Chapter 10 Nicole
Nicole
The Deliberovs’ ball arrives after a torturous twenty-four hours.
Tension coils inside me like a rope tightening around my neck with each passing minute. Every time my father’s words echo in my mind—“a sensible proposal,” “an opportunity,” “open doors”—anger flares across my skin and pulses hot behind my temples.
The dress my mother picked is another reminder of the cage they’re trying to trap me in. Long. Modest. With a neckline so high, I feel like a nun condemned to atone for her sins. If the Black Joker is watching from the shadows, he’s probably doubled over laughing.
But for now, the ball offers me a few hours’ reprieve from him. He only steps out of the dark when we’re alone.
I push the thought of him aside and focus on my mission tonight. I need to obliterate every idea my father has about pairing me with Daniel Deliberov.
I scan the crowded ballroom, where crystal chandeliers cast blinding light over embellished gowns and endless cheek kisses are exchanged. The elite of Sofia. The people you need in your circle if you want to matter in this city. As my father always says: “It’s not who you are—it’s who you know.”
To my right, Boyana plays the charming, clueless blonde at the table. She nods, laughs at the men’s nonsense, and follows the script to perfection.
On my other side, Misha clings to her phone as if the world might end if she doesn’t post a new story every ten minutes. Her sister sits across from me, deep in animated conversation with the daughter of the owner of Sofia’s biggest private hospital.
The central table—the Deliberovs’ table—seats the most important guests, including my own parents.
My father, in a tailored suit, radiates that signature self-assurance, his voice rising above the music.
Old Mr. Deliberov, on the other hand, may not have my father’s refined bearing, but his imposing frame and the quiet confidence born of generational wealth hold the room’s attention with ease.
Their wives are present, polite but reserved, resembling beautiful, unmoving dolls. I pity them. Though I’m not sure whether it’s because they’ve been reduced to silent accessories or because they’re willing to crush their egos just to belong in these circles.
Boyana leans in, whispering in my ear, “See the blonde next to Nikolai Tanev?”
She tilts her chin toward a nearby table where a platinum-haired woman with a plunging neckline sits beside a man at least thirty years her senior. Most men wouldn’t dare bring their young mistresses to formal events. With Tanev’s wife gone, there’s little reason for restraint.
“I see her. And?”
Boyana sips her champagne, prolonging the moment, a coy smile tugging at her lips. “Quite the story. She poisoned Tanev’s wife and took her place.”
I arch a skeptical eyebrow. “Didn’t his wife die of cancer?”
“She did. But the mistress was her nurse. You can imagine how easy it would be to… help things along. Pretty toxicological situation, right?” Boyana’s smile widens.
“You’re telling me all this gossip is coming from some desperate socialites?”
She shrugs. “I’m just saying. When a nurse moves into a millionaire’s home a month after his wife’s funeral, questions tend to answer themselves.”
I survey the blonde woman’s demeanor for a while. Her face glows with barely restrained admiration when she stares at Tanev. Or is it calculated admiration? Love or transaction? One’s an illusion. The other, a well-considered investment.
“Bo, what do you think of Daniel Deliberov?” I ask in a low tone.
“In what sense?”
“So… is he a good match?”
Boyana toys with the rim of her glass before glancing up. “Oh, absolutely… if you’re into men who are into men.”
“Thank God!” Relief washes over me. For a moment, I almost thought the rumors might be false—that he might really want me as a wife.
Boyana’s brow furrows. “Wait… did I miss something?”
I weigh how much I’m willing to share. My rule is to keep my issues to myself.
Exposing weakness is how you end up crushed beneath someone’s heel.
But this whole thing is so absurd, I just need someone to voice it out loud to.
“My father’s decided Daniel’s the perfect match for me,” I say through clenched teeth.
Boyana freezes for a second. “Wait, wait… what?!”
I swirl the wine in my glass. “You heard me.”
She chokes on a laugh, biting her lip to keep it in. “And did you tell him Daniel is…?”
I shrug. “To my father, that’s irrelevant.”
“Of course it is!” She shakes her head, and another giggle slips out. “He’s probably already planning the wedding and the honeymoon suite. Until you manufacture an heir!”
“Shhh! I don’t want anyone to overhear.”
“All right, all right… But honestly, I’m not surprised.
