Page 2 of His Ruthless Match

The moment stretched unbearably long, and I wished I could dissolve into the floor. Raffaele sighed, his gaze sweeping away from me like I was a particularly irritating fly. With a nod from Vivian, the ceremony resumed.

I wanted to disappear, to fold myself into nothingness and never resurface. Instead, I hunched my shoulders and focused on the altar, determined to pretend I hadn’t just humiliated myself in front of every powerful creature in The Below.

But someone was still staring.

I felt it like a weight against my temple. When I glanced across the room, I caught sight of a man leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in mock amusement. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, his dark eyes dancing with something I couldn’t quite name, but I hated it already.His tailored suit fit him too perfectly, each line and stitch a testament to wealth and smugness.

He smirked, and my irritation flared like a spark on dry kindling.

Who the hell was this guy?

I glared, the heat from earlier reigniting in a different shade of anger, but it only seemed to fuel his amusement. He tilted his head as if to say,Really?

The audacity made my blood boil.

Raffaele’s voice drew my attention back to the altar as he finished his vows. Vivian looked at him like he was her entire world. Her eyes shimmered with love. My chest tightened, not with envy, but with a hollow ache I didn’t want to examine too closely.

I loved Vivian like a sister, and I knew she’d be good for Raffaele. But having that kind of connection with someone? That vulnerability? No thanks. It was too much risk, too much chaos.

Out of the corner of my eye, Smirk Man lingered. His grin hadn’t faltered, and he still had that maddening air of someone who knew something you didn’t. He continued to look at me like I was the most entertaining thing he’d ever seen.

I clenched the bouquet tighter, wishing for a can of mace. Or maybe a catapult.

The reception wasin full swing. The symphony of clinking glasses, low laughter, and the hum of conversations in languages I didn’t recognize battered my ears. The sprawling grand hall of Raffaele’s estate was even more ostentatious than I’d expected—gold-leaf accents everywhere, from the vaulted ceiling to the intricate moldings that framed the towering floralarrangements. The room was designed to remind you exactly who held the power in The Below.

I’d planted myself near the champagne trays, snagging flutes like a woman on a mission as they passed. I wasn’t drunk yet, but the soft fizz of the champagne against my tongue was the only thing keeping me sane in this surreal spectacle. I sipped as I watched the crowd.

Their appearances were almost impossible to process, like something out of a dream, or maybe a nightmare. The fae had hair that caught the light like strands of liquid silver, as though it was woven from moonlight. Then there were the shifters with their unnervingly smooth movements, as if they were gliding instead of walking. They always seemed on the verge of pouncing, every motion a quiet reminder that they were predators. And I was human. It freaked me the fuck out.

The vampires looked like they’d walked straight out of some decadent historical drama. They were draped in flowing silks and rich velvets—clothing you’d expect to see in a museum, not on actual people. Their fabric whispered against unnaturally pale and smooth skin seemingly carved from marble.

“Eva!” Vivian said as she approached arm-in-arm with Raffaele. They were the picture of marital bliss—her in a sleek ivory dress that clung to her in all the right places, him in a tailored black suit that somehow made his perpetual scowl look sophisticated.

They looked annoyingly happy, but their smiles faltered when they saw me holding a glass of champagne in each hand.

Vivian arched an eyebrow. “How’s your first day back in The Below?” There was something knowing in her tone, like she was waiting for me to admit I was out of my depth.

“Just grand.” I downed a glass of champagne. The bubbles fizzed against the back of my throat, and I set the empty glass on a passing tray before starting on the second.

Vivian exchanged a glance with Raffaele, who sighed deeply. He always cut straight to the point. “What the hell was that phone call about?”

“Oh, you know,” I said, shrugging with deliberate nonchalance. “Just a high-profile client.”

Vivian’s curiosity sharpened instantly. She had a way of zeroing in on the truth like a hawk spotting prey. “Anyone I’d know?”

I hesitated, then I leaned in conspiratorially, lowering my voice as if I were sharing State secrets. “Genevieve Witt.”

Vivian choked on her champagne. “Are you kidding me?”

Raffaele frowned. “Who the hell is that?”

Vivian gaped at him. “Only the most famous actress in the human world!”

He raised a skeptical brow, his interest half-hearted at best, as Vivian launched into a rapid-fire gush about Genevieve’s accolades.

“She’s not just an actress,” Vivian said, her voice pitching higher with excitement. “She’stheactress. Two-time Oscar winner, four-time Golden Globe winner, and don’t even get me started on the SAG Awards. Her performance inChasing Shadowspractically redefined the genre.” She pressed a hand to her chest like she was swooning, her champagne glass bobbing in the other hand. “And theMetropolitan Journalnamed her the most influential woman in Hollywood three years running.”

“Riveting,” Raffaele deadpanned, his tone so dry it could’ve sparked a brushfire. He glanced at me. “This is the kind of human nonsense you’ve gotten yourself tangled up in?”