The week passed faster than she expected.
Monday through Thursday blurred in a haze of classroom routines, spelling games, and evening silences. Damian hadn't changed. Not in his gaze. Not in his distance. If anything, he seemed even more absent. He left early. Came home late. Gave polite nods and the occasional half-hearted "good night" and "good morning "whenever they crossed paths.Nothing more. Nothing less.
Mia tried to believe the something might eventually shift something between them.
But she wasn't so sure.
That night was the Blackwood Foundation Fundraiser, the largest annual gala in the city a display of wealth, power, and polished smiles. And despite it being hosted by Damian's family and attended by every major name in business, media, and government... most people still had no idea Damian Blackwood was even married.
It had never been announced publicly. No magazine spread. No press release. No photos.
Just whispers. Just rumors.
And Mia? Sometimes, She was a secret. A convenience. A merger signed behind closed doors.
When she came downstairs that morning, Rosa was bustling about the kitchen with fresh fruit. Mia barely managed to eat a bite.
"Elena called," Rosa said as she packed Mia's lunch. "She says you are not allowed to do your own hair or makeup tonight."
Mia blinked. "What?"
"She says she already hired people. They'll come to the house after school."
"Oh no," Mia groaned. "She didn't."
Rosa smirked. "She says if she left it to you, you'd wear lip balm and a braid."
"She's not wrong."
That evening, Mia sat still and stunned in a vanity chair as two women flitted around her like artists at work.
Soft curls swept back into a sculpted, romantic updo.
Dewy makeup that made her green eyes glow and lips pout.
A smoky shadow, barely-there highlighter, and a touch of perfume that smelled like jasmine and longing.
When she stepped into her gown the black one Elena had helped her pick - she felt... transformed. Fragile, but radiant.
For once, she didn't recognize herself in the mirror. And for once, it didn't scare her.
But Damian's reaction told her everything.
He walked into the foyer just after her heels clicked down the last step of the stairs. His black tuxedo looked like it had been made for him - sharp, severe, custom-fit like armor.
He glanced at her.
His eyes didn't even pause.
"Car's waiting," he said simply, then turned to speak to the driver.
No compliment. No second look. No hesitation.
Mia stood there, lips slightly parted, her heart folding into itself.
The gala was hosted at The Crestview, it was owned by the Blackwood family, a towering hotel nestled into the heart of downtown, where crystal chandeliers hung like galaxies and the press was kept at the door like hungry wolves.
Elena greeted them inside, radiant in emerald silk.
"Mia," she said, drawing her in for a kiss on the cheek. "You look stunning."
"Thank you," Mia whispered, grateful for her kindness.
As they made their way into the main hall, Elena leaned into Damian. "Don't forget to introduce her properly tonight," she whispered, a note of warning in her voice.
"Later," Damian replied without looking at either of them.
Elena's jaw tightened.
Mia's heart twisted.
She stayed beside Elena most of the night, sipping champagne she couldn't taste and smiling through conversations that felt like smoke. No one seemed to know who she was. No one asked. A few curious looks, some polite nods nothing more.
But her stepsister, Celeste, arrived an hour into the event wearing scarlet satin and confidence like perfume.
She floated through the ballroom like she owned it, posing for photographers, clinking glasses with socialites, standing far too close to Damian when he passed her group.
At one point, Mia caught her introducing herself to a hedge fund executive as "a family friend of the Blackwoods." Another mistook her for Elena's goddaughter.
Celeste didn't correct them.
In fact, she leaned in and smiled wider.
Near the edge of the room, Mia paused by a floral display to catch her breath just long enough to hear the purr of gossip blooming between two women behind her.
"...Honestly, I think that girl in the red is the one Damian married," one whispered. "She's always seen around events."
"She fits his type," the other murmured. "Tall, glossy, arrogant."
"He used to date that model, remember? The French one with the jawline. Word is he's intense in bed. Not the cold executive everyone thinks."
"Oh, he's cold everywhere else, but in the bedroom?" The first woman chuckled. "Apparently he used to go through women like martinis. I heard one moved to Paris to get over him."
