Strings Attached
As Eric stepped out, Whitney got to work.
He started with her hair, lifting, curling, pinning with the precision of a sculptor. He left cascading waves that framed her face like art. Then came her nails, manicured to elegant perfection, subtle yet fierce.
"I have to make you absolutely flawless tonight. You have no idea how rare this is. Damien never goes anywhere with a plus one. The only time he did was with Seraphina, and rumor has it, he didn't even leave the event with her. So... darling, you might just be the future Mrs. Lopez."
Eva's eyes widened. "Oh no, you've got it all wrong. I'm going for official duty, nothing personal."
Whitney snorted. "Please. I've known Damien for more than a decade. That man doesn't do accidental."
He was quite the chatterbox, words flowing from his lips like music from a never-ending radio.
"I don't know if it's the college you mentioned earlier, but you indeed remind me of someone as well. If your eyes were just a little less full, and your lips slightly thinner, I'd say you would look like someone. A girl I knew back in college. Ana... yes, that was her name."
At the mention, Eva stiffened. Her breath caught, but she quickly composed herself, nodding slowly.
"She was soft-spoken, calm... just like you," Whitney continued, not noticing her discomfort. "Poor girl. She was bullied a lot. Too perfect for her own good. I always felt bad for her."
Eva tried to remain distant, offering nothing more than a noncommittal "Oh."
"I don't hear from her anymore. Most of us old classmates stay in touch, but Ana? It's like she vanished into thin air."
Whitney kept going, lost in nostalgia. But Eva's mind drifted. The stories he told, she already knew them. She'd lived them. At some point, she started yawning. Then, lulled by his endless chatter and the gentle strokes through her hair, she dozed off.
Whitney continued happily, oblivious.
That was until he accidentally pricked her finger while doing her nails.
"Ouch!" she jolted awake. "Careful, Wilson!"
There was a long pause.
Whitney froze.
"...What did you just call me?"
Eva's heart skipped. Oh no.
"I... I meant Whitney," she corrected quickly.
He blinked, staring at her face with curiosity.
"You know... Wilson's my real name. Haven't gone by that in years. Changed it to Whitney when I got into full-time styling for women. But... there's something about the way you said it. Just now. It sounded exactly like how Ana used to say it..."
Eva clamped her mouth shut, giving nothing away.
Wilsom_Whitney_just kept staring for a moment. Then, silently, he returned to his task.
Eva sat still, willing her heart to slow down. One slip. Just one word, and she almost lost everything.
Damian was dressed in a bespoke, three-piece handmade suit, deep charcoal with satin lapels that shimmered subtly under the warm lights. His crisp white shirt and dark emerald tie completed a look that could only be described as dangerously elegant. Every stitch whispered of wealth and exclusivity. As he stepped into the styling suite, a luxuriously lit room designed for grooming and glam, complete with velvet chairs, golden mirrors, and an ambient scent of oud and lavender, he immediately turned heads.
Whitney, the lead stylist, beamed as he gave Eva one final touch of setting spray, then turned dramatically to present her.
"Hey, big man," he said, his voice playful. "I've got your woman ready."
Damian raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, until Eva stepped forward.
And the air shifted.
He actually gasped. Not out of surprise, but something far deeper. His heart skipped. His breath caught.
Eva looked nothing like the quiet, reserved assistant she was hours ago.
She was breathtaking.
Her dress was a satin midnight-blue mermaid gown that hugged her curves in all the right places, slit high enough to tease, yet tasteful enough to remain elegant. Her long hair was styled in soft Hollywood waves that cascaded over one shoulder, adorned with tiny sapphire pins that caught the light like stars. Her makeup, classic, alluring. Winged eyeliner, soft gold shimmer on her lids, and lips stained the color of wild roses. She didn't just walk into the room, she commanded it.
Damian blinked, unsure if he was staring at the same woman.
"Where did you find this beauty?" Whitney teased, clearly proud of his work. "Tell me, matter of fact, who does she remind you of? Do you still remember Ana? Ana Clarkson from college? I don't know why i ke getting the Ana vibe from her. You remember that beautiful Ana from college, right? Doesn't she look like her?"
The moment Whitney said it, Damian froze.
His gaze locked on Eva like she'd just said the one name that could both wreck and heal him.
Ana.
