The charity luncheon was already in full swing when we arrived.
Crystal glasses. Soft music. Carefully curated smiles.
The kind of event where reputations were traded more easily than money.
Every conversation paused the second Damien Cross walked in.
And then—
Every gaze slid to me.
Curiosity. Judgment. Hunger.
I felt it like a physical weight.
Damien's hand rested lightly at my lower back as we entered.
Not affectionate.
Not possessive.
Deliberate.
A message.
She's mine. Look, but don't touch.
"Smile," he said under his breath.
I did.
The room buzzed instantly.
Whispers bloomed like rot.
That's her.
The Carter girl.
She married him?
Isn't her father—
I kept my head high.
If they wanted a show, I'd give them one.
---
"Damien," a woman in emerald silk purred as she approached. "You didn't mention you were bringing your wife."
"I don't make announcements," he replied coolly.
Her gaze flicked to me, sharp and assessing.
"How… unexpected," she said.
I smiled politely. "Life is full of surprises."
Her lips thinned.
Score one.
---
We moved through the room with calculated ease. Damien spoke business. I listened.
Watched.
Noted.
I recognized faces from newspaper clippings and courtroom photos.
Then I saw him.
Marcus Hale.
Helix Group's golden boy.
The man who'd shaken my father's hand in public and stabbed him in private.
He stood near the center of the room, laughing easily, champagne in hand.
When his eyes met mine—
His smile faltered.
Just for a second.
Enough.
Damien felt the shift immediately.
"You know him," he murmured.
"Yes," I replied softly. "He helped put my father in prison."
"Good," Damien said calmly.
"Good?"
"I like knowing exactly where to apply pressure."
---
Marcus approached us moments later.
"Damien Cross," he said warmly. "I heard congratulations are in order."
Damien inclined his head slightly. "Mr. Hale."
Marcus turned to me, his gaze lingering a second too long.
"And you must be the new Mrs. Cross," he said. "I didn't realize desperation could be so… profitable."
The words were quiet.
Sharp.
Meant only for me.
My spine straightened.
Before I could speak, Damien did.
"Apologize," he said calmly.
Marcus blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"To my wife," Damien continued. "Now."
The surrounding chatter faded.
People sensed blood.
Marcus laughed lightly. "You're being dramatic."
Damien stepped closer.
Just one step.
But it changed everything.
"You're standing in my space," Damien said softly. "Insulting my wife."
Marcus's smile faltered.
"I suggest," Damien finished, "you correct yourself."
Silence.
Then Marcus turned to me, jaw tight.
"My apologies," he said stiffly. "I spoke out of turn."
I smiled.
"Accepted," I replied. "But do try to remember—my family isn't weak just because you thought you buried us."
His eyes darkened.
Damien's hand pressed more firmly against my back.
A warning.
To Marcus.
To everyone.
---
As Marcus walked away, the room erupted back into noise.
But the balance had shifted.
I felt it.
People watched me differently now.
Less pity.
More caution.
"You handled that well," Damien said quietly.
"I'm not fragile," I replied.
"No," he agreed. "You're not."
That was the closest thing to praise I'd ever get.
---
Halfway through the luncheon, a waiter brushed past me and slipped something into my clutch.
I froze.
Damien felt it instantly.
"What is it?" he asked without looking at me.
I excused myself and stepped into a quiet corner, my heart pounding.
Inside my clutch was a folded note.
Three words.
We know. Leave him.
My blood turned to ice.
I looked up slowly.
Across the room—
Marcus Hale was watching me.
Smiling.
And suddenly, I understood something terrifying.
This wasn't just about my father.
Or Damien's empire.
They weren't afraid of Damien Cross.
They were afraid of me.