Chapter 7 – The Foundation Gala

The Foundation Gala was never just a gala.

It was a declaration of power — a battlefield dressed in velvet. A parade of money and power and people who smiled while plotting your ruin. The D’Amaros had hosted it for decades, filling the room with politicians, media figures, and old families who thought they still ruled the world.

For Elise, it was the perfect stage.

This would be her first public appearance since the engagement announcement had begun circulating through the upper echelons of European society. Her name had been circulating in whispers ever since the engagement news leaked — not as a praise, but as a question. Some said she was already being reined in. Others said she was being discarded quietly behind closed doors.

Elise planned to end both theories tonight.

She didn’t ask for permission. Didn’t consult Camila. And when Cassian sent a formal car and a short message — I expect you at my side — she sent no reply.

Instead, she dressed with intent.

The gown was midnight blue, the kind of shade that whispered danger. Silk cut on the bias, draped low on her back and high on her thigh. No embellishments. No jewellery. Just skin, precision, and presence.

The bodice hugged her like a second breath. Every line exposed the kind of elegance that made women nervous and men forget how to speak.

When Camila saw her came down the stairs, she went quite. This wasn’t surrender. Camila had learned that some fires burned themselves out faster if left alone — and if the D’Amaros approved, Elise’s recklessness could be recast as boldness. Marketable. Containable.

By the time she arrived at the gala, the room was already turning to her. Not all at once. But in waves. A slow ripple, as if someone had opened a door and let in the storm.

She descended the staircase alone, one hand grazing the polished marble railing, her heels deliberate against the steps.

She didn’t need an escort.

She was the moment.

Cassian saw her from across the room. His jaw clenched. His glass paused at his lips, then lowered. Matteo followed his gaze a second too late, then smiled — faint, hungry, amused.

Elise didn’t slow. She went straight to the bar.

“Champagne,” she said. “And something sharp with it.”

The bartender blinked, nodded, and poured a Veuve with a whisper of blood orange.

Someone brushed past her too closely. She didn’t flinch. She wanted to be watched.

From behind, a familiar voice dipped into her ear.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

Cassian.

She didn’t turn. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The dress. The entrance. The eyes.”

She took another sip. “I don’t control how they look at me.”

“But you know they will.”

She turned then, slowly, letting her gaze sweep over him.

He looked perfect, of course. Black tux. Clean lines. Slight five-o’clock shadow. The kind of look that invited sin, but offered it with restraint.

“You look bored,” she said.

He studied her mouth. “I’m not.”

“Jealous, then?”

“Of what?”

She leaned in, her lips near his jaw.

“Of every man here,” she whispered, “who’s imagining what’s under this gown.”

Cassian exhaled, slow and low. “Are you wearing anything beneath it?”

Her smile sharpened. “Only what you won’t get tonight.”

He moved to step closer, but someone cleared their throat.

Matteo.

“Elise.” He didn’t look at Cassian. Only her. “A dance?”

Cassian turned still, but the crystal stem of his glass creaked between his fingers.

Elise turned, she didn’t hesitate. She handed her glass to a passing server and placed her hand in his.

“One,” she said.

He led her to the floor, gloved hand at her waist, the other guiding hers. The music was low and sultry. A tango meant for quiet tension.

“You know how to play them,” Matteo murmured.

“Who?”

“Everyone.”

She tilted her head. “It’s not a game if I’m the only one who knows the rules.”

His hand drifted lower.

“Elise,” he said, voice softer, “what happens when they stop seeing you as untouchable?”

“They won’t.”

“And if they try?”

Her fingers tightened briefly around his.

“Then I make sure they bleed.”

Matteo chuckled. “Beautiful and brutal.”

“That’s the appeal.”

They moved in sync, slow and deliberate, like a storm waiting to break, the way powerful people do when they want to unsettle a room. Around them, conversations dulled. Eyes watched.

She saw Cassian watching from the corner. Still. Calculated. Unblinking.

By the time the song ended, Matteo’s hand stayed at the base of her spine.

“I’m beginning to think,” he said, “that I should’ve made a move before Cassian did.”

“You’re too late,” she said, stepping away.

“And yet,” he murmured, “you still haven’t said no.”

She left him standing in the centre of the floor.

—

In the powder room, Elise fixed her lipstick slowly. A woman in pearls pretended not to stare in the mirror beside her.

“You’re Elise Caro, aren’t you?”

Elise smiled faintly. “Depending on who’s asking.”

“They say you’ve tamed both the D’Amaro boys.”

Elise glanced at her. “They were never wild.”

—

Back in the ballroom, another glass of champagne found her hand. She didn’t drink it.

Instead, she found the balcony.

It was cooler outside. The city lights glittered below like fractured stars. She leaned against the railing, the fabric of her dress shifting with the breeze, and let herself breathe for the first time that night.

Cassian found her minutes later.

“You always disappear after you make an entrance.”

She didn’t turn. “Do you miss me?”

“I was watching you.”

“That’s not the same.”

He moved behind her, close but not touching.

“Matteo wants you.”

“They all do.”

“But he doesn’t know you.”

“And you think you do?”

He stepped closer, so close his breath touched her neck.

“Sometimes I swear I’ve touched you before,” he murmured. “Like I knew what you’d feel like… before I ever did.”

Elise’s heart kicked — not because she believed him, but because part of her wanted to.

She turned slowly, eyes catching the city lights over his shoulder.

“You don’t know me, Cassian,” she said. “You just like how I make you feel.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “You let him touch you tonight.”

“And?”

“You’re mine.”

She laughed once. Sharp and low.

“You don’t own me. You never did.”

His hand lifted. It hovered at her hip. 

“I’m not your enemy.”

Elise leaned in, her mouth close to his ear. Her voice barely above a whisper.

“You just don’t remember.”

She didn’t give him time to ask.

She walked away — hips swaying, heels echoing against the stone.

—

Back inside, Matteo stood at the edge of the room.

He didn’t move toward her. Just lifted his glass slightly and said nothing.

Elise didn’t stop walking.

Let them chase. Let them want. 

She wasn’t interested in choosing between them.

Not tonight.

Tonight, she had made herself unforgettable.

And no one would ever look at her the same again.