The city never really slept. But that night, it held its breath.
Rumors of internal investigations at Cross Enterprises were everywhere—from quiet murmurs in private lounges to breaking news splashed across morning headlines. Anonymous sources. Inflammatory reports. Stock prices dipped, but the real damage was being measured in silence.
And in that silence, Damon stood before the mirror in his bedroom, buttoning the final clasp on his cuff.
The reflection that stared back at him looked calm. Controlled. But beneath the tailored suit and expensive watch was a man reeling.
Not from the chaos outside.
From the sacrifice someone else had made in his name.
He heard the soft sound of footsteps behind him, then the delicate creak of the closet door. Serena emerged slowly, adjusting the straps of her black gown. Sleek. Elegant. It shimmered slightly under the warm golden lighting.
But it wasn't the dress that made his breath catch.
It was the look in her eyes.
Unshaken. Unapologetic. Dangerous in the way only someone who had given up everything for love could be.
"I spoke to Julian," Damon said quietly.
She didn't flinch. "Then you know."
"I know enough." His voice was low, but heavy with meaning. "You traded your silence for my survival."
"I didn't do it to be noble," she replied. "I did it because they were going to bury you. And I wasn't going to let that happen while I stood around in heels and waited to be part of your downfall."
Damon turned fully now, stepping toward her.
He reached for her hands and took them into his, bringing them to his lips.
"You didn't owe me that."
"No," Serena agreed. "I didn't. But love isn't about what we owe, Damon. It's about what we choose."
He studied her face—every sharp line of bravery softened only by the slight tremble in her jaw.
"What did he ask of you in return?"
Her eyes didn't drop. "Nothing I couldn't handle."
"That's not an answer."
"I'll tell you one day," she said gently. "But not tonight. Tonight, we walk into that storm together."
---
The gala was everything a distraction should be—chandeliers and champagne, music and media. The world's elite had gathered in shimmering gowns and pressed tuxedos under the guise of philanthropy, but everyone knew the real reason they'd come:
To see if Damon Cross would fall.
And who he'd fall with.
So when Serena stepped from the black car by his side, arm laced through his, the entire crowd turned.
Flashes erupted. Murmurs swept across the courtyard.
And Damon didn't flinch.
He held her hand tighter.
Inside, the ballroom was a tempest of whispers. Every conversation carried an edge. Every glance had the weight of judgment.
Serena smiled.
Let them watch.
They'd see the truth soon enough.
---
Later that night, beneath the golden dome of the rotunda ceiling, she and Damon stood alone on the balcony, staring at the city lights.
He lit a cigarette, something she hadn't seen him do in months.
"I hate that you had to do this for me," he said after a long silence.
"I hate that you think I wouldn't."
He turned to face her, shadows sharpening his cheekbones. "You realize what you've started?"
She nodded. "You told me once you don't play to lose."
"And you?" he asked.
"I don't play to lose people I love."
That word—love—hung in the air between them. Like a fragile thread. Or a fuse waiting to be lit.
She didn't take it back.
He didn't run from it.
Instead, Damon stepped close, his palm cradling the curve of her jaw.
"You're not the girl I met that night in the library," he murmured.
"No," she whispered. "I'm the woman who walked through fire and came back to find you."
---
They didn't return home that night.
Instead, they checked into a quiet villa at the edge of the city—one of Damon's old sanctuaries no one else knew about. A place forgotten by time. Ivy-covered stone walls. A fireplace already waiting.
Inside, Serena pulled the pins from her hair one by one, each clatter on the dresser soft and deliberate. Damon watched from across the room, his jacket discarded, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the curve of his collarbone.
"I don't know what happens next," he said.
"Neither do I," she replied, unzipping the back of her gown. "But I'd rather find out with you than wonder alone."
He crossed the room and stopped behind her.
His hands touched the bare skin of her back—fingertips trailing up along her spine. A reverent touch.
"You terrify me," he said into her hair.
"Then hold on tighter," she whispered. "Because I'm not letting go."