Chapter 208: Chapter 208 Into The Lion’s Den II

Liam and Lana walked up to the towering wrought-iron gates of the palace, the flickering lights reflecting off the polished surface like fireflies trapped in glass. Two guards in long, dark military-style coats stepped forward immediately, their eyes cold, assessing. Liam didn’t say a word. He simply reached into his pocket and pulled out the invitation. The guards looked at it, then at them. One of them gave a curt nod and waved them through.

The moment Liam’s shoe crossed the threshold of the gate, something passed through him.

It wasn’t wind. It wasn’t pressure. It was… ancient.

A weight older than time seemed to drape itself over his shoulders, sliding like smoke along his spine. He didn’t flinch, but every inch of him went on alert. Goosebumps rose across his skin, a strange, ghostly chill brushing his nerves. Whatever this place was, it wasn’t normal.

Lana, walking beside him, noticed his brief pause.

“You feel that?” she whispered, barely moving her lips.

Liam gave the slightest nod. “Yeah. Something old.”

But he didn’t slow. Neither of them did. Whatever presence lingered in the air—be it supernatural or not—they would face it head-on. Together.

The palace loomed ahead like something out of a myth. The tall stone structure with spired towers was lit up in soft golden lights that bathed the stone walls, casting shadows that danced like spirits on every surface. The wide steps leading up to the entrance were lined with guards in ceremonial black, and the massive front doors looked like they weighed a ton each. When they stepped inside, the grandeur was even more blinding.

Liam slowed down for the first time. “Damn…”

It wasn’t just luxury—it was old money. Every chandelier above them was hand-crafted crystal, probably older than the United States itself. The paintings on the walls weren’t replicas—they were originals, each with small golden plaques beneath them with names Liam didn’t recognize, but the system gave him dates. Some were from the 1500s. The furniture, the rugs, the décor—it wasn’t rich, it was regal.

The people walking the polished marble floors wore suits and dresses that cost more than cars. There was no laughter, no loud talking. Just quiet, classy murmurs in German and Russian, and soft clinks of glasses and silverware. Every guest seemed to move like a piece in a calculated game, like they were all actors in a scene—and Liam and Lana had just walked onto the stage.

“I hate crowds like this,” Lana whispered under her breath.

“I know,” Liam said, leading her gently toward a more quiet side of the room, where the bar wrapped around a corner. There were fewer people here, and the lighting was dimmer, casting their shadows long on the lacquered wood floor.

They sat down, and before Liam could ask the bartender anything, a sultry, playful voice greeted them from behind.

“Well, who are you two beautiful people?”

Liam let out a small sigh of relief when he heard English. His system wasn’t translating the murmuring around him. But this? Finally something he could understand.

He turned, expecting some high-society woman trying to make conversation, but his brow lifted slightly when he saw who it was.

She was stunning. Tall, with smooth pale skin and voluminous blonde curls falling over her shoulders. Her blue satin dress hugged her curves in ways that screamed wealth and grace. But most importantly—her face was familiar.

Liam had seen her once or twice on television, usually next to some senator or at a charity gala. She was Elena Madison—the daughter of a powerful governor back in the U.S. Someone who didn’t just attend exclusive events, but owned them.

Lana’s eyes widened. “Elena?”

The woman blinked. “Lana?”

The two women broke into smiles as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

Liam blinked slowly. “You two know each other?”

Lana nodded, her body relaxing for the first time since they arrived. “Yeah… Elena once helped me during a really tough time. I was just starting out with my modeling career and barely had enough for my needs.”

“Oh, come on,” Elena said, laughing as she grabbed Lana’s hand warmly. “That was years ago, and it was barely anything. You did all the hard work yourself. I just gave a little nudge.”

Her voice was smooth, with a light European accent under the American tone. She leaned in closer to Lana, eyeing Liam with a smile that was both playful and a bit mischievous. Her eyes glimmered with curiosity. She lowered her voice—whispering, but not enough that Liam couldn’t catch it.

“Now tell me… who’s the insanely hot man beside you?”

Liam pretended not to hear, taking a sip of the whiskey the bartender just placed in front of him, but his lips curled slightly at the edges.

Lana shot her a warning glare, but Elena just laughed softly and gave her a wink.

“You’ve upgraded, clearly.”

Lana flushed slightly. “Shut up.”

Elena leaned over the counter and ordered her drink, then turned back toward the two of them, crossing her legs elegantly. “So what brings you to St. Petersburg? This isn’t exactly the most casual party on Earth.”

