Elle
"I've spent years surrounded by people who only care about the name, the money, the power," he said, his voice even, carrying just enough to hush the ballroom. His hand stayed wrapped around mine, grounding me. "But you…" His gaze dropped slightly, as if he was afraid to admit it, then lifted back to me. "You make it feel real again. Like I can breathe."
My fingers twitched, the traitors, torn between escape and the terrifying warmth of his hand.
His jaw flexed once, like he was holding in more than he wanted to say. "You're the only one I want beside me. Tonight, tomorrow, always."
The air seemed to fold around us, heavy and fragile at the same time. My throat felt tight.
Then he released my hand, only long enough to lower himself onto one knee. The movement was deliberate, not rushed. His eyes never left mine.
When he spoke again, it was magical. Like it was meant for me alone.
"Will you marry me?"
The grand ballroom had gone silent. The lights, the music, the cameras, all frozen.
Then, leaning close so only I could hear, he whispered, "Please… say yes. I'll explain later."
My breath hitched. My pulse beat so hard it was all I could hear. His words sank into me. And then, like a shadow slipping past my mind, my gift stirred. That strange flicker I get sometimes.
It had happened before—moments slipping through me like echoes of lives I never lived.
For a second, it was like I had seen him before. Not here. Not now. But somewhere in another time. A tired man. A sad man. Heavy with something I couldn't name. That same look was in his eyes now.
People began to whisper.
"Surprise engagements don't really go well," someone behind said softly.
"Who is she?" another hissed. "He's been dating in secret? Why haven't we seen her on the blogs until now?"
Heat spread through me. My plain black dress felt like a mistake among the glitter and silk. I wanted to disappear.
But his grip didn't loosen. He held me like I was already his.
And before I could stop myself, the word slipped out: "Yes."
The hall broke. Cheers. Claps. Camera flashes. My knees felt weak as he stood, slipping the ring through my finger. He wrapped his arms around me, his voice low against my ear. "Thank you."
My lips twitched before I could stop them. "I hope this thank-you comes with medical insurance, because I'm about to faint."
Then, louder for the crowd he shouted: "She said yes."
The cheers doubled. Cameras flashed. My head spun with it all. A tall man in a sharp suit appeared at his side.
"Take her to my office," he said quickly.
The tall man nodded, pulling me with him as he cut through the crowd.
I barely had time to breathe as we slipped into a quiet corridor, leaving the noise behind. My heart was still racing, my skin still buzzing with the echo of what I'd just said. Yes. I had just said yes.
And as we walked toward heavy gold-trimmed doors, my brain scrambled for air. None of this made sense. A few hours ago I wasn't saying yes to strangers in suits, I was curled up on the couch with a half bowl of popcorn, convinced my biggest problem was which episode came next.
I had just settled in to continue "The Crowned Heart", our current favorite drama series. Camila and I had been bingeing it for weeks. She should have been home watching the next episode with me. Instead she was at her company gala.
I had just gotten comfortable again, sinking deeper into the cushions, when my phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
I groaned, not wanting to move. But the buzzing didn't stop, so I dragged myself across the room and flipped the phone over.
Camila.
"Hey," I answered, sounding lazy. "Shouldn't you be bossing waiters or charming investors right now?"
Her voice came out rushed, breathless. "Elle, please—save my life. I left my work jotter at home."
"Your what?" I frowned.
"My jotter! The brown one. All my notes. If my boss notices I don't have it... oh God... I'm finished."
I sighed, leaning against the counter. "Cam, really? I was two bites away from selling my soul to Netflix and popcorn. And now you want me to risk my life for your evil overlord of a boss?"
"Please. It's on the coffee table. I need it, Elle. You know how he is. If this gala goes wrong, he'll tear me apart. And you know we need this job, baby."
That voice—the one that makes me give in and makes it impossible to say no—wrapped around my resolve. I glanced back at the couch, at my blanket, at the popcorn. My quiet night was slipping away.
"You owe me for this," I muttered.
"Anything, I swear, just bring it. Please. I'll meet you inside."
I pinched the bridge of my nose but grabbed the notebook anyway. It was thick, leather-bound, and looked way too serious for the man I only knew through Camila's complaints.
It wasn't supposed to take long. I was only dropping it off.
I put on a simple short black gown, slid into sandals, tugged my hair bonnet off, and let my curls fall. I had no energy for more.
When I arrived, Camila didn't pick up. She didn't reply to my texts either. So I walked in alone.
The ballroom was too big, and bright. Chandeliers hung like crowns of fire. The air smelled of roses and expensive perfume wrapped together with the sharp sting of champagne.
Everywhere I looked, people were wrapped in perfect gowns and sharp suits, their movements polished, their smiles practiced. They belonged here.
And me? I held Camila's silly notebook like proof of why I didn't belong. I was already planning my escape route when the crowd seemed to part, and that's when I saw him.
Damian Blackwell.
I didn't know his name then. But when I saw his face, something in me shifted. Like I had seen him somewhere before in one of my visions.
His eyes found mine across the crowd. Dark and sharp, but tired underneath. The kind that only comes from carrying too much for too long.
And then he was moving toward me. Almost storming, like he'd just escaped a battlefield. His jaw tight, his shoulders stiff, his gaze locked on me as if I were the only one in the room.
Before I could think, his hand closed around mine. Cameras turned. Gasps rippled. Yet, his hand stayed locked around mine.
And now, here I was again, his hand still burning against mine when a man's voice cut through the fog.
"Ma'am." He said it once, then again, firmer. "Ma'am, this way."
I blinked, realizing I'd been standing there replaying everything in my head. I nodded and followed.
The office was quiet, heavy with the kind of silence that seemed to press against your skin. Dark wood panels lined the walls. Shelves of books, neat and untouched, stretched high. A wide desk sat like a throne at the center.
"Please, wait here," he gestured toward a leather chair near the desk.
I sat down, clutching Camila's notebook tighter. If I went missing tonight, at least she'd have notes to plan my funeral. "Thank you..." I started.
The door flew open.
"Elle?" Camila stood in the doorway, eyes wide, color drained from her face. She stared for a long beat, then the words came out all at once, sharp and loud: "What the hell?"