The Sotirovs married off their daughter to one of the Borisovs’ boys, even though Kalina was seeing some broke musician and swore she’d slit her wrists if they forced her into it…
And what about Deborah from class B? She’s engaged to her father’s business partner.
But she’s happy. Always said money matters more than love… And Desislava—”
Boyana continues listing girl after girl, each trapped in their own pre-arranged fairytale.
Deborah. Kalina. Desislava. They’ve always been the dolled-up lapdogs, trained to sit pretty and wait for a master.
They’re not like me. I’m a lioness. I fought my way to the top in my smaller battlefield, and I’m ready to do the same in the real world. But I can’t do it on a leash.
“See, those things happen. Like cancer.” She nods toward Tanev’s table. “That’s why I plan to find my mysterious man and emigrate with him, before my parents come up with any catastrophic ideas.”
For fuck’s sake, she’s still thinking about Branimir. Maybe I should just tell her the truth, so she stops making wedding plans—
Boyana nudges me. “Your dad’s calling you.”
My head turns toward his table. He makes a subtle gesture with his hand. Despite every fiber in me wanting to ignore him, I grit my teeth and get up from my seat. I walk over with straight shoulders and a faint smile, barely masking my simmering irritation.
My mother gives me a silent warning.
“Do you remember the youngest Deliberov son, Nicole?” my father asks, as if we hadn’t spent the entire car ride dissecting the boy’s LinkedIn profile. He nods to the gaunt young man seated a few chairs down.
The younger Deliberov lifts his glass with an affected languor. His cheekbones are sharp, his posture is aloof, and he has the air of someone who believes the world owes him.
“Daniel has just returned from studying abroad,” his father says with pride. “He’s back to take his place in the company. Always had a knack for business, even as a kid. I have no doubt he’ll become a cornerstone of our legacy.”
My father chuckles lightly, seizing the opportunity. “Nicole is just as driven. She’s currently finishing her architecture degree, and already reviewing proposals for our upcoming projects.”
I offer a polished smile. “Oh, Dad. If you keep singing my praises like this, people will start falling asleep on their plates.”
He spreads his hands with mock innocence. “Guilty as charged. What can I say? I’ve only got one daughter.”
“There’s no shame in being proud,” the elder Deliberov interjects with a wide, approving grin. “Not when your children are this accomplished. It’s up to your generation now to support one another, and to protect the institutions we’ve worked so hard to build.”
The compliment lands with the weight of expectation.
From the corner of my eye, I catch my mother’s shoulders lowering by a hair’s breadth, her painted lips softening into the ghost of a smile.
I’ve passed the unspoken test. I’ve impressed the right people.
That, to her, is the definition of success.
Daniel rolls his eyes, just shy of theatrical. His mother gives a short, nervous laugh, as if to smooth over his reaction. “Daniel, why don’t you take the young lady somewhere quieter and tell her about your time in London?”
Daniel takes another slow sip, then peruses me once more. “I doubt the young lady would be interested in such details.”
The disdain in his tone is obvious. It hits me hard, like a slap. I’m the shiny product being offered for sale. The irony twists inside my chest.
A fake smile spreads across my face. “On the contrary, I’d love to hear about it. But if you’d rather not share, I completely under—”
I trail off, my throat tightening at the sweet, bitter scent suffusing the air.
“May I have this dance, Baroness?” A voice interrupts from behind me.
I whirl around, my blood running cold. The Black Joker stands less than a foot away, his dark irises piercing into me with a sharpness that feels almost tangible.
The faint smile on his lips makes me swallow, but it’s his attire that unravels me.
My gaze drifts over the black tunic, delicately embroidered and molded to his body.
The neckline plunges, revealing a hint of a defined chest, with a leather belt cinching the tunic at the waist. His pants are sleek, catching the light with a satin sheen, tucked into boots with silver clasps.
He’s still holding his hand out. Despite the fact that my parents and their polished, powerful friends are right next to me.
I clear my throat and shake my head. “No, thank you.”
A slow smile curves across his mouth. “I’m afraid I don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. This man is asking me to dance while my father is trying to marry me off to… Daniel.
God.
Or maybe—
A thought occurs to me: maybe they can’t see him. He’s a ghost, a specter only I can notice. Because he haunts me alone.
“Excuse me, but who are you, sir?”
My stomach twists at Mr. Deliberov’s calm yet suspicious tone.
So much for hoping he was invisible.
