Sophia's POV
The dress was red.
Not just red, red. The kind of red that demanded attention. That said look at me, I dare you.
I stood in Damien's penthouse guest room, staring at the garment bag Margot had left with a note: Wear this. Trust me. —M
The dress had a neckline that plunged just enough to be dangerous, a slit up the thigh that was borderline scandalous, and fabric that hugged every curve I had.
This wasn't a dress. This was a weapon.
Are you decent? Damien's voice came from outside the door.
No, I called back, even though I was still in my work clothes.
The door opened anyway.
Of course it did.
Damien stood in the doorway wearing a tuxedo that should be illegal. His dark hair was styled back, his gray eyes sharp as knives, and he looked every inch the Devil of Wall Street.
I said I wasn't decent, I snapped.
And I don't care. His gaze traveled over me—still in my plain work dress—and his mouth curved. Is that what you're wearing to the gala? Because if so, we need to have a serious conversation about strategy.
I was getting to it. I gestured at the red dress. But this is, it's too much.
It's perfect. He walked into the room like he owned it. Which, technically, he did. Put it on. We leave in thirty minutes.
I can't wear this. Everyone will stare
That's the point. He picked up the dress and held it out to me. Tonight, you walk into that ballroom and remind everyone—especially the Wellingtons—that you're not the broken girl they discarded. You're powerful. Dangerous. Untouchable.
I'm none of those things.
Not yet. His voice dropped. But you will be. Now put on the damn dress, Sophia. We have a statement to make.
He left, closing the door behind him.
I stared at the dress in my hands.
This was insane. Walking into The Plaza—the same ballroom where Marcus had humiliated me—wearing a dress that screamed confidence I didn't feel.
But Damien was right about one thing: I couldn't hide forever.
I put on the dress.
When I emerged from the bedroom, Damien was pouring two glasses of scotch. He turned, saw me, and went completely still.
His expression shifted, something dark and hungry flashing in his eyes before he locked it down.
Well? I asked, my voice shakier than I wanted. Will this work?
Christ, he muttered. You're trying to kill me.
Heat flooded my cheeks. Is that a yes?
That's a 'Marcus Wellington is going to choke on his champagne when he sees you.' He crossed the room and handed me a glass. You look like you could conquer kingdoms, Firecracker.
The nickname sent warmth through me.
I feel like I'm going to throw up, I admitted.
Good. Fear keeps you sharp. He clinked his glass against mine. To terrible ideas and worse revenge.
I drank, letting the scotch burn away some of my nerves.
What's the plan? I asked. We walk in, make a scene, and leave?
We walk in, you stay by my side, and we let them see that their threats mean nothing. Robert Wellington will be there. Probably Marcus and Vanessa too. They'll try to rattle you. Don't let them.
And if I do?
His hand settled on my lower back, possessive and steady. Then I'll handle it. But you're stronger than you think, Sophia. Trust yourself.
I wanted to. God, I wanted to.
But the last time I'd walked into that ballroom, I'd left in pieces.
Ready? Damien asked.
No. Not even close.
Yes, I lied.
The Plaza was exactly as I remembered—elegant, intimidating, dripping with old money and older power.
We walked through the entrance, and heads turned immediately. Whispers started, spreading through the crowd like wildfire.
Is that Sophia Chen?
I thought she was blacklisted
With Damien Cross? Oh my God.
I forced myself to keep my chin up, my expression calm. Damien's hand stayed on my lower back, grounding me.
Then I saw them.
Marcus and Vanessa stood near the bar, both dressed to perfection. Marcus's face went pale when he spotted me. Vanessa's eyes narrowed with pure hatred.
Good.
Breathe, Damien murmured in my ear. You're doing beautifully.
We moved through the crowd. People parted for Damien like he was royalty—or something more dangerous. Several men nodded respectfully. Women watched him with barely concealed desire.
But everyone was looking at me.
The disgraced daughter. The accused thief. The woman who'd been publicly destroyed.
Now standing beside the Devil of Wall Street in a red dress that cost more than most people's monthly rent.
Sophia. My father's voice made me freeze.
He stood three feet away, looking older than I remembered. Patricia was beside him, her expression cold.
Dad, I said quietly.
What are you doing here? His eyes darted to Damien. With him?
Working, I said simply. Mr. Cross hired me as his personal assistant.
You need to quit. Immediately. My father's voice was urgent. You don't understand what you're getting involved in
I understand perfectly. I kept my voice steady. I'm finally working for someone who doesn't throw me away the moment it's convenient.
He flinched.
Patricia stepped forward. Sophia, dear, you're making a terrible mistake. Mr. Cross is using you to get information about your father's company. Can't you see that?
Can't you see that I don't care? I smiled sweetly. You destroyed my reputation. Stole my career. Turned everyone against me. Why would I protect you now?
