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The Seating Arrangement

Author: Andrea
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-09-09 20:54:45

The engagement party ended in a blur.

I don't remember leaving. I don't remember getting home. I only remember collapsing onto my bed and staring at the ceiling until the morning light crept through the curtains.

Damon was already gone when I woke up. He'd left a note on the kitchen counter: "Meeting with the wedding planner at 2 PM. Don't be late."

No kiss. No apology. No mention of the night before.

I stared at the note for a long time.

He didn't know. He had no idea that I'd spent the night in his father's penthouse. He had no idea that the man he'd introduced me to was the same man I'd woken up next to.

He had no idea that everything was about to fall apart.

I showered. I dressed. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and tried to recognize the woman looking back at me.

She looked the same. Same face. Same eyes. Same engagement ring on her finger.

But she wasn't the same.

I didn't know who she was anymore.

The wedding planner's office was elegant and bright, all white walls and fresh flowers. I sat at a long table with Damon and a woman named Patricia, who was showing us seating charts on a large tablet.

"This is the head table," Patricia said, pointing at the screen. "The bride and groom sit here. The parents sit on either side."

I nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak.

My hands were shaking beneath the table. I pressed them flat against my thighs to steady them.

"Clara, are you listening?" Damon's voice cut through my thoughts.

I looked up. He was frowning at me.

"Yes," I said. "Sorry. I'm just tired."

"You've been tired a lot lately."

I didn't respond. I couldn't.

Patricia cleared her throat. "As I was saying, the father of the groom will sit here." She pointed to a seat on Damon's left. "Mr. Blackwood is very particular about these things, so I want to make sure he's comfortable."

My blood ran cold.

"Mr. Blackwood?" I repeated.

"Yes. Damon's father. He specifically requested to be involved in the planning. He called me personally."

Damon smiled. It was the first genuine smile I'd seen from him in weeks.

"Dad's really excited about the wedding," he said. "He's been talking about it nonstop. I think he's trying to make up for all the years he missed."

I felt sick.

"Clara?" Damon was looking at me again. "Are you okay? You're pale."

"I'm fine," I said. "I think I just need some water."

I stood up, but my legs wouldn't hold me. I stumbled, grabbing the edge of the table.

Patricia rushed to my side. "Are you alright, dear?"

"I'll get you some water," Damon said, already walking toward the door. "Just sit down for a minute."

I sat.

I told myself I could handle this.

I told myself I could smile and nod and get through the next few weeks.

I told myself I'd never see Elias again.

The door opened.

I didn't look up. I was too busy trying to breathe.

"Sorry I'm late," a voice said. "Traffic was a nightmare."

I froze.

That voice. I knew that voice.

I looked up.

Elias was standing in the doorway.

He was wearing a dark suit, perfectly tailored. His silver hair was combed back. His grey eyes found mine immediately.

He stopped.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Neither of us breathed.

Then he smiled. It was slow and dangerous and completely unreadable.

"Clara," he said. "What a pleasant surprise."

I opened my mouth to speak. No words came.

Patricia stood up, beaming. "Mr. Blackwood, I'm so glad you could make it. We were just finalizing the seating arrangements."

Elias walked toward the table. His eyes never left mine.

"I wouldn't miss it," he said.

He sat down across from me. Damon walked back in with a glass of water and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I managed.

"Dad, you made it," Damon said, clapping Elias on the shoulder. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Of course I came." Elias's voice was smooth, controlled. "I want to be involved in every part of this wedding."

His eyes met mine.

Every part.

I took a sip of water. My hands were shaking so badly I almost spilled it.

The meeting continued.

Patricia went over the seating arrangements. Damon asked questions about the venue. I sat in silence, trying to disappear into my chair.

I felt him watching me.

I kept my eyes on the table, on the seating chart, on anything that wasn't him. But I could feel his gaze like a physical weight.

"We should put the bridal party here," Patricia said, pointing at the screen. "And the rest of the family will sit here."

I glanced up.

Elias was smiling.

He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. He knew I was falling apart.

And he was enjoying it.

The meeting dragged on for two hours.

Two hours of sitting across from him. Two hours of feeling his eyes on me. Two hours of pretending I was fine.

By the time Patricia finally said, "I think we're done here," I was ready to bolt.

I stood up quickly. "Thank you, Patricia. I'll see myself—"

"I'll walk you to your car," Damon said.

"No—"

"Clara, you're not driving when you can barely stand. Dad and I will take you."

Elias rose from his seat. "I'll drive her."

Damon blinked. "What?"

"I'm parked closer." Elias smiled. "You stay and finalize the menu with Patricia. I'll make sure your fiancée gets home safe."

Damon hesitated. Then he nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Dad."

I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe.

Elias walked toward me and placed his hand on the small of my back.

"Let's go, Clara," he said.

I didn't say a word as we walked to his car.

I didn't say a word as he opened the door for me.

I didn't say a word as he slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"Are you going to be silent all the way home?" he asked.

I stared straight ahead.

"Why are you here?" I finally said.

"I told you. I want to be involved in every part of the wedding."

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop pretending." I turned to face him. "You know what you're doing. You know what this is doing to me."

He was silent for a moment. Then he reached across and touched my face.

I flinched.

"Clara," he said softly. "I tried to stay away. I tried to forget. But I can't. I can't stop thinking about you. About that night."

"Don't."

"It's the truth."

"The truth is I'm marrying your son."

"And yet you're sitting here. In my car. Letting me touch you."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him he was wrong.

But my body betrayed me.

I leaned into his hand. I let myself feel his touch.

He kissed me.

It was soft at first. Gentle. Almost tender.

Then it deepened. His tongue swept into my mouth, tasting me, claiming me. His hands found my waist, pulling me across the center console.

"I want you," he said against my lips. "I don't care who you're supposed to be. I want you."

I pulled away.

"I can't," I said. "I can't do this. I'm getting married. I'm—"

"Clara." His eyes met mine. "You're not happy. You haven't been happy in a long time. Why are you still trying to pretend?"

I opened my mouth to answer.

No words came.

Because he was right.

He was right about everything.

He didn't drive me home.

He drove me to his penthouse.

I followed him inside like a woman walking toward a cliff.

"I'm marrying your son," I said one more time.

"I know."

I should have walked away.

I didn't.

M

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