The General's Ascension

Chapter Four – The Banquet of Masks

The Raven Estate towered above the glittering city, its ballroom a cathedral of wealth and power. Chandeliers dripped with crystals, reflecting light across polished marble floors where the city’s elite mingled in gowns and tuxedos.

Waiters moved like shadows, offering champagne flutes to men and women who spoke in honeyed words and daggered smiles.

It was a theater of masks, where every laugh carried calculation and every handshake concealed a blade. And tonight, all eyes were on Lyra Raven.

She stood at the grand staircase in a scarlet gown that hugged her fiery figure, her hair tumbling like a dark flame over one shoulder.

She smiled, radiant and lethal, as she welcomed dignitaries, CEOs, and socialites alike. But her gaze flicked constantly toward the entrance, waiting. And then he came.

Adrian Kane stepped into the ballroom, the tailored black suit fitting his broad frame like armor. He carried himself with quiet authority, every line of his posture betraying the soldier within.

To the room, he looked like a mysterious guest, one who did not need introductions to command respect. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Who was this man that Lyra herself hurried down the steps to greet?

“You came,” she said, linking her arm through his. Her voice was playful, but her eyes gleamed with triumph. “I knew you wouldn’t abandon me.”

Adrian’s lips curved faintly. “I said I’d be here.”

Around them, whispers bloomed.

“That’s Lyra’s man?”

“He looks dangerous.”

“I heard he just came out of prison.”

“Then why does he walk like a general?”

Adrian ignored them. He had walked into battlefields where thousands plotted his death; gossip from the city’s parasites barely registered. What he didn’t see, yet, was Elena Frost standing on the far side of the ballroom.

She wore midnight silk that clung to her elegant frame, her presence icy and untouchable. But when her eyes found Adrian, her carefully composed mask cracked.

For a heartbeat, she froze. He was here. With Lyra Raven at his side, Lyra smiling as though she owned him. Her pulse hammered, her throat tight. So Mother was right.

At her side, Magnus Hale leaned closer, his voice smooth as oil. “You recognize him? That man is trouble, Elena. Best stay away.”

Elena forced her gaze forward, her spine rigid. “I don’t need your advice, Magnus.”

He chuckled softly, unoffended. “Perhaps not. But tonight, with me, you’ll secure Raven Enterprises’ partnership. That’s what matters.”

Her eyes flickered back toward Adrian, who was now speaking with foreign dignitaries as though he belonged among them. Lyra clung to his arm, laughing brightly, claiming him in every way that mattered.

Jealousy twisted sharp in Elena’s chest, though she buried it beneath layers of frost. “Ms. Frost,” Magnus murmured smoothly, “let’s make history tonight.”

The banquet swelled in full rhythm. Speeches were made, toasts exchanged, promises spun into threads of power. Lyra was the star of the night, weaving through the crowd with Adrian in tow, ensuring every eye saw them together.

At one point, she tugged him aside toward the balcony, away from prying ears. “You hate this, don’t you?” she teased, though her eyes searched his face.

Adrian leaned on the railing, scanning the city below. “Banquets are distractions. Wars are won in shadows, not under chandeliers.”

Lyra tilted her head. “And yet, here you are. For me.”

His gaze softened, just slightly. “Because you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Her laugh rang like bells, but her heart clenched. If only he looked at her the way he used to look at Elena.

Inside, Elena’s mother Margaret was in her element, parading her son Julian around and whispering into ears about Elena’s “upcoming match” with the Hale heir. Every rumor was another dagger meant for Adrian.

Julian, emboldened, boasted loudly. “My sister is practically engaged to Magnus Hale. The Frost and Hale empires will crush anyone who stands in the way!”

Adrian, returning with Lyra, caught the words. His jaw flexed, a storm brewing behind his calm mask. Lyra noticed, sliding closer to him, her voice low. “Ignore them. Dogs bark louder when they’re afraid.”

But his eyes had already sought out Elena’s across the room. Their gazes collided like clashing steel.

Elena’s breath hitched, fury and longing warring in her chest. She forced her chin higher, her hand curling around Magnus’s arm as if in silent declaration.

Magnus smirked, lifting his glass toward Adrian in mock salute. The message was clear: She’s mine now.

The orchestra swelled, and the floor opened for the first dance. Couples drifted into the center, silk and satin swirling under the chandeliers. Magnus offered his hand smoothly. “May I?”

Elena hesitated, then placed her hand in his, the mask on her face unbroken. Together, they stepped into the waltz, the picture of elegance.

But her eyes betrayed her. They kept straying to Adrian, Adrian, who stood at the edge of the crowd, unyielding, watching her with a gaze that burned through every wall she’d built.

Lyra, sensing the tension, tugged at Adrian’s arm. “Dance with me. Show them.”

For once, Adrian didn’t resist. He stepped onto the floor, drawing Lyra into his hold with ease. The two moved like shadows and flame, his precision, her fire, a pair that made the crowd buzz in admiration.

Yet, between every spin, every turn, his eyes found Elena’s. And hers found his. Two dances, two partners, yet only one battlefield. The music slowed, voices hushed, and the air thickened with unspoken tension.

Julian, emboldened by champagne, staggered into the center. His voice slurred but loud enough for the room to hear.

“Hey! Look at this circus. My sister’s with the Hale heir, and her ex-con husband is parading with Raven’s heiress. Perfect match, don’t you think?”

Gasps rippled. Elena stiffened, her nails digging into Magnus’s arm. “Julian, shut up.”

Adrian’s eyes narrowed, his steps halting. Lyra bristled at his side, fire in her eyes. Julian sneered, pointing at Adrian. “What’s the matter? Too ashamed to admit you were dumped? Don’t think you can crawl back, Elena has real men now!”

The crowd erupted in murmurs, every eye darting between Adrian and Elena. Adrian stepped forward, his presence suddenly suffocating, the room’s noise dimming under the weight of his voice.

“Careful, boy,” he said coldly, each word a blade. “You’re treading on ground you don’t understand.”

Julian laughed drunkenly, waving him off. “Or what? You’ll hit me again? Go on, then, show everyone what kind of brute you really are!”

Margaret rushed forward, feigning horror. “Mr. Kane, please! Haven’t you hurt us enough? Must you shame my daughter in public too?”

Adrian’s fists clenched. His control hung by a thread. And in that silence, Elena finally spoke, her voice cutting through the air like glass. “Adrian. Enough.”

He froze. Her eyes met his, cold, guarded, burning with questions she refused to ask aloud. Around them, the ballroom held its breath, the music forgotten, the game of masks shattered. For the first time since their divorce, they stood face to face, the world