Damian's Pov
The ballroom is a cage of marble and gold. Soft orchestral music drifts over the clink of crystal and the low hum of expensive small talk. I move through the crowd, shaking hands, nodding at the right times, wearing the mask of the proud fiancé.
"She outdid herself, Damian," Mark says, patting my shoulder. I offer a rehearsed nod. I am proud, but I am also on edge.
Another friend lifts his glass. "My wife nearly cried at the entrance display. The photos of the kids? Powerful stuff."
I offer a small smile. "That's the point."
I eventually find my seat as the children's performance begins. The wavering violin notes should be touching, but I'm distracted by the weight of the pill bottle in my pocket and the ghost of last night on my skin. I take a glass of champagne, the citrus notes sharp against my tongue.
A familiar shadow falls over the table. Harrison slides into the seat beside me.
I exhale. "Why are you here."
"Supporting family," he smirks, draping one arm over the chair's back. "Your fiancée is hosting a gala for the homeless kids. Thats'a a good course, surely I'll come support. What touches you touches me, Nephew."
It's a lie, but it's a beautiful one. We watch the kids finish their song, several bow too early, one forgets to bow at all. Everyone laughs lightly.
Then, the announcer walks toward the stage with the mic.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here this evening. Five years ago, a woman started this foundation with nothing but determination and a borrowed office desk. Today, Little Lights home has provided over seven hundred children with medical support, educational assistance, and safe environments to grow. Please welcome our founder, Marielle Morgan!"
The applause isn't just polite; it's a roar. The lights sweep the stage, catching her in a black silk dress that is absolute ruin. It clings to every curve, minimalist and devastating. As she descends the steps, her confidence is a physical force. The screen behind her lights up, a brief montage of her work: playgrounds built, children laughing, families supported, a foundation started from nothing.
My jaw tightens. My fingers curl against the stem of my glass.
She takes the microphone, thanks everyone for their presence and money they'll be spending today. Another ripple of laughter. Then she goes on to give her speech. A short history of the foundation, foster homes, outreach programs, and scholarships.
Damn, she's brilliant.
When she steps down, smiling and shaking hands along her path, I can't help but watch the way every person she touches lights up.
Harrison leans in. "She looks breathtaking. But she'll never belong in our circle. We need alliances, Damian. Not just headlines." He pauses, his voice turning casual. "That's why I brought Alexandra Beaumont tonight."
I turn, my blood turning to ice. Harrison stands, smoothing his jacket. "Be polite. She's a strategic match."
He walks away, and Alexandra takes his place. Silver dress. Platinum hair sharp as a blade. Her perfume is expensive, and suffocating.
"Hey, Damian," she says, taking my hand before I can retreat.
"Alexandra."
She looks at Elle in the distance. "Admirable work. But events like this... they're easier with someone who understands the business behind the philanthropy."
A subtle line. Not an insult, a suggestion.
"Perhaps," I say, but my eyes never leave Elle.
Elle is moving through the crowd, laughing with donors, glowing. Then, she turns toward our table. I straighten, a reflex I hate. Alexandra rises like a queen meeting a rival.
She offers her hand to Elle with an effortless smile.
"You must be Elle. Alexandra Beaumont. Damian's date for tonight."
The air in the room dies. A hush falls over the nearby tables. I feel the words hit but I allow it. Besides, she said last night meant nothing so this, apparently, is nothing too.
Alexandra's hand wraps around mine, pinning it to the table. I let it stay. Pulling away now would be a public execution of our narrative. But inside, I am burning.
Elle freezes for a heartbeat. Then, she smile. "I wasn't aware Damian brought a date."
"Family arrangement," Alexandra replies. "It's important for Damian to be accompanied by someone who understands his world."
Translation: His world. Not yours.
Elle steps closer. Her smile doesn't waver. "Yes. And it's important these events stay focused on the children... not the accessories people bring with them."
She doesn't stop there. She looks directly at me. "Besides, people always drift back to where their heart belongs."
Boom. That one lands. An elegant comeback.
She reaches out, her hand finding my collar. Before I can breathe, her lips are on mine. It isn't a soft kiss. It's territorial. It's a claim.
The room gasps. Conversations cut off. People lower their glasses as their eyes widen in amusement. A few soft gasps are heard.
I hear a woman close to us whisper: "Awww, so beautiful."
Elle pulls back, her eyes molten.
"See you later, baby."
And God help me, something in my chest cracks open. That took words out of my mouth. Alexandra's fingers clamp like a vice around my wrist under the table, but I don't feel her. I only see Elle.
"Damian," Elle says, her voice steady.
Alexandra tries to recover. "We were just admiring the program. You should be proud."
Elle gives a single, sharp nod and drifts back into the crowd. She's walking fast. She's fuming.
When I turn toward Alexandra, she's still smiling, but it's now strained.
"That was… dramatic," she says.
I don't raise my voice. I don't have to. "You crossed a line the second you called yourself my date."
Her eyes sharpen. "But Harrison..."
"I don't care what Harrison wants. Don't ever claim me in front of my fiancée again. She is not someone you get to disrespect."
Alexandra goes pale. Her hand loosens from mine. I stand up, discarding her like a broken tool. I need to find Elle.
I weave through the guests, ignoring the whispers. I see her disappearing behind the curtain leading to the lobby. She isn't alone. She's with a man, a donor I don't recognize. He's leaning in too close.
I follow them as the music fades and light dims.
Then I hear it. "No, please stop..."
I round the corner. The man has his hand on her waist, pressing her into the wall. Elle is pushing at his chest, her face tight with fear.
I don't think. I just move.
I grab him by the collar, spinning him around. My fist meets his jaw with a sickening crack. He crashes into the wall and hits the floor hard.
Elle gasps, stumbling back.
The man wipes blood from his lip, dazed. "What the hell..."
I step over him, my shadow covering him completely. "She said no. You're finished here. Walk away now, or I'll make sure you never walk again."
I don't look at him. I turn to Elle. She's shaking.
And for the first time tonight, I don't care about the board, the company, or the medicine in my pocket. I only care that she's safe.