Liam glanced at Lana.

Lana gave a practiced smile. “Just… business. The kind that makes you dress up and pretend to enjoy expensive wine.”

Elena raised an eyebrow. “Mmm, fair enough. But be careful tonight. These people? They’re not all smiles and toasts. Some of them would kill you over a bad glance.”

Liam’s smile didn’t falter. “That’s cute.”

Liam set the whiskey glass down on the polished mahogany bar with a soft clink, his fingers lingering on the rim for a moment. The dim light above them shimmered across the amber liquid still clinging to the sides of the glass. He turned slightly to Lana, eyes calm but voice edged with something colder.

“Do you even know what this party’s about?” he asked her flatly. “Because seriously… it doesn’t look like a party to me.”

Lana blinked, caught off guard. She glanced around at the elite crowd swirling through the room like expensive ghosts. Men in thousand-dollar tuxedos, women in gowns woven from silk and status. Not a single person looked relaxed. Not a single soul seemed to be celebrating anything.

Elena raised an elegant eyebrow, the corner of her wine-red lips curling upward. “Wait…” she said slowly, “you mean… you don’t know why you’re here?”

Liam shifted his gaze to her, calm, unreadable. “Got an invitation today,” he said, picking the whiskey glass back up and tipping it toward his lips. “Didn’t come with details. Just a time, place, and a door to walk through.”

Elena blinked twice, then leaned back in her seat with a quiet laugh of disbelief. “Now that makes sense,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “I thought something was off about you two showing up alone, not part of the crowd. So… you were baited here.”

Liam’s expression didn’t change, but Lana tensed beside him.

Elena ran a hand through her hair. “Well, since you’re already here, I guess it doesn’t matter if I say it. This whole thing… it’s not just a party. It’s an engagement announcement.”

Lana’s face twisted in confusion. “Engagement?”

“Yeah,” Elena replied, tilting her glass slightly. “The youngest prince of the Sokolov family. Apparently, he’s getting engaged to some English girl. Nobody really knows her. Not many details have been shared—just that the prince finally agreed to tie the knot. Power move, political marriage. You know how these things go.”

Liam froze.

The moment the words left her lips, something inside him stilled. The noise in the room faded into nothing but a dull, lifeless hum. The glass in his hand felt heavier than before. His breathing didn’t change, his muscles didn’t move, but his heart—his heart dropped just a little.

Ann.

He already knew she was being married off. He’d heard it from Lana. But hearing it like this… hearing that it was happening tonight, hearing that the announcement was being celebrated… it was something else entirely.

And the worst part?

She agreed to it.

She accepted it.

Elena kept talking, casually, unaware—or perhaps deliberately pretending not to notice—the shift in Liam’s aura. Lana, however, wasn’t so blind. She kept glancing sideways at him, subtle little looks filled with concern. But Liam’s face gave her nothing. He wore a perfect mask, not a twitch of emotion leaking through.

He tilted his head back and threw the rest of the whiskey down his throat in one smooth motion. The burn was sharp, but he didn’t wince. The glass hit the bar with a dull thud as he exhaled through his nose, eyes still forward.

Elena’s conversation with Lana resumed casually. Something about New York, fashion circuits, old connections—but Liam wasn’t listening anymore.

He was deep inside himself.

Not angry. Not sad.

Just… silent.

The pieces clicked together in his head like a puzzle he didn’t want to finish.

The prince had invited him here.

He knew Liam was in St. Petersburg.

He knew Liam had come here because of Ann.

And yet… he still sent the invitation.

This wasn’t hospitality.

It was a statement.

A challenge.

He wanted Liam to see it. He wanted Liam to stand there in the room when they made the announcement. When they toasted to the engagement. When they paraded Ann around like a trophy.

It wasn’t a party.

It was a power play.

A silent, ruthless way to tell Liam that he’d lost. That the game was over. That the prince had won.

But the fool didn’t know who he was playing with.

Liam’s fingers slowly circled the rim of the now-empty glass. His expression remained calm, distant even, but inside… inside he was already preparing for war. His brain worked quietly.

He wanted Liam to witness his triumph?

Then he would.

But he’d also witness his downfall.

Liam’s hand stilled around the glass, his fingers firm, like he was holding the prince’s throat in his mind.

You just dug your own grave, he thought darkly.

And you don’t even realize it yet.

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