The Black Joker faces our host with aristocratic grace. “Just a guest. A humble admirer of dance. When I heard the orchestra, I couldn’t resist the temptation to join.”
The energy radiating from him crawls across my skin and raises the hairs on my neck. I’d bet the others feel it, too.
My father shoots me a sharp look before addressing the Black Joker. “I don’t think you’ve been introduced.”
My mother straightens in her seat. So do I. This isn’t going well.
The Joker bows slightly. “But of course. Gaetano.”
I press my lips into a thin line. As if that explains everything.
“I don’t recall your name on the guest list,” Deliberov says, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.
“I’m not your guest. I’m here because Nicole summoned me.”
The entire table falls silent. Every pair of eyes focuses on me.
I clench my fists and hiss under my breath, “Stop!”
“Nicole, who is this man?” My father’s glare burns holes through me. He’ll grind me into the ground the moment we’re alone.
Panic tightens in my chest as everyone waits for an answer. The Black Joker continues standing, observing the chaos he’s causing and not offering me a single way out.
Despite the sarcastic smile playing on his lips, none of this is a joke. I take another deep breath. This isn’t a game. Yet, I must play if I want to survive. I should make a move.
I could admit I’m being followed by a spirit—and become the laughingstock of the ball.
The lunatic. Because I have a feeling that if I try to speak the truth, the Black Joker won’t show anything witchlike.
Why would he, when this is all a game to him?
A game intended to make me suffer. And his silence would only confirm their suspicions that I’ve lost my mind, thus dragging my family’s reputation down with me.
Or I could leave the ball in his court. The idea unsettles my stomach; I can’t predict how he’ll react. Then again, if I provoke him enough to start casting spells, no one will be able to deny their eyes.
Facing the Black Joker, I let out a theatrical sigh. “How did you get in here?”
He raises an eyebrow at the sharp shift in my tone. “Through the door…?”
“Oh, really? Did you pretend to be part of some dance troupe in that”—I wave a hand at him—“outfit?”
He frowns, glancing down at his clothes.
I don’t wait for his next comment. Instead, I tell my father, “Dad, this guy’s been spamming me with crazy messages online, going on about soulmates and asking for my hand like we’re in some kind of period drama.
I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make a fuss, but showing up here? That’s crossing the line.”
I glance at the Black Joker, whose thin smile hasn’t budged.
I don’t miss the tightening of my father’s jaw. “Love messages?”
“For months.” I nod, infusing my voice with enough indignation. “I didn’t want to make a scene because I hoped he’d stop. But clearly, I was wrong.”
“Soulmates, you say?” Mr. Deliberov lets out a dry chuckle, one eyebrow lifting in clear disbelief.
Gaetano shrugs. “Isn’t it romantic?”
My mother pales. My father rises from the table in a swift motion, his chair scraping against the floor. Standing at six feet three with lightning in his stare, he radiates enough authority to make me step back. “I suggest you get the hell out and erase any thoughts of my daughter from your head!”
“I’m calling security,” Deliberov mutters, reaching into his jacket.
The Black Joker doesn’t flinch at their threats, his attention solely on me.
When security enters, Gaetano lifts his open palm into the air. His fingers move, making the ink on his skin glimmer. “Now you and I shall dance, Baroness.”
I part my lips to tell him this isn’t going to happen, but the words catch on the tip of my tongue because an icy silence settles around us.
My gaze automatically seeks safety. The guards. Where are the—
They stand by the door like marble statues, arms suspended mid-motion. No life on their faces.
I whip my head toward my father, desperate for something solid. He’s staring straight ahead, a grimace spread across his face, lips parted mid-command. He doesn’t blink.
He doesn’t even seem to be breathing!
Light from the chandelier hits his slicked-back hair, casting an icy gleam. The colors of his costume have faded to white. The fabric stiffens against his body, as if fused to the statue he’s become.
I scan the room. The other guests stand frozen in place. No one moves. No one breathes. They have turned into sculptures—icebound, rigid, caught mid-motion like figures in a macabre gallery.
I raise a hand to my lips. “What… did you do?”
“Nothing yet.” The Black Joker steps closer and takes my wrist. His fingers are warm, in stark contrast to the freezing air. I try to pull away, but my body refuses to respond—my legs feel like jelly, and my mind is paralyzed.
I don’t protest when he drags me into the middle of the dance floor.
Everything stills and dims.
Until fire erupts all around us.