Mia turned before they could see her face.
She felt invisible. Present and absent all at once. Like a shadow in her own life.
A warm voice pulled her from her haze.
"Mia, my dear."
She turned to see Nicolas Blackwood, Damian's father. Tall, silver-haired, and smiling with real affection, he pulled her in for a gentle hug.
"You look absolutely breathtaking," he said with a sparkle in his eye. "Elena nearly cried when she saw you. And you know my wife doesn't cry."
Mia smiled. "Thank you, sir."
"Nicolas ," he corrected, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You're family now."
He kissed her forehead and glanced fondly toward where Elena stood. "My wife still makes my heart race in emerald. She insisted on choosing your gown, didn't she?"
Mia nodded, warmth softening the ache in her chest.
Nicolas chuckled. "She sees you as hers, you know."
"I'm lucky to have her."
"You are," he agreed. "But so is Damian. Even if he doesn't know it yet."
Her own father arrived late Charles Hart, looking dashing in his deep navy suit with her step mother Caroline, dressed to impress as usual. When he spotted her, he came over quickly, a little stiff, his hands in his pockets.
"Mia," he said, smiling. "You look very elegant tonight."
"Thank you."
He hesitated. "I... saw Celeste earlier. You two looked beautiful. Your mother would've been proud."
Mia's stomach tightened at the mention of her late mother.
"Thanks, Dad."
He nodded but didn't reach for her. They stood in that awkward space and distance, between love and absence. And then he walked away to shake hands with a group of investment partners.
Later that evening, Mia stepped out onto one of the side terraces for air. The ballroom noise faded behind her - soft jazz, glasses clinking, laughter she couldn't quite reach.
She gripped the marble railing and closed her eyes.
Why did she come?
Why pretend?
Her heart was still pounding when she heard voices near the open terrace door.
She stepped into the shadows instinctively, not eavesdropping... just hiding.
But the moment she heard Damian's voice, her body went still.
"...After the fiscal quarter closes, I'll file the papers."
Mia's blood ran cold.
"You're sure?" said the other man someone familiar. His friend Julian. They'd been friends since highschool.
"Yeah," Damian said. His voice was low. Sharp. Like he'd waited too long to finally say it. "The board's locked. The merger's secured. My father can't use her as leverage anymore. I've done what I needed to do."
Silence.
Then a laugh from Julian. "Damn. You're cold."
"She knew what this was. Her father did too."
Mia didn't breathe.
The world blurred.
"She's not like the others," Julian said after a beat. "Kinda sweet, actually."
"Sweet doesn't build empires," Damian replied. "And I don't need a doll in my house playing wife while I work fourteen-hour a day."
Julian gave a low whistle. "You're heartless."
"No," Damian said. "I'm focused."
Mia didn't wait to hear the rest.
She turned and slipped back into the building, through the sea of suits and sequins, her vision blurring as she pushed past waiters and guests, through glittering halls and velvet ropes.
"Elena!" she managed to say as she found her in the corridor near the coat check. "I don't feel well. I-I need to go."
Elena's face shifted instantly. "Oh no. Are you alright? You look pale-Mia, should I call the car?"
"I already did," Mia said, her voice tight. "Just... I think I need to lie down. I'll be fine. Please, enjoy the rest of the night."
Elena hugged her, worried. "Text me when you get home."
Mia nodded, then turned before her tears could fall.
The ride home was a blur.
Back at the house, Mia stepped out of her heels and walked barefoot to her bedroom. She didn't turn on the light. She didn't even take off the gown.
She just collapsed onto the bed, the cold sheets swallowing her whole.
Her chest ached. Her throat burned.
He was going to leave her.
He'd planned it all along.
Everything the coldness, the distance, the lack of affection it hadn't been confusion. It hadn't been fear.
It had been calculated. Controlled. Inevitable.
She pressed a hand to her mouth to smother the sob that finally broke free.
And then another. And another.
Silent. Guttural. Shaking.
She cried until her body stopped shaking from exhaustion, until her fingers went numb, until the tears had dried into the pillow.
Until the only sound left in the room... was silence.