CHAPTER 4 THE GALA

Two weeks of hiding felt like slipping in and out of different worlds.

By day, Elara occupied the quiet safety of Lucian’s penthouse, an impossible sanctuary with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city like a kingdom trapped behind glass. The air smelled faintly of cedar and shadow, of a man who moved silently and lived with a tension carved into the edges of his existence.

By night, Lucian disappeared.

Not for long.

Never without warning.

Never without giving her a look, steady, and sharp burning as if silently telling her to trust him.

She did.

More than she should.

Tonight, he returned at dusk, the city glowing gold behind him as he stepped through the door dressed in a black suit, tie undone, hair damp from the winter rain.

“Elara,” he said softly, eyes finding her immediately. 

“I need you to come with me.”

Her heartbeat lurched.

“Where?” she whispered.

Lucian’s gaze dipped briefly to the small swell of her belly before rising again. Only he could make such a glance feel protective instead of pitying.

“There’s a gala tonight,” he said.

 “People will be watching. Cameras. Security. It’s the safest place in the city.”

A gala.

In a room full of strangers and powerful men, some who might know Damien.

Fear crawled up her spine.

Lucian stepped closer. His voice lowered.

“I won’t let anyone touch you.”

Her breath shuddered.

“I know,” she whispered.

His eyes softened barely, but enough to shift the air between them.

“Trust me tonight, Elara.”

She swallowed.

“I do trust you.”

She didn’t realize until the words left her mouth that they trembled with truth.

Lucian exhaled, slow and controlled.

“Then come.”

He led her to the bedroom. On the bed lay a gown of deep forest green satin, long-sleeved, the fabric shimmering like dark water under moonlight. When she touched it, it slid over her fingers like a secret.

“You bought this?” she whispered.

Lucian looked at her with a quiet intensity.

“I saw it and thought of you.”

Her breath stilled.

No one had ever chosen something for her simply because they thought of her. Not for beauty. Not for tenderness. Damien had bought things for control. For possession.

But this…

“Lucian,” she said softly, “there are cameras. People. I’ll stand out.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

She blinked.

“That doesn’t scare you?”

His voice dropped to a silk-dark whisper.

“The only thing that scares me… is not being close enough if someone tries to take you.”

Her stomach tightened, both in fear and something warmer, deeper, more dangerous.

“Get dressed,” he murmured. “I’ll be waiting.”

******

The gala was held in the Crestfallen Hotel.

A towering marble fortress lit with white stone columns that stretched into the sky. Snow drifted in slow spirals, settling on the awnings and glowing under the lanterns.

Lucian helped Elara from the car only after scanning the street with a careful, lethal precision.

If anyone had ever looked at her with such wordless protectiveness, she didn’t remember it.

Inside, the ballroom glowed with chandeliers that dripped crystal like liquid fire. Music swelled through the air, a violin orchestra, haunting and elegant.

Heads turned immediately.

Lucian Ward, the man the city whispered about, had arrived with a mysterious woman.

Elara felt the heat of a hundred eyes.

Lucian must have sensed her tension, because he leaned close enough for his breath to graze her ear.

“They can look,” he murmured. “But no one touches.”

A shiver ran through her.

She didn’t miss the way men glanced at her dress, her hair, her face. But every time a gaze lingered too long, Lucian’s arm tightened at her waist subtle, possessive, protective.

“Elara,” he murmured, voice low, “you are safe.”

But she wasn’t.

She felt it.

The shift in the air.

Someone was watching her too closely.

Someone familiar.

Someone dangerous.

Lucian noticed her stiffening.

“What is it?”

“I just…”

Her eyes swept the room.

“I feel like someone’s…”

Her breath stopped.

Across the ballroom, near the balcony doors, stood a man in a dark tailored suit. His hair was slicked back, sharp jaw lit by the chandelier’s glow.

Damien Hale.

Her ex-husband.

Her nightmare is carved in flesh and silk.

His gaze locked onto hers instantly cold, gleaming, hungry.

Lucian felt her freeze.

He followed her gaze.

His entire body changed.

The calm lines hardened.

The softness vanished.

His grip tightened around her waist with slow, controlled fury.

“Elara,” Lucian whispered, “look at me.”

She tried.

