Savage Gentleman: 12. Ass of Vienna

The streets of Vienna were quiet when Evelyn and Lucas emerged from the smoke, the aftermath of the masquerade burning behind them. The Palais D’Etoile had become a smoldering silhouette against the night sky, chandeliers shattered, glass strewn across the marble steps like frozen stars. The city smelled of charred wood and wet stone, and the distant hum of sirens reminded them that danger had only shifted, not disappeared.

Evelyn’s gown, once a cascade of black silk, was streaked with ash and rain, clinging to her in damp, dark folds. She moved with purpose, every step measured despite the exhaustion clawing at her. Lucas kept close, his hand brushing hers now and then — not a casual touch, but a tether, a reminder that they were still navigating the same storm together.

The chaos of the gala still echoed in their minds: Charlotte’s laughter, the crash of mirrors, the scent of fear and perfume mingling in the grand hall. And yet, outside, the world was eerily still. The