Elle
The door opened and Camila stepped in, dropping her bag on the hall table like always.
I didn't give her a second to breathe. "Your boss," I snapped, grabbing a cushion and tossing it onto the couch like it was his face. "Is the most arrogant, selfish man alive. I finally get it, this is what you deal with every day."
Her shoulders stiffened as she bent to remove her shoes, slow, cautious. "Elle…"
"No, don't 'Elle' me." I paced the living room, the walls suddenly too close. My hands wouldn't stay still. "He stood there like I ruined his life, like I begged for this. Do you know what he said? That we have to keep this ridiculous little show going for months. Months, Camila! As if I don't have my own life outside of his drama."
Camila sank onto the couch, lips pressed together, holding back words.
"This is the best part," I laughed, sharp and humorless. "He tried to pay me. Like I was some extra on a set. Not even a proper contract. Not like I would have gone with it but at least..." I laughed more.
She twisted her fingers in her lap, voice small. "Maybe he didn't mean it like that."
"Please." I cut her a look, every nerve buzzing. "Cam, the man is ice. He meant it."
The room went quiet except for my unsteady breathing. I dropped onto the couch beside her, covering my face with both hands. "I still think this is a bad dream. Any minute now, I'll wake up with popcorn in hand, scrolling through Netflix instead of... this."
Camila gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Elle… maybe you should just go along with it. At least tomorrow night."
My head turned slowly. "Go along with what?"
"There's a dinner. With his family." Her voice was quiet, careful. "He told me to tell you."
The words hit like cold water. My mouth fell open. "Dinner? With him? Cam, do you even hear yourself? You're joking."
She bit her lip. "Come on, it's one night. You smile, eat, then it's over."
"Never! No way," I sat up straighter, scoffing. "I'm not walking into that, it's insane." I let out a brittle sound that wasn't really a laugh. The mere thought of it alone was hilarious.
Camila flinched. "Insane? Elle, insane is telling him about your vision. What were you thinking?!"
The words landed cold. My laugh died and silence pressed in. I stared at the ceiling, then back down at my own hands.
"I know it looks bad," I muttered, softer now, "but it can't be that bad, Cam."
Her eyes finally met mine, sharp, furious. "You don't tell a man like Damian Blackwell something like that. You don't hand him a weapon against you."
"It wasn't a weapon. It was the truth. You don't even want to know what I saw this time?"
Her hands pressed hard against her knees. "Can you take this seriously for once?! You just got engaged to the most powerful man in Newyork city, and you told him about his secret. How unreasonable can you be?"
I wanted to argue. To laugh it off. Instead I sank deeper into the couch, arms crossed, the energy bleeding out of me. I have never seen her this angry before.
She gave a tired sigh. "Elle… he doesn't play. Not with his company. And now you've dragged me into your mess. I didn't sign up for any of this."
The words stung. She stood, muttering something about a shower, and disappeared down the hall.
Left alone, I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. My chest wouldn't settle. For a second, I wondered if I really had gone too far.
Then I whispered to the empty room, almost daring it to argue:
"No. If he wants a game, he'll get one."
Damian
7:42 p.m.
The tie sat clean against my collar, cuffs sharp. I hated waiting so, I pulled out my phone and dialed.
"Sir?"
"Is she ready?"
A pause. "Yes."
"Text me the address. Now." I didn't wait for her reply before ending the call.
When the message came through, I read it twice. The street name didn't fit the picture in my head. I drove out anyway.
The neighborhood rose around me. Quiet, polished, not poor but not elite either. A careful middle ground. Too clean.
My car slowed as the numbers aligned. I stared at the building, brickwalls, drawn blinds. No way.
I called again. Camila answered on the second ring.
"Are you sure?" My voice cut the air. "This address. This house."
"Yes, sir. I can see your car from the window."
I tilted my head, spotting a faint movement behind the binds.
"Fine. Tell her to come down," I said, fingers tightening around the wheel. "I don't like waiting."
For a moment I sat there, staring at the building like it was lying to me. It didn't add up. Elle Morgan didn't fit in this setting. Neither did her friend.
Someone was paying. Someone with money.
My mouth curved, humorless. "So that's it, huh? Some rich fool keeping you comfortable. Thinks buying a woman a roof makes him a man." I tapped the wheel. "Figures. Women like you don't end up in places like this on their own."
Men like me didn't believe in coincidences.
"So who's keeping you, Elle?" I murmured, leaning back, eyes fixed on the door, waiting for the show to begin.
Elle
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the dress Camila had laid out. I didn't move. I wasn't going anywhere.
"Elle, seriously, start getting ready," Camila said from the doorway, arms crossed tight.
"I said I'm not going," I shot back. "I'd rather eat nails than sit through dinner with him."
She stepped inside, voice rising. "Do you even hear yourself? It's one dinner. Just get dressed!"
I turned, narrowing my eyes. "Why are you pushing this so hard? Since when do you care if I play along with your boss?"
Her lips parted, but she shut them quick. Too quick.
I stood, closing the distance between us. "No, really, Camila. Why are you acting like it's more than just your job? You've been weird all day. Jumpy. Avoiding me. Not looking me in the eye."
"Elle, please, don't..." she started, but I grabbed her hand before she could finish.
And then I saw it.
His office. Cold, sharp. Damian leaning back in his chair, eyes like steel. "if you want to keep this job, you'll watch her. Pay attention. And when you see something you've missed, you'll tell me."
The image slammed through me, then it was gone. I gasped, letting her hand go.
Camila's face had gone pale.
"You didn't tell me," I whispered. My chest burned. "Were you actually planning to report to him?"
She shook her head fast. "No, Elle. Never. I would never do that to you."
"Then why hide it?" My voice trembled. "Why let me walk around clueless while he's pulling your strings?"
"Because I know how you are. You'd do something drastic, and he already knows too much. He's outside right now. I don't want him hearing us."
Something cold turned solid inside me. If Damian thought he could use her to control me, he was mistaken.
"Fine," I said, standing taller. "I'll go to that dinner. But on my own terms."
Before the thought settled, a sharp knock rattled the door downstairs.
Camila's eyes went wide. She rushed out.
A moment later, I heard that deep, measured voice that made my skin crawl.
"Good evening."
Damian.
He stood in the entryway like he owned it—dark suit, darker presence. The tie crisp against his collar, every line of him controlled. Camila hovered by the door, nervous hands twisting.
His eyes found mine the second I stepped forward. They didn't move away.
"You're late," he said simply, as if I had kept him waiting.
I planted a hand on the couch. "I wasn't planning on coming at all." I wanted to hate him, but the truth was simpler, I just didn't know how to win against a man who never blinked.
His lips curved, faint and cold. "Then it's a good thing I came to get you."
The air shifted. Quiet, tense and his gaze never left mine.
And just like that, I knew this dinner wasn't going to be about family at all.