"Smoke & Shadows" by Sasha Ravae

Some songs don’t end—they haunt.

In a city veiled in jazz and secrets, Lena Mae Bellerose has carved her sanctuary inside Club Le’Mae, a speakeasy laced with smoke, sorrow, and the kind of music that breaks you open from the inside-out.

Onstage, she’s untouchable. Offstage, she’s a woman unraveling—torn between the silent man who plays her soul into melodies and the magnetic stranger who promises salvation…at a price.

As love tangles with ambition and desire turns dangerous, Lena must choose between the fantasy she’s built and the truth that won’t stay quiet.

In a world where power hums beneath the piano keys and betrayal waits in velvet shadows, the most dangerous note is the one left unsung.

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Chapter One

The air inside Club Le’Mae was thick. Velvet smoke curled through golden candlelight, wrapping around whispered secrets and stolen glances. Silk brushed against skin in passing, a soft rustle beneath the slow, heavy lull of brass and bass threading through the heat. The club pulsed, a living thing, its rhythm dictated by the steady thrum of music and the hushed anticipation that always lingered just beneath the surface. Bourbon and honey-sweet perfume clung to the room, mingling with the ghost of cigars, the scent of power, indulgence, and something deeper—something unsaid. Shadows stretched long and luxurious against ornate fixtures, flickering as if the whole room pulsed with something alive, something waiting.

This was her kingdom.

Lena Bellerose stood at the center of it all, the woman who was Club Le’Mae. Conversations dipped into a hush when she moved, not silenced but softened, as if her presence demanded something more than just idle chatter. Patrons leaned in closer, eyes tracking the sway of her dress, the gleam of her diamonds, the knowing curve of her smile. Some whispered, some lifted their glasses in silent tribute, but all of them—every last one—watched. She didn’t just walk through the club; she bent it to her rhythm.

Gilded fringe kissed her skin with every step, diamonds at her throat catching the candlelight like stolen stars. But it wasn’t the shimmer, the gown, or even the legend of her name that made heads turn—it was her. The way she carried herself as if she had already won, as if she held a secret no one else could ever be worthy of knowing. A mystery wrapped in music, smoke, and the unmistakable allure of a woman who belonged to no one but herself.

Every note played, every drink poured, every whisper exchanged in the dark—it all happened under her reign. And tonight, she was untouchable.

The band shifted, easing into a slow, sultry rhythm. The pianist played a teasing glissando, the brass swelling just as Lena stepped forward.

Let them wait. Let them want.

She traced a fingertip along the microphone stand, letting the anticipation stretch before curling her lips into a knowing smirk. Then, finally, she let her voice drip into the mic—low, golden, impossible to ignore.

“I don’t ask for much, baby—just your heart on a chain…

Don’t need no diamonds, suga—just a kiss in the rain…

Tell me I’m trouble, tell me I’m wild—

Tell me I’m yours, just for a while…”

The melody curled around the room like smoke, soft and sticky-sweet, a sound that pressed against skin and settled into bones. Conversations quieted as patrons turned, drawn into the slow, magnetic pull of Lena’s voice. Some swayed in their seats, eyes closed, letting the song carry them away, while others leaned closer to their drinks, murmuring about the woman who could make a room hold its breath with a single note.

Pearl worked the room like she was born to do it, and in a way, she had. If Lena was the crown of Club Le’Mae, Pearl Hawthorne was the foundation—the sharp-eyed keeper of the night, the only one Lena trusted to keep Le’Mae running smooth when she wasn’t watching. She made sure the right hands held the right drinks, the right whispers passed to the right ears, and the wrong people never overstayed their welcome. She moved between patrons effortlessly, a well-rehearsed melody of charm and sharp wit, her laugh a lure, her presence magnetic. A wink to the right man, a teasing word to the wrong one—it didn’t matter. She had them all wrapped around her fingers. And Lena? She could feel the rhythm of it all, the way Le’Mae moved like music—smooth, perfect, seamless.

Except for…him.

Her breath caught, just for a fraction of a second, the briefest hesitation before she smoothed it over with a practiced inhale. The mic was steady in her grip, but the warmth of the stage lights felt suddenly sharper against her skin. A ripple of something—an unspoken awareness—settled beneath her ribs, though she refused to name it.

