Chapter 2 - The Devil You Don’t Know

- Adelaine’s POV -

My heart was thundering as Dante led me across the ballroom. Every pair of eyes was fixed on us, not in mild curiosity, but stunned, reverent disbelief. The whispers started before we even reached the centre of the room, soft at first, then rippling louder, laced with questions.

“Is that… Dante Moreau?”

“She’s been hiding him this whole time?”

“No one’s ever seen him with a woman—”

Dante’s touch at the small of my back was barely there, but grounding. He moved like he belonged, not just in the room, but in my life. Collected. Cold. Infinitely controlled. He didn’t even blink at the spectacle we’d become.

I, on the other hand, felt dangerously close to vomiting my insides out.

“What exactly are you doing?” I whispered, barely turning my head.

“Better question,” he murmured back, “is what you just did. I’m impressed.”

“You’re not going to blow this up?”

His mouth quirked into something between a smirk and a threat. “Sweetheart, you just paraded me through a room full of bored aristocrats and shattered half their assumptions. I wouldn’t ruin that for the world.”

We reached the bandstand. The music cut off with a jarring chord, and all that remained was the collective silence of a room that had just been handed a royal scandal.

My father stared, stiff with confusion and anger. My mother looked like she might faint. Sofia, my cousin, was wide-eyed and slack-jawed. She wasn’t even trying to pretend like she wasn’t eavesdropping. And somewhere behind all the crystal and candlelight, I knew Zain was probably watching, unaware that the moment meant for him now belonged to someone else. I couldn’t care less where Elaine was.

I turned to face the crowd and gave the smallest smile I could manage. “Everyone,” I said, my voice smooth from years of media prep, “thank you for being here tonight. It means the world to me.”

The room stilled.

“I know you’ve all been curious. Some of you even made bets,” I added with a light laugh, which was met with a ripple of nervous chuckles. “But I’m honoured to finally introduce you to the man I’ve been keeping to myself, Dante Moreau.”

Gasps. A glass shattered. Someone actually whispered holy shit.

Because that name, that face, that man, wasn’t just rich. He was untouchable. Elusive. A billionaire ghost whose appearances were limited to boardrooms and court filings. No woman had ever been seen on his arm. No tabloid had ever caught him in a compromising photo. If there had been a sweepstakes for Least Likely To Be Secretly Engaged To Me, he would’ve been the odds-on favorite.

And now, I’d just claimed him.

The room erupted into murmurs, questions, speculation, and even envy.

“That’s why she kept it quiet…”

“God, what a power move.”

“This is a PR masterclass.”

Dante said nothing, just slipped his hand around my waist and drew me into the dance we’d never rehearsed, because now, the performance was everything. The music returned, and I let him lead, our bodies close enough to pass for love.

I felt oddly powerful. I had just rewritten the narrative in front of an entire room, and no one was none the wiser.

His mouth brushed my ear, his voice velvet-wrapped steel.

“Your secret’s safe,” he said. “But now they all think you tamed a monster.”

I met his eyes, my heart pounding harder than ever.

“Let them.”

“Why now?” someone called out.

Dante paused and reached for the mic with a grace that made it seem like it had always belonged in his hands. He smiled slightly, just enough to charm but not enough to gloat.

“We kept things private for personal reasons,” he said smoothly. “But I’ve loved Adelaine for longer than I should probably admit. Tonight felt like the right time to stop hiding.”

“How long have you two been together?” someone asked, one of my father’s old political contacts, swirling his whiskey with mild interest.

“Nearly a year,” Dante said before I could answer. “It started at the charity gala her foundation hosted last spring.”

I blinked. That was… alarmingly accurate.

“You remembered that? You were there?”

He gave me a sidelong look. “I do my homework.”

I turned back to the man. “We didn’t want to invite speculation too early.”

“Well,” the man said, eyeing us with a smile, “you certainly picked a dramatic way to go public.”

Dante smiled, unfazed. “Life’s more fun when you colour outside the lines.”

The man could lie like a seasoned politician.

And the terrifying part? He did it with such conviction that I almost believed him myself.

Dante never left my side after the dance, not once. He held my hand, tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and leaned in with little asides that looked like sweet nothings to anyone watching.

And I played my part. Because if I dropped the mask for even a second, the whole illusion would collapse.

Later that evening, when the music had softened and the champagne was running low, my father finally stood. The room quieted at once, because when Charles Montclair spoke, people listened.

He smiled, that practiced kind of smile that looked warm from far away, but up close, it was stiff at the edges. He lifted his glass and let his gaze sweep across the guests.

“Tonight has been… memorable,” he said, his voice smooth and calm. “My daughter has chosen to share something very special with us, and I could not be more proud.”

People clapped politely, some even cheered. I stood beside Dante, my arm looped through his, my throat tight. My father’s eyes flicked to me for half a second, sharp as a blade, before he looked back at the crowd.

“But as you all know,” he continued, his tone shifting into something gentler, “these evenings can be tiring for the bride-to-be. I think we can all agree she has given us a night to remember.”

There were soft chuckles, approving nods. To anyone else, he sounded like a caring father, ushering guests out so his daughter could rest.

But I knew the truth. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and the longer it stayed on his face, the angrier he was. He hated surprises. He hated being left out of control. And he hated being made to look unprepared in front of people.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said, raising his glass one last time. “We look forward to seeing you again soon.”

The applause was warm, admiring. People whispered about what a good man he was, how thoughtful, how kind. No one saw the way his jaw tightened as he lowered his glass. No one noticed his hand curl into a fist at his side.

Only I knew what that tightness meant.

Guests began filing out, still buzzing with gossip. My mother stood beside him, her smile frozen, her eyes dull with the quiet strain of someone who’d been smoothing cracks her whole life. She didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. The tension around her was enough.

When we finally stepped into the hall, away from the crowd, the mask slipped. His hand shot out, gripping my arm harder than he needed to. His voice stayed low, still wrapped in the calmness he’d used for the party, but the words were colder.

“You just embarrassed me, Adelaine,” he whispered. “We will discuss this at home.”

The pressure of his grip made me wince. He didn’t care.

Before he could lead me toward the waiting cars, Dante shifted. He stepped in front of my father and placed his hand firmly over mine, pulling me toward him.

“She’s coming with me,” Dante said. His tone wasn’t loud, but it carried weight. Enough to turn the hallway silent.

For the first time that night, my father’s smile vanished completely. His eyes locked on Dante’s, cold fury flashing beneath the surface. They stared at each other, the kind of stare that made the air feel heavy, like something dangerous was about to break loose.

But Dante didn’t flinch. He tugged me forward with him, his grip steady and sure.

“Goodnight, Charles,” he said simply, and walked me straight out of the building.

As Dante pulled me through the doors and into the cool night air, my lungs finally unlocked. For the first time all evening, I could breathe.

And even though tomorrow would come, and with it the aftermath I dreaded, tonight Dante Moreau had saved me.

That alone was enough to keep my legs moving.