The Azure Pinnacle Hotel's ballroom shined like something out of a dream-someone else's dream,Not certainly mine. Chandeliers poured gold across a sea of couture gowns and slick black suits, turning everyone into polished ornaments designed to impress. Even the laughter sounded styled,like it had been practiced in those etiquette classes.
I stood near the giant windows, slightly apart from the crowd, staring at the blurred city lights beyond the glass. The ruby pendant around my neck felt heavier with every passing second. Damien had given it to me months ago during one of those stiff, camera-ready couple dinners we were always expected to attend.
"Red looks good on you," he'd said, eyes glued to his phone.
Meaning: You look okayish. You match the deal.
I sighed, fingers brushing the gemstone. It was beautiful, yes. Everything Damien touched usually was. But something about it always felt like a tag tied to me, not exactly a gift in my books.
I'm Liora Grey—twenty-four,daughter of the Grey family, invisible by design, artisan jeweler by my rebellion. My step-father, Victor, ran the Grey luxury empire with a terrifying efficiency that never included compassion in the spreadsheet. My mother cared more about optics than oxygen, her world basically revolving around sponsorship dinners and socialite prestige.
And then there was Megan—Evelyn's cherished daughter. Twenty-two,self proclaimed influencer , Victor's favorite because she sparkled exactly how the public liked its diamonds: bright, flawless, and outspoken.And of course she was his own blood.
Me? I made jewelry in my loft at night, selling my pieces under LunaForge, the last sacred thing that truly belonged to me.
And only me
But none of that mattered tonight.
Tonight was about the merger.
The big one—the one that tied our family to the Hart empire through me and Damien. Two years of curated dates, stiff photos, pretentious smiles. All for an engagement I never asked for.
Just survive, I reminded myself every time.
Damien had disappeared about thirty minutes ago. "Quick chat with Megan," he'd murmured, brushing my elbow like I was an item on his to-do list before vanishing into the crowd.
My clutch buzzed.
Julia: At the bar. Megan's peacocking hard. Victor's looking for you. Want some extraction?
A smile tugged at my lips. Julia Park—my best friend, my designated rescuer since high school.Middle school to be precise. Brilliant software developer with more confidence in her pinky finger than I possessed in my entire body.
Me: One toast. Damien vanished again.
Julia: Saw him with Megan earlier. Could be work. Could be… you know.
Yeah ! Exactly
I rolled my eyes.
Before I could reply, a familiar jasmine scent drifted toward me.
Ugh...I hate this smell
"Liora." My mother's voice dripped refinement. Evelyn's silver gown shimmered like moonlight poured into fabric. She reached out to fix the pendant on my collarbone,though there was nothing to fix."Don't lurk in corners. Smile.Talk. People notice."
"I'm waiting for Damien," I said, because that was easier than explaining everything else.
"Waiting is passive." She gave a light, calculated laugh. "Megan's already trending tonight. Her dress is all over social media."
Of course it was.
"Try being more… present," she added. Translation: Be more like Megan.
"I'm not competing," I said softly.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said with a tilt of her head, "everything is competition whether you are in it or not."
Victor appeared then—tall, stern, wearing his authority like armor.
"Cassandra Hart is asking about the announcement," he said abruptly. "If Damien doesn't move tonight, we re-evaluate your role in this."
My role. Not my happiness. Not my boundaries.
Just my role.
My throat tightened. "He'll be here," I managed.
"He better," Victor said sharply. "Your workshop's budget depends on closing this chapter girl"
Of course it did.
I needed air. Real air, not filtered through social climbing and ulterior motives.
I slipped through the crowd and headed toward the private lounge—a relatively quieter room behind velvet ropes where people held whispered conversations and pretended they were invisible.
Inside, warm amber lighting softened everything. For a second, I could breathe.
Then I heard a laugh.
A familiar one.
Megan's.
My stomach dipped.
I moved toward the sound before my brain could form a plan. Curiosity, dread, instinct—who knew? All I knew was that something felt wrong.