Maison stood with the band, trumpet gleaming underneath the low golden lights, fingers resting against the worn brass as he waited for his next cue. He had always been there, tucked into the edges of her world—watching, waiting. There was something steady about him, something unshakable, and yet, something else too. A quiet weight in the way he looked at her, a question he never asked but that lingered all the same. He didn’t speak, didn’t move much—but he never took his eyes off her.

Lena didn’t look at him…not yet.

The song slowed, her voice lingering on the last note, dripping into the hush that followed. For a moment, the room stayed still. Then, like the shattering of a spell, the applause swelled. Whistles. Cheers. A few voices calling her name.

Lena smiled, dipped her head, but she wasn’t looking at them. Not really.

Because something small, something delicate, waited for her just outside the glow of the stage lights.

A single magnolia blossom—white, perfect, untouched.

Her steps faltered, just for half a second. The bloom was fresh, its petals smooth as silk beneath her fingertips as she reached for it without thinking. A strange warmth bloomed in her chest—curiosity, amusement, something softer she wouldn’t name. She twirled the stem between her fingers before tucking it into the strap of her dress, close but not obvious, a private secret she carried with her. Then, she recovered, flashing another dazzling smile before slipping past the curtain, brushing past Pearl.

As the last notes of the performance still hummed in the walls, Lena soaked in the moment. The applause still rippled through the space, and she could feel the weight of it, the energy crackling around her. But the moment was fleeting. The club never truly stopped moving, and neither could she. She let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders back as she turned, only for Pearl to catch her elbow, pulling her into a quieter corner of the club.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice lower now. “It’s the liquor. Our supplier’s backing out. Says Prohibition’s getting too hot, and he’s not willing to risk it anymore.”

Lena’s expression remained cool, but her pulse ticked faster. “He’s backing out? Just like that?”

Pearl nodded. “Just like that. Says he’s too old for bootlegging and too smart to end up behind bars.” She exhaled sharply, frustration threading through her voice. “We have stock, but it won’t last forever. You need to start thinking about what comes next.”

Lena pursed her lips, considering. “I always think ahead, Pearl.”

“Then, tell me that you’re not considering going to the bootleggers,” Pearl questioned, voice edged with warning. “Le’Mae’s built on reputation. We stay clean, we stay exclusive. We don’t start dealing in back alleys.”

Lena smirked, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m not rushing into anything.”

Pearl crossed her arms. “That’s what you always say before you do something crazy.”

Lena let the comment slide and instead shifted the topic. “Remind me later—I need to talk to you about the new poet coming to town.”

Pearl arched a brow. “Poet?”

“Marcus Langford,” Lena said, smoothly. “I sent him an invitation to perform. He responded.”

Pearl studied her, curiosity flickering. “And?”

“He’s coming,” Lena said simply, inhaling slow before exhaling through her nose, gaze sharp with intent. “And we’re going to make sure his name is only tied to Le’Mae.”

Pearl let out a soft whistle, tapping a manicured finger against her cheek. "Damn. That is interesting. You really think he’ll draw that much attention?"

Lena’s jaw tensed slightly, the weight of the conversation pressing against her spine. The problem wasn’t Marcus—it was the liquor. The lifeblood of Le’Mae was slipping through her fingers, and that she couldn’t allow. They could have the best music, the finest acts, the most exclusive crowd—but if the drinks stopped flowing, so would the money. So would the power. And without power, what was even left?

Her gaze flicked to the bar, where glasses still clinked, laughter still curled through the thickened air, but the shadow of uncertainty loomed just behind it all. She needed a solution, and fast.

Pearl studied her, eyes sharp. "We need to figure this out, Lena. And soon."

Lena inhaled, exhaled slow, forcing her expression into something smooth, effortless.

"I will."

Outside, the wind shifted…but Lena had gotten good at ignoring it.

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Chapter 1 was just the spark.

The fire’s already started—and Lena’s not walking out clean.

🔓 Read Chapters 2–5 now through The Smoke Pact💥 Or subscribe to The Flame and unlock every story drop in the Well.

No waiting. No guessing. Just smoke and truth.