CHAPTER NINE: BLACK TIES & BOLD TRUTHS
MAYA
There's a special kind of anxiety that comes from Googling "how not to embarrass yourself at a billionaire gala."
I didn't have to worry about transportation. At exactly 6:30 p.m., a sleek black luxury car pulled up outside my apartment. The driver stepped out, addressed me by name, and opened the door like I was royalty.
Inside the car was a single white rose, a velvet box with a delicate bracelet, and a note:
"I'm glad you're coming. – D"
Lola stood at the window watching like it was a Netflix premiere.
"You look like a scandal waiting to happen," she said, eyes wide with approval.
"That's comforting."
I wore a deep emerald gown, backless, with slits that made walking an Olympic sport. My hair was swept up, my heels were criminally high, and I smelled like expensive rebellion.
"You're Cinderella," Lola declared, "if she had boundaries and trauma and possibly pepper spray in that purse."
"Exactly the vibe I was going for."
The gala was at the Voltaire Foundation's rooftop ballroom. Crystal chandeliers, champagne towers, violinists in tuxedos.
It was like stepping into a movie I hadn't auditioned for.
Everywhere I turned, people were glammed up and glowing. Networking with champagne. Laughing with tailored polish. Money was in the air soft, scented, and smug.
I suddenly felt like I was walking through someone else's dream.
Then I saw him.
Damian.
In a black tuxedo that looked like it had been stitched directly onto his body. Sharp jaw, slick hair, eyes scanning the crowd like a prince at war.
When our eyes met, time flickered.
He walked toward me with that steady, unbothered confidence. The kind that makes the room fade.
"You came," he said.
"You sent a car, a rose, and a note. I'd feel rude declining."
"You look like trouble."
"I'm wearing it on purpose."
He smiled. Not the polite gym smile. The real one. The rare one.
He took my hand gently and tucked it into the crook of his arm. And for the first time since entering the ballroom, I felt like I belonged.
Then someone called his name an older man in a silver suit with eyes like polished stone.
"Your father," Damian said under his breath. "Be right back. Don't wander too far."
Spoiler: I wandered.
I ended up at a champagne bar, trying to blend in.
Then a woman in a navy sheath dress approached.
"You're the girl from the video," she said. "The one with the trainer."
I froze.
"Don't worry," she added with a smirk. "The board thinks it's brilliant PR. You're... authentic. You make him look human."
I forced a smile, but it cracked at the edges.
I didn't want to be a PR move.
Back in the crowd, I found Damian standing with a group of men in identical power suits. His expression was hard, neutral.
When he saw me, his posture changed slightly, but enough.
He excused himself and came to me.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Depends," I said. "Am I here as your date, or your brand strategy?"
His jaw ticked. "You're here because I wanted you here. And because I knew this world would try to make you feel small."
I stared at him.
"You don't belong to them," he said. "Neither do I."
He offered his hand.
I took it.
The rest of the night blurred.
He introduced me to people like I mattered. Like I wasn't just some side story.
He danced with me to music so slow, I forgot the room existed. We moved like gravity wasn't real.
He whispered little things between songs:
"I haven't seen you smile like this since you started training."
"You make me forget all the boardroom crap."
"You being here means more than I can explain."
And I knew deep in the bones of me that he wasn't faking this.
Neither was I.
At one point, someone tried to pull Damian into a press circle. He refused.
"I'm off duty," he said, glancing at me.
Then he leaned down and whispered, "Let's leave."
We stepped into the night. The city lights below looked like stars had fallen to earth.
We took the elevator down in silence. But his thumb brushed mine the whole way.
He walked me to the car, his hand never leaving mine.
At the curb, he paused.
"I'm not perfect," he said.
"Good," I replied. "I'm tired of pretending I am."
He leaned in, just close enough that I felt it but far enough that I could stop it.
I didn't stop it.
And when his lips met mine, it wasn't fireworks.
It was silence.
And I hadn't felt peace like that in a long, long time.