His eyes studied Eva with a strange urgency, as if trying to peel away the layers of time, truth, and deception.
It was absurd. Illogical. Impossible.
But still...
A low tension pulled in his chest. The resemblance was there, in the curve of her lips, in the way her lashes fluttered, in the mystery that lived behind her eyes.
He very much felt the same way but Eric didn't believe him, now that Wilson mentioned it, he didn't care about logic, he just stare at her intensely. He knew she wasn't Ana, he was not blind, he knew Ana very well, and when she went by the name Tyler he engraved her looks deep into himself, and Eva wasn't Ana, but beyond his rationale he just couldn't shake that strong instinct within telling him otherwise.
And he wondered why. Perhaps they only just look alike.
Eva was someone else.
He reminded himself of that over and over.
But still, his heart refused to listen.
Eric, sensing the shift in energy, quickly stepped in.
"Oh come on, Whitney," he said with a nervous chuckle. "Miss Eva is way prettier than Ana ever was. Sure, there might be a hint of resemblance, but don't confuse the boss. He's had enough ghosts already."
Then turning to Damien, Eric said gently, "Sir, don't take him seriously, okay?"
But Damian didn't reply.
He just kept looking at her.
Crystal Crown Gala
The night sparkled with opulence.
The Crystal Crown Gala was a masterpiece of luxury. Chandeliers dripping with diamonds hung from the ceilings of the Royal Marq Ballroom. A red carpet, longer than most runways, led into a hall swarming with the world's elite, billionaires, tech giants, oil magnates, and CEOs from across the globe. Cameras clicked in rapid succession. Lights flashed like lightning in a storm of celebrity.
Couples arrived in chauffeur-driven limousines, stepping out in tailored tuxedos and couture gowns. Names were announced with reverence as reporters and commentators hailed each arrival.
"Mr. and Mrs. Crossfield from the Berlin Tech Empire!"
"CEO Adrian Khalifa and his wife, model and philanthropist Meera Khalifa!"
The flashes intensified with each high-profile entrance.
Then suddenly, a hush fell over the entrance... and then came a ripple of noise.
"It's Damien Lopez!"
A gasp, then murmurs.
He had actually come. The reclusive prodigy. The mysterious billionaire. The genius of the Lopez dynasty.
All heads turned.
Damian stepped out of the limo like a force of nature, his presence magnetic. But it wasn't just him.
Eva was by his side.
She stepped out behind him with quiet confidence, and the world stilled.
People leaned forward. Cameras turned in her direction. For a moment, she outshone even Damien.
Who was she? His woman? His muse? His mystery?
She looked like a fairy draped in starlight. Elegant. Untouchable.
The cameras went wild.
Speculations erupted in whispers.
"Who's she?"
"Is that his girlfriend?"
"She looks like a queen!"
"I've never seen her before, he's always alone!"
But Damien? He didn't care.
He offered her his arm like a gentleman from another era, and she took it, her fingers light but unsure.
They walked the red carpet, side by side.
Power and beauty.
Mystery and fire.
And the world watched, captivated.
But Damien entered the hall without sparing a glance at the murmuring crowd or the sea of eyes glued to his every step.
Soon, the spotlight shifted to him as he was called to the stage. The applause erupted from every corner of the grand venue, thunderous and reverent. Up there, beneath the soft golden lights, Damien looked almost divine as he stood on the stage like a god in a tailored suit, commanding envy, admiration, and awe with every step.
Eyes followed him, some in reverence, others in burning jealousy. But one gaze pierced through the rest. Victor
Victor gazes fixed on him, stood out like a dagger in the dark "
He watched Damien on stage like a lion eyeing its prey, silent, dangerous, and calculating.
Meanwhile, Eva stood off to the side, head bowed, fingers flying across the iPad in her hands. To outsiders, she might have looked like Damien's elegant date. But to those who knew better, she was working, focused, detached. Or at least trying to be.
Eric mingled with a few high-level businessmen, managing appointments, casually updating Damien's schedule while also glued to his own device.
Damien soon rounded off his speech with poise, earning another wave of claps and admiration. As he stepped off the stage to shake hands with a few executives, Eva remained in her quiet corner... until a sudden, firm hand gripped her arm.
She gasped softly and turned, only to meet Victor's burning glare.
He yanked her aside, his eyes dark with fury.
But none of which escaped Damian's eyes