Elle
"I've spent years surrounded by people who only care about the name, the money, the power," he says, his voice steady, carrying just enough to hush the ballroom. His hand stays wrapped around mine, grounding me. "But you…" His gaze drops slightly, as if he's afraid to admit it, then lifts back to meet my eyes. "You make it feel real again. Like I can breathe."
My fingers twitch, the traitors torn between escape and the terrifying warmth of his hand.
His jaw flexs once, like he's holding in more than he wants to say. "You're the only one I want beside me. Tonight, tomorrow, always."
The air folds around us, heavy and fragile at the same time and my throat feels tight.
Then he releases my hand, only long enough to lower himself onto one knee. The movement is deliberate, not rushed. His eyes never leave mine.
When he speaks again, his voice feels like magic. Like it was meant for me alone.
"Will you marry me?"
The grand ballroom falls silent. The lights, the music, the cameras, all frozen.
Then, leaning close so only I can hear, he whispers, "Please… say yes. I'll explain later."
My breath hitches. My pulse beats so hard it's all I can hear. His words sink in. And then, like a shadow slipping through my mind, my gift stirs; that strange flicker I get sometimes.
It's happened before. Moments slipping through me like echoes of lives I never lived.
For a second, I see him somewhere else. Not here, not now, but in another time. A tired man. A sad man. Heavy with something I can't name. That same look lives in his eyes now.
People around us start to whisper.
"Surprise engagements never go well," someone murmurs behind me.
"Who is she?" another hisses. "Has he been dating in secret? Why haven't we seen her on the blogs until now?"
Heat spreads through me. My plain black dress began to feel like a mistake among the glitter and silk. I just want to disappear.
But his grip doesn't loosen. He holds me like I was already his.
And before I can stop myself, the word slips out: "Yes."
The hall explodes. Cheers. Claps. Camera flashes. My knees go weak as he stands and slides the ring through my finger. For a heartbeat, I'm not in the ballroom anymore. I'm nowhere. Just noise, lights, and the dizzy weight of a word I didn't mean to say.
He wraps his arms around me, his voice low against my ear. "Thank you."
My lips twitch before I can stop them. "I hope this thank-you comes with medical insurance, because I'm about to faint."
Then, louder for the crowd, he shouts: "She said yes!"
The cheers double. Cameras flash. My head spins with it all. A tall man in a sharp suit appears at his side.
"Take her to my office," he says quickly.
The man nods, and gently pulls me away, cutting through the crowd.
I barely have time to breathe as we slip into a quiet corridor, leaving the noise behind. My heart races, my skin still buzzing with the echo of what I've just done. Gosh! I just got engaged.
As we walk toward heavy gold-trimmed doors, my brain scrambles for air. None of this makes 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'd just settled in to continue "The Crowned Heart" our current favourite 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 everytime, 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 slipped into a short black gown, sandals, and tugged my hair bonnet off, letting my curls fall. I had no energy for more.
When I arrived, I stood outside the glass doors, calling Camila again. No answer. I tried once more, pacing, clutching her notebook so tight. Still nothing. The line was dead.
I almost turned around, I should have turned around. My couch, my popcorn, my peace of mind, all waiting for me. But the music spilling from the hall pulled me closer. Just five minutes, I told myself. I'd find Camila, drop it off and leave.
The guard at the door gave me one curious glance before waving me in. I adjusted the strap of my bag, straightened my simple gown, and stepped inside.
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.
I didn't know it then, but the tension in the air wasn't just about the champagne. People were watching Damian Blackwell, whispering and waiting. Something about him looked ready to snap, like he was being hunted by his own world.
And when his eyes met mine, I realized he'd just found his way out. When I looked at him, something in me shifted. Like I had seen him somewhere before in one of my visions.
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 am again, his hand still burning against mine, when a man's voice cuts through the fog.
"Ma'am." He says it once, then again, firmer. "Ma'am, this way."
I blink, realizing I've been standing there replaying everything in my head. I nod and follow.
The office is quiet, heavy with silence that seems to press against my skin. Dark wood panels line the walls. Shelves of books, neat and untouched, stretch high. A wide desk sits like a throne at the centre.
"Please, wait here," he says, gesturing toward a leather chair near the desk.
I sit down, clutching Camila's notebook tighter. If I go missing tonight, at least she'll have notes to plan my funeral.