The spa had changed her.
Ella barely recognized the woman in the mirror.Soft waves framed her face, tumbling down her back.Her makeup was subtle, perfect.Her nails, deep red — the same red as the silk that clung to her body.
She looked… expensive.Like she belonged in Alexander Blackwood's world.But she didn't.And everyone would know it the moment she stepped outside.
6:45 PM.
A sleek black car waited at the curb. The driver, tall and expressionless, opened the door.
"Miss Montgomery. Mr. Blackwood is waiting."
Her stomach twisted.
She climbed in. The leather was soft. Cold.Even the silence inside the car felt expensive.
Twenty minutes later, the city swallowed her whole.Glass towers. Gold lights.And then—The Grand Luxor.
A palace of glass and chandeliers.Red carpet. Cameras. Flashing lights.Paparazzi.
Oh, God.
The driver opened her door. "Miss Montgomery."
She stepped out.
The red dress shimmered under the lights.And just like that, the cameras turned.
"Who is she?""Is that Blackwood's date?""Miss! Over here!"
Flashes exploded. The world blurred white.
Then she saw him.
Alexander stood at the top of the marble stairs in a black tuxedo.Perfect. Untouchable.His eyes found her instantly.
He started down the steps, each movement deliberate.The cameras went insane.
"Breathe," he murmured when he reached her. His hand slid around her waist—firm, possessive. "And smile."
"I can't—"
"You can." His grip tightened slightly. "You look beautiful."
"I look terrified."
"Same thing." A ghost of a smile. "Come on. Let's give them a show."
He guided her up the stairs, his hand never leaving her body.Flash. Flash. Flash.
"Mr. Blackwood! Who's your date?""Is this official?""What's her name?"
Alexander didn't even glance at them.His focus was on her. Only her.
The grand doors opened.Light and music spilled out, and Ella stepped into another world.
The ballroom was a dream.Crystal chandeliers. White silk tables.Gold everywhere.
Hundreds of people. All power and wealth wrapped in designer fabric.
Ella felt small.Fake.
"Relax," Alexander whispered, his breath brushing her ear. "You belong here."
"I don't."
"You're with me. That's all that matters."
A waiter passed. Champagne.Alexander took two glasses and handed her one.
"Don't drink too much," he murmured. "You'll need your wits."
"Why? What's happening?"
His gaze swept the crowd. "Business. Politics. Predators."Then he looked down at her. "Stay close. Don't talk to anyone unless I'm there."
"I'm not a child."
"No," he said softly. "You're prey."
Before she could respond—
"Alexander! Darling!"
A woman's voice, bright and sharp.
Isabelle Cross.Tall. Blonde. Wrapped in white silk and diamonds.
She glided toward them, smiling like a blade.
"Isabelle," Alexander greeted, his tone cool. "You look well."
"And you look… accompanied." Her gaze raked over Ella. "How unusual."
"Isabelle Cross," he said evenly, "this is Ella Montgomery. My secretary."
The word landed like a slap.
"Secretary?" Isabelle's laugh was delicate and cruel. "Of course. How quaint."
"Isabelle is the CEO of Cross Industries," Alexander explained. "And an old friend."
"More than friend," Isabelle purred, touching his arm. "We were engaged once. Did he tell you that, dear?"
Ella froze."No," she managed.
"He wouldn't," Isabelle smiled. "Alexander doesn't like discussing failures."Her eyes flicked over the red dress. "Tell me, where did you get that? It's very… interesting."
"It was a gift."
"From Alexander? How generous. He does enjoy dressing up his pets."
"Enough," Alexander said. Low. Dangerous.
"Oh, don't be dramatic," Isabelle purred. "I'm only curious. Surely she can afford her own gown?"Her eyes gleamed. "Or does that come out of her secretary's paycheck?"
Ella's face went hot.People nearby were listening. Watching.
"She's my guest," Alexander said coldly. "Are you questioning my judgment, Isabelle?"
"Never, darling." Her smile was poison. "But people will talk."
"Let them."
"Will you?" she pressed. "You always cared about your image. About what they say.Did you tell your new toy about your father, Alexander? How reputation is everything to a Blackwood?"
"Isabelle." His hand tightened on Ella's waist. "Walk away. Now."
She laughed softly. "Or what? You'll cause a scene?"Her smile widened. "You won't. Not here."Her gaze flicked to Ella. "Enjoy the evening, dear. While it lasts. Alexander's toys never last long."
And she was gone.
Perfect. Untouchable.
