your mother stole long before I did.”
Jessica’s breath caught.
He smiled wider.
“She stole opportunity. She left our bloodline behind and climbed into the arms of the Velars. She buried me. Erased me. I simply returned the favor.”
“You weren’t erased,” Jessica said, low and steady. “You were forgotten. And deservedly so.”
He chuckled.
“But now they remember me. And thanks to you, I’ve never sold faster.”
He stepped closer. “You were supposed to be just a girl with a thread and a secret. But look at you now. A phoenix with teeth.”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “I’m nothing like you.”
“No,” he said. “You’re better. That’s what makes you dangerous.”
A pause. Just long enough to feel like the world was listening.
Then he leaned in.
“But they will turn on you, Jessica. The press. The sponsors. The same people who worship you now. The moment they smell blood—”
She stepped forward, closer than comfort.
“Then I’ll bleed,” she said. “But I won’t bow.”
They stared at each other, inches apart, two legacies twisted in fire.
“You think legacy is something you inherit,” she whispered. “But it’s not. It’s something you fight for. Something you earn. My mother earned hers. And I will not let you twist what she built.”
August tilted his head, his smile sharpening.
“I look forward to the show.”
Jessica leaned in, her lips brushing just past his ear.
“So do I.”
And then she walked away—unshaken, unburned, and more certain than ever:
This was not over.
But she was winning.
Liam met her at the far end of the hall, watching her carefully.
“Well?” he asked.
Jessica met his gaze.
“He wants a war,” she said. “Let’s give him one.”