CHAPTER 10 — FIRST PUBLIC APPEARANCE

Arielle had never seen this many diamonds in one room.

The gala shimmered like a kingdom built from glass, crystal chandeliers dripping light, champagne towers catching reflections, violins humming somewhere in the distance. Luxury pressed in from every angle, and she felt like an intruder wrapped in borrowed silk.

Damian walked beside her like sin in a tuxedo.

Cold. Controlled. Beautiful in the most terrifying way.

His hand rested lightly at her lower back, not affectionate, just positioning her like a business asset. And yet her skin reacted as if he were touching her with fire.

Arielle’s heels clicked against marble as cameras burst into flashes the second they entered.

“There they are!”

“Blackwood’s wife, finally!”

“She’s… ordinary, isn’t she?”

A whisper sliced through the air, loud enough for her to hear. Arielle stiffened, but Damian didn’t even turn his head. His expression stayed carved from stone.

“You’re doing fine,” he murmured, voice quiet enough that only she could hear.

“Fine?” She forced a smile at the cameras. “They’re judging every blink.”

“Let them.” His fingers pressed the small of her back with cool confidence. “They’ll forget your name before dessert.”

The words stung, but the way he said them, steady, calm, felt like a strange form of reassurance.

Reporters swarmed.

“Mr. Blackwood, how does marriage feel?”

“A surprise marriage, why the secrecy?”

“Mrs. Blackwood, are you overwhelmed by the change in lifestyle?”

Arielle’s throat tightened. She wasn’t trained for this. She wasn’t rich, or polished, or anything these people respected.

But Damian, without warning, leaned closer.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

Her eyes lifted to his.

“Breathe,” he said. “Slowly.”

And she realized, he wasn’t mocking her. He was grounding her.

She inhaled. Exhaled.

And the chaos dimmed.

Damian straightened and faced the reporters with the sharp indifference of a man who ruled kingdoms.

“Our personal life is not up for gossip,” he said smoothly.

“But the public deserves transparency!” someone shouted.

A muscle ticked in Damian’s jaw.

Arielle saw it, one of the few cracks in his armor. And instinctively, her hand slid into his, a small act meant only to steady him.

But the cameras exploded with renewed frenzy.

“There!”

“They’re holding hands!”

“This is different from the Damian we know,”

His hand tightened around hers.

Her breath hitched.

He didn’t let go.

Instead, he guided her deeper into the ballroom, ignoring everyone, ignoring the stares, ignoring the fact that whispers followed them like shadows.

They reached their assigned table, high profile, in the center of the room, and Arielle tried to gather herself. Damian pulled out her chair, surprising her yet again.

“You’re shaking,” he observed quietly as he sat beside her.

“I’m trying not to drown,” she whispered back.

His eyes flicked down to her trembling fingers. “You won’t drown.”

“You say that like you control the ocean.”

“I do.”

Her pulse spiked.

Before she could respond, the host called for couples to step forward for photographs.

Damian rose immediately. “Come.”

She did, because the contract said she had to, but also because something in his voice left her no room to refuse.

The stage felt impossibly bright. Damian faced her, positioning her with one firm hand on her waist.

Her heart thudded.

“This is where we pretend,” he said quietly, gaze fixed on her lips.

“Pretend what?” she breathed.

“That we’re real.”

Before she could even blink,

he kissed her.

Not a polite brush.

Not a staged peck for cameras.

But a slow, devastating kiss that felt like it stripped the air from her lungs.

His hand slid up her back, anchoring her. His lips pressed with deliberate control, possessive, hungry, yet terrifyingly calculated. He was kissing her for the world, for the deal, for the perfect illusion of a man happily in love.

But her knees still weakened.

The crowd gasped. Cameras flashed like lightning.

Someone shouted, “Mr. Blackwood! That was, wow!”

But Arielle couldn’t hear. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Damian pulled back only slightly, forehead nearly touching hers, his breath brushing her mouth.

She looked at him, really looked, trying to read the truth.

Why did it feel so… real?

His eyes flicked open, dark and unreadable.

And then—

He stepped away, mask back in place.

“Smile,” he commanded under his breath.

She did, shakily, because what else could she do?

They descended the stage, hand in hand again. Her lips still felt warm. The ballroom now buzzed with a whole new kind of energy.

“Damian” she whispered, needing an explanation, a reason, anything.

But he didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at her.

He simply walked her back to the table as though nothing had happened. Only once they sat did he finally speak.

“It was necessary,” he said flatly. “We needed to be convincing. And we were.”

Her stomach twisted. “Right. Just an act.”

“Yes. Don’t read into it.”

But Arielle couldn’t ignore how her pulse still raced. Or how he’d kissed her like he owned her breath. Or how her skin tingled where his hands had been.

She stared at him.

Damian didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

Cold.

Controlled.

Untouchable.

Then, unexpectedly, he leaned toward her again, voice low so only she could hear,

“Why are you still shaking?”

“I’m not” She swallowed. “You surprised me.”

His eyes locked onto hers, something dark flickering there.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Used to what?

But she didn’t get to ask, because a sudden wave of dizziness crashed over her. Her vision blurred. The room tilted sideways.

The air felt too thin. Too sharp.

Her breath wouldn’t come.

Damian’s distant voice reached her through the haze.

“Arielle?”

She blinked rapidly, clutching the edge of the table.

“Arielle.”

He stood so fast his chair scraped against marble. The room fell silent.

“Damian… I can’t… breathe…”

Her chest constricted violently. Her lungs refused to pull in air. Panic surged, white, blinding, unstoppable.

Damian’s hand gripped her shoulder.

“Arielle.”

Her vision fractured.

Her knees buckled.

Damian caught her before she hit the floor.

And her last blurred image before darkness swallowed her was the shock in his eyes,

the first time he had ever looked afraid.