I rounded the corner and froze.
Damien stood there in the dim alcove, jacket gone, tie just as loose, his posture relaxed in a way I rarely saw. Megan pressed close to him, red dress clinging like it had been made for this exact moment. Her fingers were in his hair. His hand was on her waist.
Their lips were… connected.
Deeply. Definitely. Unmistakably.
My breath caught. I couldn't move.
Then the heel of my shoe betrayed me, scraping against the marble floor.
They jerked apart.like the scumbags they were
Megan's eyes widened for half a second before she crafted a perfect expression of innocent surprise. "Liora—this… this isn't—"
Damien didn't look guilty. Annoyed, maybe. "Bad timing."
The phrase punched the air from my lungs.
Not the timing, but you definitely
"How long?" My voice wasn't loud, but it was steady.
Megan stepped forward, adjusting her dress like she was the one who'd been intruded on. "There's been so much pressure on all of us. Victor, Cassandra, the merger—things got confusing."
"Rough night," Damien added, like that explained everything.
Rough night.
What do I make of it.
Rough night?
The pendant around my neck suddenly felt suffocating.
Julia pushed into the room like a force of nature, eyes scanning the entire scene in less than a second.
Behind her, Victor, Evelyn, and Cassandra arrived, shock rippling across their faces.
"Explain," Victor barked.
Damien didn't blink. "I said I'll handle it."
No apology. No even a denial.
And something inside me… cracked.
My hand flew before I thought it through.
The slap echoed. Damien's head snapped to the side. A red mark blossomed across his cheek.
Yes ! You deserve this asshole
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Then his lips curved. Slowly. Darkly.
A smirk.
"Feisty," he murmured, voice low.
Heat rushed to my face. Not embarrassment. Not shame.
Fury.
Feisty! What am I ? A cat ?
I unclasped the pendant and dropped it into his open palm.
"We're done," I said, each syllable deliberate.
"Liora—"
Julia grabbed my arm. "Exit. Now."
We strode out, leaving them staring after us like an unfinished equation.
The elevator doors closed, muting the angry voices behind us. Victor's rage, Evelyn's excuses, Cassandra's fury—none of it mattered anymore.
"Loft?" Julia asked softly.
I nodded.
"Good," she said. "Pippa will love the drama."
Pippa. My tiny Pomchi with a warrior spirit. My emotional support . My comfort.
Outside, rain hit the pavement in sheets. The cab ride home was a blur of neon lights and numb silence.
When I finally reached my loft, Pippa bounded toward me, barking indignantly like she'd been practicing a speech for hours. I scooped her up, burying my face in her fur. For the first time that night, something felt real.
Julia ordered takeout and flopped dramatically onto my couch. "So. Men are trash."
"Agreed," I whispered.
And some women too.
Hours later, she fell asleep mid-rant. Pippa curled against me protectively, her tiny heartbeat steady beneath my hand.
I lay awake longer.
The whole night replayed—Damien's expression, that stupid smirk, the way he'd looked at me in the elevator lobby like something new was settling into his mind.
Weird.
That was the only word for it.
Not longing.
Not regret.
Not obsession.
Just… weird.
Completely inexplicable.
I didn't care enough to analyze it.
"Men," I muttered, stroking Pippa's fur. "They're exhausting."
Pippa growled in agreement.
Gosh...I still have her
My eyelids slipped shut. I knew tomorrow would be messy—Victor, the press, Cassandra, Megan's inevitable victim-act and whatever that's to come.But right now, in this tiny loft with this tiny dog, I felt something close to peace.
Whatever Damien Hart thought he was doing, whatever strange look he'd had in his eyes… it wasn't my problem anymore.
And I wasn't about to waste energy trying to understand him.
"If he keeps acting weird," I mumbled, drifting toward sleep, "I'll let Pippa handle it."
She wagged once, accepting her future battlefield.
I won't think about Damien Hart.
Not tonight.
Probably not ever again.
I just pressed my face against Pippa's warm fur and let the world fade out foe now.
I was done.