Ella's throat burned.The humiliation was suffocating.
"Ignore her," Alexander said quietly.
"Everyone's staring."
"Let them."
"Easy for you to say. You belong here."She pulled away. "I need air."
"Ella—"
But she was already gone.
The balcony was cold.The city stretched below like a field of stars.
She gripped the railing, trying to breathe.
"Running away?"
Alexander's voice.
She turned. He stood framed in the doorway, golden light spilling around him.
"Escaping," she said.
"From Isabelle? Or from me?"
"Both."
He walked closer. Stopped beside her.
"She's jealous," he said quietly.
"Of what? I'm nobody."
"You're someone I brought here." His eyes met hers. "That makes you someone."
"Your secretary. Your toy. That's what she called me."
"She's wrong."
"Is she?" Her voice shook. "What am I to you, Alexander? Really?"
He was silent for a long time.Then—
"I don't know," he admitted softly. "And that terrifies me."
Voices. Chaos.
"There he is!""Mr. Blackwood!"
Flashes. Cameras. The paparazzi had breached the ballroom.
Alexander's jaw tightened. His hand found her waist again.
"Play along," he murmured in her ear. "Or I'll fire you."
"What—"
He turned her toward the cameras. One arm wrapped around her. The other lifted her chin.
"Smile," he commanded. "Like you want to be here."
The flashes were relentless.
"Mr. Blackwood! Who's the woman?""Your new girlfriend?""What happened to Isabelle Cross?"
Alexander turned to them, calm as ever.But his grip on Ella was unyielding.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, voice carrying above the noise. "This is Ella Montgomery."
"Your girlfriend?"
He paused. Looked down at her.Something flickered in his eyes. Something dangerous.
"Yes," he said finally. "My girlfriend."
Ella's heart stopped.
"Since when?" someone shouted.
"That's private."
"Is it serious?"
"Very." His hand came up, cupping her face. The gesture intimate, proprietary. "Any other questions?"
"Mr. Blackwood, is the Cross Industries merger—"
"There's no merger," he interrupted. "There never will be."His eyes didn't leave hers. "I've found what I want."
The room erupted. Cameras flashing, reporters shouting.
"Smile, sweetheart," Alexander murmured just for her. "The whole world's watching."
Her head spun.He'd just claimed her. Publicly.
"Alexander," she whispered. "What are you doing?"
"Protecting you," he said simply. "And claiming you. In that order."
"You can't just—"
"I can." His lips brushed her ear. "And I did."
He pulled back, eyes sharp. "Now you're mine. Officially."
"Why?" she demanded.
"Because Isabelle was right." His voice softened dangerously. "People will talk. So I gave them something to talk about."
"But we're not—"
"Not what?" He smiled faintly. "Together? We are now."
"This is insane."
"Probably." He extended his hand. "Come on. We have a role to play."
"I don't want to play your games."
"You don't have a choice." His voice lowered. "If you refuse, I'll fire you. And make sure you never work again."
Her stomach dropped.
"Or," he said softly, "you take my hand. Be my girlfriend for tonight. And see where it leads."
A threat.A promise.A trap.
Ella stared at his hand.At his perfect, ruthless face.
She should run.She should say no.
Instead—She took his hand.
His fingers closed around hers. Firm. Final.
"Good girl," he murmured. "Now let's show them who you belong to."
They walked back into the ballroom.
Every head turned.Every whisper burned.
Across the room, Isabelle froze.Shock. Anger. Fury.
Alexander leaned in. His lips brushed Ella's temple.
"She's mine," he said, loud enough for all to hear. "Any questions?"
The room went silent.Then—whispers. Everywhere.
"Did he just—""They're together?""She's nobody!"
Alexander ignored them all. His focus never wavered.
"Dance with me," he ordered.
"I don't—"
"Dance. With. Me."
It wasn't a request.
He pulled her onto the dance floor.One hand at her waist. The other clasping hers.
The music rose, soft and slow.
They moved together. Too close. Too real.
Every camera. Every gaze.All on them.
"Smile," he whispered. "Like you love me."
"I don't love you," she hissed. "I barely know you."
"Then pretend." His hand slid lower on her back, brushing bare skin. She shivered."Because tomorrow, every headline will say the same thing."
Her voice shook. "What?"
"That you're mine."His eyes blazed. Possessive. Obsessive."And they'll be right."
The music swelled.
Cameras flashed.
And in that moment, Ella knew—nothing in her life would ever be the same again.