A Dance with Danger

Chapter Fifty-Nine

**Estelle POV** 

The yacht was a masterpiece of luxury, its pristine white surface glowing under the golden lights that reflected off the gentle waves. The rhythmic sway of the water beneath us was almost soothing, though the energy of the party itself was anything but. Laughter, the clink of glasses, and murmured conversations swirled around me, a symphony of power plays and unspoken deals. 

I adjusted my grip on the crystal flute of champagne in my hand, watching the bubbles rise to the surface. I hadn't taken more than a sip, not because I wasn’t in the mood, but because I needed to stay sharp. Every interaction tonight mattered. Every glance held a meaning. 

Tiberius had kept me close all evening, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist as he conversed with various guests. The grip wasn’t just possessive—it was deliberate. He was making a statement, a silent claim that was loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. I felt the slow, almost lazy circles his fingers traced against my hip, a casual show of dominance that I was sure wasn’t just for my benefit. 

I played my part well, offering polite smiles, nodding at the right times, maintaining the perfect balance between intrigue and detachment. But as the minutes stretched into hours, I found my patience waning. The weight of the evening, of the unspoken expectations, was beginning to press down on me. 

I needed air. 

Tiberius must have sensed my shift, the slight stiffening in my posture, because his fingers tightened briefly before he leaned down, his voice low against my ear. 

“Don’t wander too far,” he murmured. 

I gave him a small, knowing smile. “I won’t.” 

He let me go with a subtle nod, turning back to his conversation as I slipped away, navigating through the sea of sharply dressed elites with practiced ease. The crisp white uniforms of the staff moved between the guests, balancing trays of champagne and delicate hors d’oeuvres. Everything was so meticulously designed, so perfectly curated. 

But outside, it was different. 

The moment I stepped onto the deck, the cool night air washed over me, a stark contrast to the warmth inside. The sound of the city hummed in the distance, its lights dancing on the dark water, stretching out like a reflection of the stars above. 

And that’s when I saw her. 

Cecily Harper. 

She stood at the railing, the stem of her champagne flute delicately held between her fingers as she gazed out at the water. The deep burgundy fabric of her gown shimmered under the soft glow of the deck lights, molding to her slender frame in a way that was both effortless and striking. Her dark hair was swept into a sleek updo, a few loose strands framing her face. 

She was breathtaking. And dangerous. 

I had heard plenty about Cecily—whispers of her influence, of the quiet power she held despite the world believing her husband, Dante, was the one in control. Some painted her as a strategist, a woman who saw everything but revealed nothing. Others dismissed her as nothing more than a beautiful accessory. 

I didn’t believe in fairytales. 

Taking a breath, I approached, my heels clicking softly against the deck. Cecily must have heard me because she turned slightly, her dark eyes meeting mine with an unreadable expression. 

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, my tone light, but intentional. 

She studied me for a brief moment before offering a small smile. “Not at all.”