The following evening, the summit gala was in full swing.
The ballroom glittered under massive chandeliers, guests swirling like an ocean of polished ambition. Champagne flowed freely; business deals were whispered behind smiles.
Ariana, dressed in a midnight blue gown, stood poised at Damien's side as if she had been part of this world her entire life. Every movement, every glance, was calculated as much for survival as for appearance.
But beneath her composed exterior, she sensed something… off.
Damien's hand at her lower back remained firm, steady, but his eyes never stopped scanning the room hyperaware, controlled.
During a brief pause in conversation, Damien leaned in, his voice low and controlled.
"Stay close tonight."
Ariana's pulse quickened.
"Is something wrong?"
"There's chatter," he said calmly.
"Small threats. Nothing I can't handle."
Her breath caught at the cold simplicity of his words. She realized again that this world was far more dangerous than glittering appearances suggested.
Half an hour later, Elise discreetly approached Damien, whispering something into his ear. His jaw tensed almost imperceptibly.
Ariana watched as his entire posture shifted, though his face remained unreadable for the surrounding guests.
"Elise will accompany you to the lounge," Damien said quietly to Ariana.
"I'll join you shortly."
Ariana wanted to question him, but the sharpness in his gaze warned her: now was not the time.
Without drawing attention, she allowed Elise to guide her away from the main ballroom.
The private lounge was quiet, its atmosphere far more intimate. Ariana paced slowly, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
"Elise… what's happening?" she finally asked.
Elise hesitated for a moment, her professional mask flickering.
"There have been some... security concerns."
"About me?" Ariana whispered.
"Yes. But you're safe. Mr. Lancaster ensures that."
Ariana swallowed.
"Is this Richard Caldwell again?"
Elise simply offered a small, noncommittal smile which said more than any confirmation.
Minutes later, the lounge doors opened, and Damien entered briskly.
Ariana immediately saw it in his eyes the storm barely held beneath his composed exterior.
"We're leaving," he said.
The car ride back to the penthouse was silent for the first few minutes. Damien's hand rested on the leather armrest, his fingers tapping rhythmically a subtle sign of irritation Ariana had learned to recognize.
Finally, she couldn't hold it anymore.
"What happened?" she asked softly.
Damien exhaled, finally allowing himself to answer.
"Two men tried to gain access to you tonight. They were intercepted before they got close."
Ariana's stomach turned.
"Who were they?"
"They'll talk," Damien said coldly. "But the trail leads back to Caldwell."
Ariana stared at him.
"He's going this far?"
Damien's jaw clenched.
"Caldwell is testing my limits. He won't like the answers he receives."
When they reached the penthouse, Ariana paused before entering her room.
"Damien."
He turned, waiting.
"I don't need to be kept in the dark. I want to know when I'm in danger."
For a moment, his cold mask cracked.
"You were never supposed to be part of this game," he said quietly.
"But I am now," Ariana whispered. "And I deserve to know."
Their eyes locked in the dim light not as adversaries, but as two people caught in a storm far larger than either anticipated.
After a long silence, Damien nodded once.
"From now on, you'll know."
It was the first true concession he'd ever made to her.
Hours later, as Ariana tried to find sleep, Damien stood alone in his private office, speaking quietly into the phone.
"Send the message tonight," he ordered.
On the other end of the line, a cold voice replied,
"It will be delivered."
For the first time, Damien was no longer defending.
He was preparing to strike back.