The ballroom swallowed them again, the chatter of people echoing, but Ava's pulse hadn't slowed since the study. Damian's arm was solid beneath her hand, his stride purposeful, parting the crowd like a blade. People turned, their smiles sharpening when they saw who escorted her.
Damian Cross.
Every gaze lingered on her, but Ava felt only his. As though invisible wires tied her to his focus, as though he could strip away the silk and lies and see her standing bare beneath the glittering lights.
She forced Elena's mask tighter. Smile. Breathe. Do not tremble. She reminded herself
At the edge of the ballroom, a waiter approached with champagne on his tray. Damian picked up one glass, passed it to her, then dismissed the man with a look. His eyes returned to her, and the weight of them was worse than the silence.
"You hide it well," he said softly.
Her grip tightened on the glass, her heart almost dropping to her stomach. "Hide what?"
"The way your heart races when you lie."
The words lodged in her chest. She forced a laugh, it was a light and dismissive one "If you intend to insult me, Mr Cross, you should be more creative. I've heard better from drunken senators."
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. "I don't insult, Miss Sinclair. I observe."
He raised his glass to his lips, and Ava swallowed the retort burning her tongue. He was baiting her, testing how far she'd bend before she broke.
And the worst part was, he seemed amused.
Hours passed quickly. Conversations washed past her. But always Damian was there at her side, near her shoulder, his presence like a shadow she couldn't shake. Not once did he leave her to stumble. Not once did he release the invisible leash.
When the gala finally wound down, he guided her past rows of black cars, toward one sleek and gleaming limousine waiting at the curb. His driver opened the door.
Ava immediately faltered. "I can call my own ride."
His gaze caught hers, it was steady and unreadable. "You came here under my roof. You'll leave under my roof."
His words weren't a suggestion.
Her pulse stuttered. She slid into the leather seat, the scent of expensive smoke and clean steel filling her lungs. Damian joined her, the door shutting with a finality that made her skin prickle. This wasn't the plan!
The city blurred past the tinted windows. Aand the Silence between them thickened.
She couldn't let him lead every step. She had to strike back, if only to remind herself why she was here.
"So," she said, her tone cool, "is this how you entertain all your guests? Locking doors? Cornering them in dark rooms?"
"Only the ones who try to steal from me."
His gaze never left her face. She hated the way her stomach tightened.
"I wasn't stealing."
"No?" His voice dipped lower. "Then tell me what you were looking for."
Her mouth dried. Her lie perched on her tongue. What was the best thing to say? That it was out of curiosity, a wrong turn, a mistake, but something in his eyes froze her. He knew. Maybe not everything, but enough.
He leaned back, his fingers drumming once against his knee. "You're not who you say you are."
Her breath caught.
The words were soft, almost casual, but they landed like a hammer.
"I've met enough liars to recognise another," he continued. "The little slips in your story, the hesitation when someone asked about your family. You built yourself well, but not perfectly."
Ava's heart slammed against her ribs. She forced Elena's mask into place, but the edges were cracking.
"I don't know what you're implying," she whispered, still keeping up with her lies. If she were caught now, then everything would go to waste; she wouldn't be able to find Lily.
Damian tilted his head, studying her as though she were a puzzle. "I don't need to know your real name. I only need to know this: you came into my world with intent. And intent, Miss Sinclair, is far more dangerous than truth."
The car slowed. Through the window she saw the looming silhouette of his estate, an expanse of glass and stone on the cliffs, watching the city like a predator.
Her chest constricted. What had she done, walking willingly into this den? How the hell was she going to get out of this! Her heart dropped, and her throat tightened.
The driver opened the door. Damian stepped out first, then extended a hand. She hesitated. His brows arched, a silent challenge. Slowly, she placed her hand in his, the heat of his palm closing around hers like a shackle. She had to keep calm; it wasn't over yet.
The entire time as they walked towards the house, she was afraid her knees would give out because of how nervous she was, but she managed to remain calm outwardly.
Inside, the mansion was colder, darker than the gala. Shadows pooled in corners, broken only by flickers of light against steel and marble.
Damian dismissed the staff with a glance. Then it was just them, silence thick around them.
He turned to her, his hands sliding into his pockets. "You intrigue me."
Her throat tightened. "That isn't mutual."
The faintest glimmer of amusement touched his mouth. "No? Then why break into my study? Why follow ghosts into locked rooms?"
Her stomach twisted. He was closer to the truth than she wanted.
"I told you," she said. "I was lost."
"And I told you," he replied, stepping nearer, "that you're lying."
The air between them became charged. Ava's pulse roared in her ears. She couldn't let him get in her head; she had to remain calm!
"Whatever game you're playing," he continued, his voice low, "you've already lost."
Her chin lifted, defiance sparking in her eyes "Then why haven't you thrown me out?"
His silence stretched. Then he smiled, a slow, deliberate, wolfish curve.
"Because, Miss Sinclair… I'd rather keep you."
Her heart stumbled. Keep her!
"I need a wife," he said simply. "And you will do."
The words struck like lightning.
She blinked, stunned. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. A year. No more. In exchange, you'll have everything your fabricated little world could never buy, protection, influence, immunity from questions you don't want asked."
Her voice cracked. "Why me?"
He stepped closer, close enough that his breath stirred the hair near her ear. "Because you're a liar. And liars make the best wives. They understand performance."
A shiver tore down her spine.
He straightened, his gaze cool, certain. "Say yes, and your life becomes untouchable. Say no…" His smile sharpened. "And I'll strip away the mask you've worked so hard to build, until you're nothing but ashes in front of the world."
The room tilted. Ava's hands curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms.
He knew. He didn't know everything, maybe not about Lily, maybe not about why Ava had come but he held enough of the truth to ruin her.
And yet beneath the fear, a spark burned.
Marriage.
To him.
It was madness. But it was also the only way closer. The only way inside his fortress.
The only way to find her sister.
Damian watched her, calm as a man waiting for a coin to drop.
Her lips parted, her voice barely steady. "What would this… marriage entail?"
"Appearances," he said. "Dinners. Public events. You will smile when I tell you to smile, and stand where I tell you to stand. Behind closed doors, you'll keep silent. One year. At the end, you'll walk away richer than you could dream."
"And if I refuse?"
His eyes darkened, shadows swallowing the faint gleam in them. "Then I'll find out who you really are. And I'll make certain no one else ever does."
Ava's pulse thundered.
She should run. She should scream. She should burn her mask and disappear before this man devours her whole.
But Lily's face swam in her mind. Lily's laugh, Lily's promise that she'd be home after the gala.
And Ava knew there was no turning back.
Her hand trembled as she lifted her chin, as though courage could hide the terror twisting her inside.
"One year," she said.
Damian's smile was slow, satisfied, lethal.
"Welcome to the Cross Empire, Mrs Sinclair."