Because I'm your father
You stopped being my father when you blocked my number and let them call me a thief. The words came out cold and final. Excuse us. We have people to see.
Damien guided me away, his hand firm on my back.
Well done, he murmured. That took courage.
That took three months of rage, I corrected.
We'd made it halfway across the ballroom when a voice stopped us.
Damien Cross. How unexpected.
Robert Wellington stood before us, all polished charm and hidden venom. Up close, he looked like an aging lion—still dangerous, but aware his time was running out.
Robert. Damien's voice was ice. Still buying your way out of federal investigations?
Robert's smile didn't waver. Still ruining companies for sport?
The tension was suffocating.
And Miss Chen. Robert turned to me. I must say, you've landed on your feet remarkably quickly. Though I wonder how long Mr. Cross's... charity will last once he realizes you have nothing of value to offer.
She has plenty of value, Damien said smoothly. Which is why I hired her. Why? Does that concern you?
Concern? No. But I do worry about Sophia. She's made some poor choices lately. Working for you seems like another one.
Is that a threat? I asked before I could stop myself.
Robert's eyes glittered. A threat? My dear, I'm simply offering friendly advice. Cross Capital has a reputation for being... demanding. I'd hate to see you overwhelmed by responsibilities you can't handle.
She can handle anything I give her, Damien said, his voice dangerous. Unlike your son, who couldn't handle basic honesty with his fiancée.
Direct hit. Robert's smile tightened.
Marcus and Sophia's relationship ended amicably
He humiliated her publicly and stole from her father's company, Damien interrupted. That's not amicable. That's criminal.
The room had gone quiet around us. People were watching, listening.
Robert's mask slipped slightly. Be careful with your accusations, Cross. Slander is still illegal.
It's only slander if it's false. Damien smiled, cold and sharp. And we both know it's not.
Dad. Marcus appeared at Robert's shoulder, his face flushed. We should go
But it was too late. Damien had already made his point.
Robert Wellington's empire was built on lies. And everyone in this room now knew that Damien Cross was coming for him.
This isn't over, Robert said quietly.
No, Damien agreed. It's just beginning.
Robert and Marcus left, Vanessa trailing behind them with poisonous looks in my direction.
The crowd burst into whispers.
Did you hear that?
Cross basically accused Wellington of fraud
In front of everyone
I should feel victorious. Powerful.
Instead, I felt exposed. Vulnerable. Like I'd just painted a target on my back.
Come on, Damien said. Let's get some air.
He led me to a balcony overlooking the city. The cool November air hit my face, and I could finally breathe again.
That was... I trailed off.
A declaration of war, Damien finished. Robert Wellington now knows I'm serious. That I'm not backing down. And that you're with me.
You made me a target.
You were already a target the moment you signed that contract. He turned to face me. But now everyone knows that if they come for you, they're coming for me too. And no one's stupid enough to make that move.
Except the Wellingtons.
Especially the Wellingtons. His smile was dark. Which is exactly what I want. Desperate people make mistakes.
My phone buzzed in my clutch. I pulled it out.
Unknown number. Again.
You made a mistake tonight. He can't protect you from what's coming. Last chance to walk away. —A friend
I showed Damien the text.
His expression went deadly. They're escalating.
Should I be worried?
Yes. But not for the reasons you think. He took my phone and forwarded the text to himself. Alex will trace this. In the meantime, you don't go anywhere without security. And I mean anywhere.
Damien
This isn't a game anymore, Sophia. You stood beside me tonight. You declared your loyalty publicly. The Wellingtons will see that as betrayal. And they don't forgive betrayal.
Fear crept up my spine. What do they do?
Whatever it takes to eliminate the threat. His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheek. But I meant what I said. You're mine to protect now. And I've never lost anything I've claimed.
The possessiveness should bother me. Instead, it made me feel safe.
We should go back inside, I said quietly.
In a minute. His eyes searched mine. Are you okay? Really?
Was I? I'd just confronted my father and stepmother. Watched Damien publicly challenge Robert Wellington. Received another threatening text.
I don't know, I admitted. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff.
You are, he said simply. The question is: do you jump, or do you let them push you?
I thought about Marcus's pale face. My father's guilt. The way everyone had stared at me in that red dress like I was someone who mattered.
I jump, I said.
His smile was proud and dangerous. That's my Firecracker.
We turned to go back inside, and froze.
Standing in the doorway was a woman I didn't recognize. Older, elegant, with sharp eyes that looked eerily familiar.
She was staring at Damien like she'd seen a ghost.
Julian? she whispered.
Damien went rigid beside me. No. I'm not
Oh my God. You're Damien. The woman's eyes filled with tears. You look just like him. Just like your brother.
My heart stopped.
Who are you? Damien's voice was barely controlled.
My name is Eleanor Cross. The woman stepped forward. I'm your aunt. Your father's sister. And I've been looking for you for twenty years.