Damian stood behind Elena, holding up two dresses.
"No," he said immediately, tossing one aside. "Too simple." He replied calmly, selecting a dark, flowing dress. "This one."
She stared at it. "It's bold."
"So are you," he said, already handing it to her.
Minutes later, Elena came out dressed in it. Damian didn't speak. He only looked at her—slowly, carefully—like she was something dangerous and precious at the same time.
"You chose well," she said softly.
"I always do."
She smiled, then held up a suit. "Your turn."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're dressing me now?"
"Yes," she said confidently. "And don't argue."
He didn't. He changed.
They stepped out together, something shifted. They got into the car. The chauffeur drove off smoothly into the night.
Inside the car, Damian's phone buzzed. His face hardened instantly. He forwarded the number to one of his men.
"Find out who sent this," he typed.
Elena noticed the change but said nothing.
