Chapter Six — “The Enemy Arrives”

He didn’t speak to me again.

Not when we got back to the penthouse. Not when Naomi met us at the door, her mouth drawn tight as she’d already read the headlines. Not even when Mark handed Damian a folder marked Urgent and whispered something I couldn’t catch.

Damian just disappeared into his office, the door shutting behind him like a gate slamming closed.

I stood in the entryway, still wearing Naomi’s coat, damp from the morning air and too big in the sleeves. I didn’t belong here. Not really. It's just a shadow in someone else’s life.

Naomi looked at me like she wanted to say something, maybe comfort, maybe scold. Instead, she said,

“You’ll need to be ready by six. Black tie. Formal. It’s the annual board gala. Damian insists you appear officially.”

My stomach twisted. “Why now?”

“Because the board needs to see you’re not a liability. And the press definitely will be watching.”

She turned and walked away, heels clicking like a countdown.

—

The dress was… not mine.

Fitted to perfection, backless, black silk with tiny diamonds sewn into the sleeves. It probably cost more than Lily’s entire hospital bill. Naomi left it on my bed without a word, along with heels, a clutch, and a necklace that caught the light like something stolen from the stars.

I stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized myself.

But the contract hadn’t changed.

Neither had Damian.

He didn’t say a word when he saw me.

Just offered his arm like this was real and we were one of those couples who finished each other’s sentences and smiled on magazine covers like he hadn’t threatened to ruin my life twelve hours ago.

But the flash of something in his eyes sharp, careful, said otherwise.

The car ride was quiet.

Too quiet.

Until we reached the hotel ballroom. Gold ceilings. Marble pillars. Waiters in black and white.

And the eyes.

Hundreds of them.

They turned when we walked in. Paused mid-sip. Tilted heads and raised brows. Whispers.

“Is that her?”

“She looks so young.”

“Must be for publicity.”

“Or pity.”

Damian’s grip on my waist tightened just a fraction. Like a silent warning. Or protection. I couldn’t tell.

He leaned toward me as we approached the first circle of board members.

“Smile,” he said without moving his lips. “Convince them we’re in love.”

So I smiled.

I smiled through introductions. Through champagne and small talk. Through the woman who asked where I’d studied abroad and the man who said I must be “a breath of fresh air” for a man like Damian.

But by the third flute of champagne, my skin felt too tight.

I needed air.

I slipped away, barely murmuring an excuse.

The hallway outside was quieter. Dim. Still lined in gold.

And then…

A hand closed around my wrist.

Not hard. But firm.

Damian.

He’d followed me.

Pulled me into the shadow of a column, away from any curious glances.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low.

“Breathing.”

“You don’t get to vanish. Not tonight.”

“I didn’t vanish. I walked ten feet away.”

His eyes burned. Not with anger. With pressure. Like he couldn’t afford cracks. Not even hairline ones.

“I brought you here to serve a purpose, Ava,” he whispered against my temple. “Don’t give them a reason to doubt.”

The words landed like ice.

But it wasn’t the cold that made my breath hitch.

It was what I saw over his shoulder.

A flash of white-blonde hair.

A camera.

Helena.

She stood at the edge of the ballroom now, speaking with a waiter like she belonged. Laughing. Effortless. Dangerous.

My heart dropped to my stomach. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Helena’s smile was a promise and a threat.

—

Across the ballroom, Helena turned on her heel and disappeared behind a curtain with her phone to her ear.

“He bought it,” she said to the man waiting outside in a sleek black suit. “Every second of it.”

“Good,” he replied. “Everything’s in place. The leak goes out tonight. Let the press tear her apart.”

Helena smiled. “Let her sweat first. I want to watch her squirm.”

—

Back at the penthouse, hours later, I peeled off the dress like shedding someone else’s skin.

I sat on the floor of the walk-in closet, the diamond-studded sleeves pooled around me, bare shoulders chilled.

I reached for my phone.

Ten missed calls.

Blocked number.

And one message.

From Ethan.

Still playing pretend, Ava?

My fingers trembled.

No. No. No.

I dropped the phone. Backed against the wall as I could disappear into it. But I knew I couldn’t run, not now.

Then I heard it.

Damian’s voice, low and ruthless through the door.

“She’s disposable,” he said flatly. “She knows that.”

My breath stopped.