My heels clicked too loud on the marble floor, echoing like guilt as I walked faster through the gilded hallway. The noise of the gala behind chatter, clinking glasses, and cameras flashing faded into a low hum. But Ethan's words rang louder.
Still pretending you're not mine?
I wasn't his. Not anymore. Not ever again.
I could feel Damian's presence behind me calm, cold, unreadable. We hadn't spoken since the encounter. Not a word. Not even a breath. But I could feel his stare burning into my back like a warning.
We reached a quieter part of the villa, somewhere near the rear terrace. I stopped beside a stone column draped in ivy, the night air cooler against my skin.
"What is he holding over you?" Damian's voice cut through the silence like a blade. No warmth. No confusion. Just sharp precision, like he already suspected the worst and was giving me one last chance to lie.
I turned to face him. "Nothing."
He stepped closer. "Try again."
I swallowed, trying to breathe evenly. "He's just doing what he's always done trying to mess with my head."
Damian didn't blink. "You flinched when you saw him."
"You would too if your past showed up in a designer suit and tried to ruin your present."
He tilted his head slightly, calculating. "He knows something. Or thinks he does."
I crossed my arms, more to hold myself together than to look defiant. "Ethan's bluffing. He likes to cause chaos. That's all."
Damian stared at me for a long second, then said, quieter but more deadly, "I know what he did."
My stomach turned.
"What?"
"I know what Ethan did to you," Damian said. "I know everything."
The silence cracked between us like glass.
I opened my mouth, but no words came. My brain scrambled to process what he meant. How much did he really know? What had he seen? Heard?
Damian took a step back, giving me space but not letting me go. His voice was steady, too steady. "Naomi found something. Background checks. Records. He wasn't careful."
I looked away, heart racing. "It's in the past."
"He hurt you."
"He didn't leave a mark you could report," I whispered.
"That doesn't mean it didn't happen," he said.
I hated that his voice sounded gentler now. Like pity. Or worse like he finally saw me as weak.
I didn't want to be pitied. Not by him. Not after everything.
"You don't get to suddenly care, Damian," I said, sharper than I meant to. "Not just because Ethan showed up. I've been surviving this long without anyone."
"I'm not asking if you survived," he said, eyes hard. "I'm asking what it will cost if he keeps talking."
I blinked.
Right. That's what this was really about.
Not Ethan. Not me.
The contract. The image. The Kingsley name.
My lips twisted into something bitter. "Don't worry. I won't let your PR fairy tale fall apart."
"I'm not worried about the fairy tale," he said.
That threw me. For a second, just a flicker, I saw something real flash across his face. Frustration. Concern. Something that didn't feel rehearsed.
But then it was gone. And he was Damian Kingsley again tux pressed, jaw set, emotion locked behind boardroom walls.
"There's more coming," he said. "We need to be a united front."
"So this is strategy now?" I asked, arms still folded. "You want me to stand by you because it looks better?"
"I want you to stop looking like prey," he snapped.
That hit me in the chest.
I turned away, the cool stone of the column grounding me.
"You think I want this?" I asked quietly. "The cameras, the lies, the ghosts showing up in tuxedos? I didn't sign up for this, Damian. I signed a contract. And I did it for my sister."
Damian was quiet for a beat. Then, softer than I expected, he asked, "Does she know?"
I shook my head. "She thinks I got a job. She thinks everything's fine."
He didn't answer right away. And when he did, his voice was different quieter, not sharp but tired. "Ethan isn't going away. If there's a weakness, he'll use it. If there's a lie, he'll dig until it bleeds."
"I know," I said.
"So what do we do?"
I looked up at him then. And for the first time, I didn't see just a billionaire hiding behind his suits and silence. I saw a man trying not to lose control.
And I hated that I understood that look too well.
"We play the part," I said. "We smile. We hold hands. We pretend none of this touches us."
He nodded once. "Until?"
I met his eyes. "Until it stops being pretend."
Neither of us spoke after that. The silence stretched, but it wasn't cold anymore. Just tired. Like we'd both been carrying too much for too long.
Finally, he said, "We go back in ten minutes. Naomi's watching the media boards. If anything breaks—"
"I know," I said. "I'll be ready."
His eyes lingered on mine for a second too long.
Then he turned and walked away.
—
I stayed there under the ivy, breathing in the cool air, trying to steady myself.
The thing about being strong is that nobody sees you until you break. And even then, they still expect you to smile through it.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Lily.
"Saw you on Twitter. You looked like a queen. Is he nice to you?"
I stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
My reflection shimmered in the glass. The dress. The glam. The lie.
I typed:
"Yeah. He's really good to me."
Then I locked the screen and slid it into my clutch before the tears could catch up.
The lights of the gala flickered through the archways behind me, music echoing like it belonged to someone else's life.
But I knew better now.
This wasn't about pretending anymore.
This was about survival.
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn't Lily.
No name. Just a photo.
I tapped it—and froze.
Me. From tonight.
Smiling beside Damian.
Taken from the shadows.
Then another image loaded.
Lily. Alone. Hospital gown. Eyes swollen.
A message followed:
Nice party. Shame what people miss when they're too busy pretending.
My stomach dropped.
And just like that, the cold came rushing back.