THE GALA OF SECRETS

Damian’s POV

The first time Damian Wolfe laid eyes on Lana Grey, something had felt… off.

She had walked into his office with quiet confidence, her expression cool but not submissive. Most new employees shrank under his scrutiny, eager to please, desperate to stay in his good graces. But not her.

Her sharp eyes had met his without hesitation, without fear. He should have dismissed her right then and there.

Yet, something about her had intrigued him.

At first, he had assumed it was just physical attraction. Damian wasn’t blind Lana was stunning in an understated way, the kind of beauty that didn’t scream for attention but captured it nonetheless. Dark waves of hair pulled into a neat ponytail, flawless skin, sharp cheekbones that softened just enough to give her an air of mystery. And those eyes dark, calculating, as if she was always one step ahead of him.

She was beautiful. But that wasn’t why she lingered in his mind.

It was the way she carried herself.

The way she met his impossible standards without breaking.

The way she didn’t cower when he tested her patience, when he pushed her just to see if she’d crack.

Lana Grey wasn’t an ordinary assistant.

And that made her dangerous.

Lana’s POV

Lana sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The deep emerald gown hugged her curves perfectly, its silk fabric shimmering under the soft glow of her bedroom lights. The slit ran high up her thigh, scandalous but elegant, the off shoulder design exposing just enough skin to be alluring.

She barely recognized herself.

Her usual professional attire structured blouses, pencil skirts, muted colors was gone. In its place stood a woman who looked like she belonged in the world of the elite, the untouchable.

Perfect.

She reached for her lipstick, a deep crimson shade that made her lips stand out against her dark skin. With slow, deliberate movements, she applied it, watching as the final piece of her transformation fell into place.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

“Your car is waiting, Miss Grey,” the driver announced.

Lana took a steadying breath. Time to face the devil himself.

The Gala

The venue was nothing short of extravagant a grand ballroom lined with golden chandeliers, the walls adorned with intricate details that whispered old money and power. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, the soft hum of conversation mixing with the gentle clinking of champagne glasses.

Lana stepped through the entrance, all eyes snapping to her.

She could feel the whispers, the way women glanced at her with envy, the way men’s gazes lingered just a little too long. But none of it mattered.

Because the only gaze that truly burned was Damian’s.

She felt it before she even saw him.

When she turned, their eyes locked.

Damian Wolfe stood at the top of the staircase, dressed in a classic black suit, his presence commanding even in a room full of power players. But his usual impassive mask had slipped just for a second.

His gaze dragged over her, slow and deliberate, his lips parting slightly as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

Lana smirked. Good.

He recovered quickly, his expression hardening. But as she walked toward him, she didn’t miss the way his hands flexed at his sides, as if restraining the urge to reach for her.

“You’re late,” he murmured when she reached him.

Her eyes flickered with amusement. “I had to make an entrance.”

Damian’s jaw clenched. “You’re drawing attention.”

She tilted her head. “Wasn’t that the point?”

Something dark flickered in his eyes. “Careful, Lana.”

She smiled, brushing past him, intentionally letting her perfume linger in the space between them.

The Dance

The night progressed with smooth precision. Damian introduced her to powerful men and women, forcing her to play the perfect assistant. She smiled, charmed, and blended seamlessly into the role.

Until the music changed.

A slow, haunting melody filled the air, and suddenly, couples began drifting to the dance floor.

Damian’s gaze met hers.

For a brief moment, neither of them moved.

Then, before she could protest, he extended a hand.

“Dance with me.”

Lana hesitated.

She knew what this was.

A test. A warning. A power play.

With a steady hand, she placed her palm in his.

He pulled her close, his grip firm but not harsh. One hand rested on her waist, the other guiding hers as he led her into the slow, deliberate rhythm of the waltz.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” His voice was low, just for her.

Lana tilted her head, a teasing smile on her lips. “What gave it away?”

Damian’s fingers tightened slightly on her waist. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“So are you.”

Their gazes locked, the tension between them thick enough to cut. For a moment, the world around them faded, the only thing that existed was the slow, deliberate movements of their bodies.

Then—

A voice shattered the moment.

“I-Isla?”

Lana froze.

A familiar voice. A voice from her past.

Slowly, she turned.

And there he was.

The man who knew exactly who she was.

Cliffhanger: Exposed?

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Damian’s grip on her waist tightened. “Who is he?”

Lana’s mind raced. She had been careful. She had erased Isla Sinclair from existence.

And yet, here he was.

Recognizing her.

Exposing her.

Damian turned to her, his dark eyes unreadable. “Lana.”

Not Miss Grey. Not assistant.

Just Lana.

A name that suddenly felt like a death sentence.