The doors to La Couronne opened with a hush, and every head turned.
That was the thing about Arden's most exclusive restaurant: nobody came here to eat in peace. This was where reputations were sharpened, alliances were sealed, and enemies were humiliated beneath chandeliers dripping with crystals.
And tonight, I was the spectacle.
Damien walked beside me as if he were strolling into his own domain, utterly indifferent to the sudden silence. My heels clicked against the marble floor, too loud, too sharp, echoing into the places my confidence hadn't quite reached.
I could feel it already—the shift in the air. Conversations dimming. Phones subtly lifted. The whispers beginning to bloom.
She dares show her face here?
The Vaughn girl must be desperate.
Look at her… red? Really?
The gown clung to me like fire, crimson silk that caught the light with every step. I had chosen it because it terrified me—because I had always hidden in ivory and soft shades. Tonight, I wanted them to choke on the sight of me.
Damien's hand brushed my lower back, guiding me toward a table in the center of the room, positioned deliberately under the full blaze of the chandelier. He didn't lower his voice when he spoke.
"Lesson one," he murmured, his tone almost lazy. "Presence. If they whisper, let them. If they stare, let them. The moment you shrink, you've already lost."
I kept my head high even as my chest hammered. "And if I fall flat on my face?"
He smirked faintly, the curve of his mouth both cruel and amused. "Then you get up. And you make them regret watching."
---
The waiter had barely filled our glasses when Evelyn Cross made her move.
Of course it was her. Arden's self-proclaimed queen of society never missed blood in the water. She glided across the floor in gold sequins, her perfume arriving before her words. Two women trailed behind her, eager little shadows who would laugh on command.
"Well, well," Evelyn drawled, her hand curling over the back of my chair. "If it isn't our forsaken bride. Elena, darling, you look…" her eyes swept me, lingering on the red silk clinging to my waist, "…alive. I'll admit, I expected you to be hiding under your sheets for a month."
Her companions tittered, the sound like glass breaking.
My grip tightened on the stem of my wineglass. The old me would have looked down, cheeks flaming, praying for it to end. But Damien's gaze burned into me from across the table, daring me to remember.
Presence.
I raised the glass, letting the ruby wine catch the chandelier's light, and smiled with practiced ease.
"Why would I hide, Evelyn? Scandals are temporary. Envy…" My eyes deliberately slid to the sequins straining against her figure. "…now that tends to linger forever."
The table behind her went silent.
For half a heartbeat, Evelyn's perfect smile cracked.
She covered it quickly, of course, tossing her hair with a laugh too sharp to be genuine. "Still sharp-tongued. But tell me, who listens to you now? Not Adrian. Not your dear stepmother. And certainly not this city."
I opened my mouth, but Damien beat me to it.
"Everyone," he said, the word like steel against glass. He leaned back in his chair, one hand draped casually over the armrest, as though he were pronouncing a verdict. "Because Elena Vaughn is no longer a woman to laugh at. She's a woman to watch."
The room shifted. The weight of his words landed harder than any champagne toast. And Evelyn knew it.
Her entourage squirmed, eyes darting between us and their queen. Evelyn forced another brittle laugh, too high-pitched this time, and waved a hand. "You've always had unusual taste, Damien."
Without waiting for an answer, she swept away, her sequined gown glimmering like she was fleeing into a spotlight.
---
The whispers didn't stop, but they had changed. I could hear it in the undertones: less mockery, more curiosity. Some even sounded uncertain, as though they weren't sure anymore whether laughing at me was safe.
I set my glass down carefully, hiding the tremor in my hand. My pulse was racing so hard it felt like my body was vibrating.
Damien's eyes lingered on me, unreadable, until finally he spoke.
"Better."
I bristled. "Better? I just put Evelyn Cross in her place."
He tilted his head, silver eyes catching the light. "And you loved it."
The flush that rose to my cheeks wasn't embarrassment—it was heat, raw and undeniable. I hated that he was right. For the first time in weeks, I hadn't felt weak. I hadn't felt broken. I had felt… dangerous.
I leaned back in my chair, refusing to look away from him. "If this was your test, I think I passed."
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Barely. You still trembled."
"Only under the table," I shot back before I could stop myself.
Damien's gaze flicked to my hand, still curled around the stem of the glass, and then back to my eyes. He leaned closer, lowering his voice until only I could hear it.
"Then next time, don't."
---
When we left the restaurant, the paparazzi waiting outside surged forward, flashes erupting like gunfire. But this time, I didn't bow my head.
The red gown shimmered under the camera lights, my chin lifted high, Damien Hartmann at my side. And though the whispers followed me into the night, I walked as though they were nothing but background noise.
Because for the first time, I wasn't just surviving.
I was learning how to fight.