CHAPTER FOUR — THE FIRST APPEARANCE
The alarm buzzed harshly in the penthouse. Emilia's eyes snapped open, heart pounding as if she'd been running in a nightmare.
Her black folder lay on the desk, its edges perfectly aligned, almost daring her to ignore it. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling, trying to steady her racing thoughts.
Tonight… no, this morning, she had to meet the world. Ares's world.
Her stomach twisted. She had dressed for moments like this before, interviews, presentations, but nothing had ever prepared her for Ares Donovan's world.
Slowly, she rose, careful not to wake the quiet apartment that felt more like a gilded cage than a home. She opened the wardrobe and stared at the choices. Simple. Elegant. Not too flashy, not too casual. She settled on a fitted black dress that ended just above the knee, paired with the modest heels she'd brought from her old life.
A knock came from the door, soft but deliberate. Her pulse spiked.
"Miss Hart," came a low voice from the other side. "Breakfast is ready. Ares will meet you in fifteen minutes downstairs."
It was the butler—or one of the staff, she wasn't sure yet. She swallowed. Fifteen minutes to calm her nerves. Fifteen minutes to adjust to a world she didn't belong in.
She sat at the small dining area, staring at the untouched plate of eggs, toast, and coffee. Her hands shook. The aroma of coffee was strangely grounding, yet she couldn't force herself to eat.
The clock ticked faster than normal. Ten minutes. Eight. Five.
Finally, she left the plate. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, the black folder tucked under her arm. She descended the private elevator, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest.
The Lobby of Appearances
The penthouse floor opened into a long hallway leading to the private lobby reserved for high-profile guests. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, reflecting soft light onto the marble floor. Ares was already there.
He leaned casually against the railing, eyes scanning a cityscape only he seemed to own. Even in casual posture, he exuded control. The suit he wore now was charcoal gray, crisp, expensive, perfect. Every detail about him screamed dominance, power, and untouchable wealth.
Emilia froze at the sight of him. Her heels clicked softly against the marble, announcing her presence.
"You're on time," he said, voice low, not a compliment, not a scold—just a statement.
"I… yes," she stammered, adjusting the strap of her bag.
"Good," he said, straightening. "Keep your composure. You represent more than yourself today."
Her stomach knotted. Represent more than myself. She had no idea how heavy that would feel until now.
The Drive
They left the tower in another black car. She couldn't see the driver, couldn't see the route—they simply moved through streets that glimmered with wealth, past buildings she'd only seen in magazines.
Ares didn't speak. He didn't need to. The silence alone carried weight.
Her fingers brushed the black folder in her lap. She wanted to read the rules again, memorize them like armor, but she dared not. Every rule had a sting of control. She didn't want to think about them now. Not when she was about to face a room full of strangers who could sniff her inexperience like predators.
"You'll stay close," Ares finally said, breaking the silence. His eyes were on the road, but his voice cut through her thoughts like a blade. "Not too close, not too far. Perfect balance."
"Perfect balance," she repeated quietly. She wasn't sure if he meant in posture, in behavior… or in how her heart responded.
The Event
The venue was vast—a gala in a historic hall with golden arches, chandeliers, and hundreds of well-dressed attendees. Cameras flashed, reporters whispered, and every glance she felt seemed like a test.
Ares's hand briefly touched the small of her back as they entered. Not guiding, not protective… asserting. She stiffened, remembering Rule #5: maintain the appearance of closeness.
She nodded subtly. He didn't say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched—almost imperceptibly. Approval.
They were greeted immediately by people she didn't recognize but who recognized him. Names were dropped casually—board members, investors, socialites. He nodded once, two words exchanged here and there. And she… she stood quietly by his side, nodding, smiling, moving when he moved, keeping the rhythm of his life in step.
It was exhausting. Terrifying. And she couldn't stop noticing the way people's gazes lingered on him, and occasionally, on her, questioning why she existed there at all.
Rule Number One in Action
An assistant whispered something to Ares. He didn't move toward her. He didn't warn her. But she sensed it. A question. A challenge. A lie.
She remembered Rule #1: do not lie to him.
Her heart hammered. This was more than etiquette—it was survival. She smiled, answered honestly, even if the truth seemed small and irrelevant. His stormy eyes met hers, assessing, weighing, approving just enough to keep her alive in this world.
Unexpected Tension
Ares leaned toward her slightly during a brief pause in the speeches. His cologne hit her—stronger, more intoxicating than ever.
"Do not falter," he murmured.
"I… won't," she whispered, unsure if she was promising herself or him.
He straightened, surveying the room, then whispered again, almost to himself:
"She's different."
She didn't know whether to feel relief, pride… or terror.
A Minor Threat
Suddenly, a woman's voice rang out, sweet and deceptively soft.
"Emilia, isn't it? Quite the bold choice to step into Ares Donovan's circle."
Emilia turned. A tall, perfectly composed woman with sharp eyes and designer dress had appeared at the edge of the crowd.
Ares stiffened slightly. Emilia noticed, and her pulse quickened. This was Lydia Hale, she remembered from the briefing. A high-society heiress with a reputation for manipulation.
"I… I'm just here as per Mr. Donovan's arrangement," Emilia said carefully.
Lydia's smile was sweet. Poisonous. "Of course. I just hope you know… circles like this don't forgive mistakes."
Ares's hand brushed Emilia's back again. "Ignore her," he said quietly. But his jaw tightened slightly, and Emilia felt a flash of the danger beneath his calm exterior.
First Real Test
The evening progressed. Conversations, handshakes, champagne, compliments. Emilia moved as Ares moved, a shadow tethered to him.
But a simple misstep—dropping her napkin, almost bumping into a glass table—made the first rip in her composure. She bent quickly to retrieve it, but eyes had seen, whispers had passed.
Ares's hand rested lightly on her elbow. His gaze, sharp and unyielding, met hers.
"Not again," he said softly, enough for her alone.
Her face flushed. She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. The rules weren't just on paper—they were alive, breathing, and he was watching.
Cliffhanger Moment
The night was nearly over. Cameras flashed, speeches ended, and the final applause echoed. Emilia was exhausted, barely able to maintain her smile.
Then, a man approached. Unknown. Dark coat, sharp eyes. His gaze fixed on Emilia.
He whispered something she didn't understand, but she caught the words:
"Leave him… or you'll regret it."
Emilia's blood ran cold.
Ares was beside her instantly, the movement so fluid it was as if she had been tethered to him by invisible threads.
The man stepped back, disappearing into the crowd.
Ares's hand gripped her shoulder lightly—but firmly.
"Who is he?" she asked, voice trembling.
He didn't answer.
Instead, his eyes, stormy and unreadable, locked onto hers.
"This… is why the rules exist," he said quietly. "And we're just getting started."
Emilia realized, with a chill, that her life had shifted permanently.
Not just into Ares's world.
Into his dangers, his secrets, his obsession.
And nothing—no rules, no preparation—could have readied her for the storm ahead.