Chapter 5

What dress should I go with?

Does it even matter?

Nico is back, yes, but it's not like he's giving me the time of day anyway.

I sat on my bed browsing through the 10 dresses he bought me. They were all exquisite but there was a dangerously sexy red dress.

I held it up and measured it against my body. I'm definitely wearing this.

I was wrong to even think of Damien as more than a bodyguard. He was just doing is job and I was being silly.

I cringed at my past actions. Was I so starved that I just jumped at anything? Any chance that I was getting? Ridiculous.

Nico was back for however long that would last and I'm just going to have to be contented with that.

I laid the red dress carefully across the bed, its silk catching the light like temptation. This night wasn't about love or connection—it was about showing up. Looking the part. Playing the game.

I was Mrs. Aisla Pembroke. A wife. A woman of status. And if I couldn't have the warmth I craved, then I'd at least have control.

I'd wear the dress. I'd smile. I'd stand beside Nico like nothing was broken.

And maybe—just maybe—I'd start to believe it.

The day went by uneventful and before I knew it, it was time for the gala.

I got dolled up and got dressed in the sexy red dress I had chosen.

The fabric clung to my curves like a whispered promise, bold and unforgiving. I pinned my hair into soft waves, painted on a red lip to match the dress, and slid into a pair of heels that made me feel taller, stronger—untouchable.

Damien was already waiting by the door when I stepped out of my room. His gaze flicked over me once, unreadable as always, but something subtle shifted in his jaw.

"You're ready," he said, not a question.

I nodded. "Let's go."

The car ride was quiet. Nico would meet us at the venue. Of course he would.

I stared out the window, the city lights blurring as we drove. My reflection stared back—composed, beautiful, detached.

But inside?

I was bracing for the performance of my life.

As the car pulled up to the entrance of the hotel, the flash of cameras lit the night like fireworks. I drew a slow breath, tightening my grip on my clutch.

"You don't have to pretend," Damien said quietly, his eyes not leaving the crowd outside.

I turned to him, startled. "Pretend?"

He met my gaze then. "That you're fine."

My throat tightened. "It's not about pretending. It's surviving. It's just another day." I shrugged.

His jaw clenched. "You shouldn't have to survive your own marriage."

The door opened and the sound of reporters and music rushed in. A valet extended his hand, and I stepped out, past Damien, into the blur of lights.

Inside the ballroom, the grandeur was overwhelming—chandeliers dripping crystal, a string quartet playing softly, champagne flowing like water. I spotted Nico across the room, laughing with a group of men in tailored suits.

"Mrs. Pembroke," someone greeted warmly. I smiled, nodded, exchanged pleasantries.

A waiter passed by with a tray of flutes. I grabbed one and took a sip. Damien hovered a few steps behind, like a shadow with eyes.

Then Nico spotted me. He excused himself and made his way over, smile charming, practiced.

"You look... breathtaking," he said, dipping his head to kiss my cheek.

"Thank you," I replied, voice calm. I didn't miss the way his eyes flicked to Damien before returning to me. "Business going well?"

"As always. But I'm more interested in you tonight." His hand grazed my lower back. "Come, let me introduce you to someone important."

I glanced back at Damien. His expression was still unreadable, but his gaze was locked on Nico's hand.

"Lead the way," I said, forcing my smile again.

As he held my hand through the crowd, he leaned down to my ear.

"You're mine, Aisla," he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear—but sharp enough to cut.

I tensed, trying to pull my hand away, but his grip tightened like a vice.

"You're hurting me," I hissed.

He didn’t release me. Instead, he smiled wider for the guests around us and leaned in again. "Then maybe you'll remember who you belong to."

"Nico, stop." I glanced around, trying to keep calm. "You're making a scene."

"No, sweetheart," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You made the scene the moment you started parading around in that dress like you're some kind of prize up for grabs."

My jaw clenched. “I wore what you picked.”

"And look how every man’s eyes follow you,” he snapped, then leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. “You like that, don’t you? You want to be watched. Just an attention seeking whore.”

I stepped back, but he yanked me forward, fingers digging into my wrist.

“Nico—”