CHAPTER EIGHT: HEADLINES AND HEELS
MAYA
It started with pounding on my door.
"MAYA COLLINS! OPEN THIS DOOR BEFORE I DRAMATICALLY DIE ON YOUR FLOOR!"
I cracked it open to find Lola in a robe, messy bun, one slipper on, phone clutched like a holy relic.
"You're trending," she whispered.
I blinked. "Is this about my last article?"
"No." She shoved her phone into my face. "This is about him."
There it was. A photo of me and Damian leaving the Lebanese restaurant last night. We weren't touching, but the energy between us was obvious. His hand hovered near my lower back. I was smiling. He was looking at me like… like I was his.
The headline screamed in bold font:
"Mystery Woman Dines with Billionaire-in-Hiding? Damian Voltaire Spotted with Unnamed Beauty After Months of Disappearance!"
My stomach dropped.
"Billionaire?" I said, barely above a whisper.
Lola's mouth dropped open. "Wait. You didn't know?"
I didn't answer. Because I was too busy clicking the article.
Damian Jules Voltaire, only son of Voltaire Holdings' chairman, has been off the grid for months. The former corporate golden boy was once set to inherit one of the largest global health-tech empires until he disappeared from the spotlight. That is, until last night…
The article went on to speculate about our relationship. How long we'd been "involved." Whether I was a social climber. Whether this was his return to the spotlight.
I couldn't breathe.
I felt like the floor gave out beneath me.
LOLA
"Babe," I said gently, "are you okay?"
She was still staring at the screen, silent. Her face pale.
"He lied," she said finally. "All this time. All those workouts. All those talks. And he never told me who he really was."
"To be fair, he never lied," I offered. "He just… didn't tell you."
"That's worse."
She dropped the phone onto the table like it burned.
Then: "I need air."
MAYA
I didn't go to Elevate Lab.
Didn't check in with my editor. Didn't write.
I just paced.
And thought about all the little things I ignored. The expensive watch. The way people looked at him on the street. The quiet control in his voice. And of course… the name.
Voltaire.
I texted him:
"So… billionaire, huh?"
No reply.
Typical.
DAMIAN
Cass was waiting when I got home.
"You're trending."
"I know."
"You realize what this means, right? Every major outlet will be calling. The board's already asking questions. Your silence was the only thing keeping the narrative buried."
I didn't respond.
Because all I could think about was Maya's face the night before. Her laugh. The warmth that made me forget everything I was supposed to be running from.
I should've told her.
Instead, I did what I knew best controlled the damage.
MAYA
At midnight, I got the email.
Subject:
Golden Gala Invitation
Dear Ms. Collins,
You are cordially invited to the 42nd Annual Golden Gala hosted by Voltaire Holdings.
Attendance confirmed by Damian Jules Voltaire.
Dress code: Black Tie.
Transportation available upon request.
I stared at the screen.
It wasn't an apology. It wasn't even a conversation.
It was an invitation.
To his world.
To everything he hadn't told me.