But Damien began walking toward them.

His smile was slow.

Calculated.

A gun hidden behind a charming facade.

“Elara.” Damien’s voice was silk-smooth, dripping poison. “You’ve been hiding.”

Lucian moved in front of her completely blocking Damien’s view of her.

“She isn’t yours to speak to,” Lucian said, voice a lethal whisper.

Damien chuckled.

“Everything I invest in… always remains mine.”

Elara flinched.

Damien’s eyes flicked past Lucian, making sure she saw the threat.

“You’re showing,” Damien said cruelly. “My child grows inside you while you run.”

Lucian stepped forward.

“If you say one more thing...”

“Lucian,” Damien drawled, “you think you can protect her from me? I know every hiding place in this city. I know every street camera. Every unregistered car. Every safehouse.”

His smile sharpened.

“I let you have her for two weeks. I wanted to see where you’d take her.”

Elara’s blood froze.

Lucian’s jaw tightened with a violence so restrained it vibrated through his entire frame.

“You’ve made a mistake,” Lucian said quietly.

“You should have stayed away.”

Damien leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

“You don’t get to threaten me. You once served my family.”

Lucian’s expression didn’t change.

“That was before you became a monster worth killing.”

Damien’s façade cracked just for a moment.

Something violent flickered in his eyes.

Then he smiled again, stepping back slowly.

“Enjoy your evening,” he said softly.

“Both of you.”

When he disappeared into the crowd, Elara finally breathed.

Her hands shook.

Lucian cupped her face gently.

“Elara,” he murmured, voice low, “I’m sorry you had to see him.”

Her breath quivered.

“He won’t stop, Lucian.”

“No,” he whispered, thumbs brushing her cheek,

“He won’t.”

His forehead touched hers.

Soft.

Careful.

Intimate.

“Which means,” Lucian said, “I have to be twice as dangerous.”

Her heart throbbed painfully.

“Lucian,” she breathed, “what are you planning?”

He looked into her eyes, dark, intense, wounded.

“Whatever it takes,” he whispered.

“To keep you alive.”

Her pulse stuttered.

And in the glow of the chandeliers, for one suspended heartbeat, Elara felt the shift.

Lucian was no longer just her protector.

He was becoming something else

Something she shouldn’t crave,

Something she shouldn’t trust,

Something she couldn’t stop falling toward.

And Damien…

Damien saw it.

The obsession sparked like gasoline behind his eyes.

And the war for Elara had just begun.

The air inside the ballroom felt too thick, too bright, too watched.

Elara needed to breathe.

Lucian saw the panic before she could hide it.

He didn’t ask.

Didn’t hesitate.

He took her hand, warm, steady, grounding and guided her through the crowd with a quiet authority that parted people like waves.

They stepped onto the balcony.

Winter wind rushed around them, cold and sharp, carrying the soft mist of falling snow. The city stretched below, lights flickering, traffic gliding, the world continuing as if her life hadn’t just been threatened by the man she once married.

The moment the doors closed behind them, Elara sagged against the marble railing, breath trembling out of her.

Lucian stayed close but didn’t touch her.

Not yet.

He waited.

“Elara,” he murmured, voice low. “Talk to me.”

Her fingers curled around the railing until her knuckles whitened.

“I wasn’t ready to see him,” she whispered. “Not here. Not like that.”

Lucian’s jaw flexed.

“He followed us. Or tracked us. Either way, that’s on me.”

Her head snapped up.

“No. Lucian, you saved me. If you hadn’t been there…”

His eyes darkened.

“I would never let him touch you.”

Something startled and heated rose inside her, fear tangled with something deeper, something she shouldn’t name.

She stepped closer.

“You’re not responsible for Damien,” she whispered.

Lucian’s gaze swept her face slowly.

“I feel responsible for you.”

Her breath caught.

He didn’t say it possessively.

Not like Damien.

It wasn’t ownership, it was a promise.

Soft

.

Quiet.

Deadly sincere.

“Lucian…” she started.

“Elara.” His voice went darker, deeper. “He won’t stop. You saw that.”

She nodded, swallowing.

“And I can’t protect you,” he whispered, “If you keep pretending this is temporary.”

Her chest tightened.

“I’m not pretending,” she said softly.