Elena stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching the dance unfold like a carefully rehearsed play. Beneath glittering chandeliers and polished marble, the city's elite moved with graceful indifference, masked both literally and emotionally. Everyone wore a disguise. And tonight, she was no exception.
Her mask, a sleek black creation edged with silver, covered the top half of her face. It was elegant. Classic. And completely at odds with the firestorm brewing inside her.
She hadn't seen Damien since the contract signing three days ago. Since she'd foolishly allowed him to kiss her. Since she'd let herself feel the pull she had sworn to resist.
But he was here now.
Standing across the ballroom in a tailored black tuxedo, his mask etched with jagged lines of gold, he looked like a fallen angel on the verge of destruction. Or damnation. Maybe both.
Their eyes locked.
Even through the crowd, even through the haze of music and chatter, she could feel the heat of his gaze on her skin like a brand. He didn't move. Neither did she.
A waiter passed with champagne. She took a glass and drank it in one gulp. Liquid courage.
"Elena," a voice whispered beside her.
She turned. Lucien Voss.
He wore no mask. Only a satisfied smirk and the arrogance of a man who believed the world owed him everything.
"You clean up well," he said, eyes sweeping over her dress—a blood-red gown that clung to every curve and left little to the imagination.
"And you reek of expensive cologne and bad intentions," she replied coolly.
He chuckled. "Is it so wrong to compliment my soon-to-be sister-in-law?"
Her fingers clenched around the stem of her glass. "I'm only here for the appearance, Lucien. Let's not pretend you care about anything else."
"Oh, I care." His voice dropped. "Especially about you. But Damien always did like stealing things that belonged to me."
Before she could respond, Damien was suddenly at her side, his presence like a sudden eclipse.
"Is there a reason you're speaking to my fiancée?" he asked Lucien, voice sharp as shattered glass.
Lucien's smile turned mocking. "Just admiring the family jewel."
Damien took Elena's hand. "Find another exhibit. This one's not for you."
He led her away, not waiting for a reply.
The moment they were alone on the balcony, Elena yanked her hand free. "You don't own me."
"No," he said quietly. "But for now, you wear my name."
She glared. "This is all a game to you, isn't it? Possess, control, protect… destroy. Do you even know what you want from me?"
His eyes darkened, mask hiding half his face, voice low and raw. "Everything."
She froze.
"Damien—"
"I never stopped wanting you, Elena. But now... now I need more than just your body. I need your loyalty. Your trust. And yes—your love."
She laughed bitterly. "You destroyed all that the night you left me bleeding."
His jaw tightened. "I was trying to protect you."
"From what?"
He hesitated, then stepped closer. "From myself."
Her heart slammed against her chest. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to pretend you were the noble one."
"I was a mess, Elena. Still am. But you… you've always been the only thing that made sense."
She turned away, unable to breathe under the weight of his honesty.
Behind them, the sound of music swelled. Laughter. Applause.
Fake joy.
Real pain.
He reached for her. Not forcefully, not like before—but with something rawer. Gentler.
"Elena, I need you to believe something. Lucien… he's not just dangerous. He's planning something. This marriage—our alliance—it keeps you safe."
Her brows furrowed. "You're not making sense."
"I can't give you all the details yet. But trust me, Lucien's interest in you isn't just because you're mine. He wants to hurt me. Through you."
A chill crawled down her spine. "He mentioned something like that. Said you 'always stole things that belonged to him.'"
Damien's expression turned cold. "You don't belong to anyone. Not me. Not him. But I'll kill before I let him touch you."
The possessive edge in his voice should've infuriated her.
Instead, it made her pulse race.
Damien stepped back then, as if giving her space was the hardest thing he'd ever done.
"Just dance with me," he said softly. "Pretend tonight is real. That we're not enemies. That maybe… just maybe… you never stopped loving me either."
Against every warning in her head, she nodded.
They returned to the ballroom, and as the orchestra played a haunting waltz, Damien pulled her into his arms.
They moved in perfect time, his hand firm on her waist, her fingers trembling in his.
For a few stolen minutes, the world melted away.
No lies.
No pain.
Just the rhythm of a dance that had begun long before they were ready for it.
And would end only when one of them broke.