Chapter 7

"If you look at the floor like that, they are going to write that I am keeping you in a dungeon."

I adjusted the cuff of my tuxedo jacket as the elevator ascended toward the ballroom floor. The digital display blinked rapidly, numbers climbing toward the roof of the hotel where four hundred members of the city's financial elite were waiting to see if the Calder empire was fracturing.

Ellie didn't look up immediately. She was staring at her shoes, her small hands tightly gripping a silver evening bag. The dark blue silk of her gown hung perfectly, a flawless piece of engineering that masked the fact that her shoulders were locked straight.

"Maybe I feel like I'm in a dungeon, Damien," she murmured. Her voice was barely audible over the low hum of the elevator gears.

"It is a five star hotel penthouse," I said, stepping closer to her. The scent of her soap reached me, a clean contrast to the heavy, expensive colognes I had encountered all afternoon in boardrooms. "The accommodations are generally considered excellent."

"The cage is still a cage, no matter how high the ceiling is." She finally lifted her chin, her eyes dark and defiant as she looked at me in the mirror lined wall of the car. "Are you ready for this?"

"I have been ready since yesterday morning," I said.

The elevator stopped with a smooth, heavy deceleration. The doors slid open, and the wall of sound hit us instantly. It was a chaotic mix of clinking crystal, low laughter, and the sharp, rhythmic snap of camera shutters from the media pen just past the velvet ropes. The light in the foyer was blinding, a constant barrage of white flashes that turned the corridor into a series of jagged, frozen frames.

I didn't wait for her to retreat. I placed my palm against the small of her back, right where the silk of her dress gave way to bare skin.

She stiffened for a fraction of a second, her breath catching in her throat, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't. My hand was a firm, unyielding weight, a physical anchor that told the room exactly who she belonged to, but beneath that authority, it was the only thing keeping her steady. Her skin was warm under my fingers, a heat that travelled straight up my arm and settled behind my ribs.

"Smile, Ellie," I murmured, leaning down so my lips were close to her ear. "The wolves are hungry tonight."

We stepped out into the light.

The paparazzi frenzy was instantaneous. Names were shouted from every direction, a wall of voices trying to get us to turn, to look, to break character.

"Mr. Calder, over here! Is the merger still on?"

"Ellie! Look to your left! How long have you been together?"

"Is it true you were living in a walk up last week, Ellie?"

I felt the muscle in her back tighten under my palm. She faltered for a half step, her heel catching on the edge of the carpet. Without breaking stride, I shifted my grip, my fingers wrapping slightly around the curve of her waist, lifting her just enough to keep her balanced. I drew her closer to my side until her shoulder was pressed against my chest.

To the cameras, it looked like a gesture of intense affection. It looked like a billionaire completely captivated by his secret partner. In reality, it was a tactical defense. I was using my frame to shield her from the worst of the flashbulbs, absorbing the pressure of the crowd so she could just walk.

"I have you," I whispered through my teeth, keeping my eyes on the grand archway of the ballroom ahead. "Just keep moving."

We cleared the media line and entered the main room. The ceiling was forty feet high, a massive expanse of gold leaf and crystal chandeliers that threw a warm, amber glow over the crowd. This was my world. These were the people who spent their days calculating risk and their nights pretending they had souls. Every head in the room turned as we walked in. The chatter dropped by half a decibel, a sudden, collective lull as hundreds of eyes scanned us for any sign of a lie.

Marcus was waiting near the champagne tower, his face a pale mask of anxiety. He caught my eye and gave a small, tight nod. The stock price had stabilized after our morning statement, but tonight was the real test. If the Sterling board saw a single crack in our presentation, they would pull out of the merger by midnight.

"Damien, excellent to see you," a heavy voice boomed from our right.

Arthur Sterling stepped out of the crowd, a glass of scotch in his hand. He was a large man with silver hair and eyes like small, gray stones. He didn't look at me; he looked directly at Ellie. He was evaluating her the same way he evaluated a commercial real estate portfolio.

"Arthur," I said, shaking his hand while keeping my left arm firmly around Ellie’s waist. "I believe you remember Ellie."

Sterling’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Of course. Miss Harper. The board was quite surprised by the news. We were under the impression you were just an independent contractor handling some minor boutique designs."

"Ellie prefers to keep her professional work separate from our personal life," I said, my voice smooth, cold, and entirely final. "She doesn't need my name to validate her talent."

It was a line we had rehearsed, but as I said it, I realized it wasn't entirely a lie. I had watched her drawings. I knew the precision of her lines. She didn't need me, and that was the most dangerous thing about her.

"Is that so?" Sterling murmured, taking a sip of his drink. He leaned in a fraction closer, his gaze dropping to the way my hand was pressed against her back. "Well, the media is having a field day with the timing. Some of my investors are asking if this is a sudden romantic distraction or something more permanent."

Before I could answer, Ellie spoke. Her voice was steady, the tremor from the elevator completely gone.

"Mr. Sterling, if I were a distraction, Damien wouldn't have kept me a secret for four years," she said, looking the older man dead in the eye. "He doesn't tolerate inefficiencies in his life. Surely you know that by now."

A slow, genuine smile spread across Sterling’s face. It was the first time I had seen him look impressed in three months of negotiations. "A fair point, my dear. Very well. We are finalizing the language for the merger documents tomorrow morning. I look forward to seeing you both at the signing."

He nodded and drifted back into the crowd.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my fingers tightening slightly against Ellie's waist. "That was perfect," I murmured to her.

"I told you I could play the part, Damien," she said, her voice dropping back into that cool, distant tone she used to protect herself from me. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom. Your hand is starting to leave a mark."

I slowly removed my palm from her back. The skin where my hand had been felt instantly cold, the loss of her heat a sudden, sharp ache. I watched her walk away, her dark blue skirt moving like water through the crowd of black suits.

She was handling the pressure better than I had expected. She was sharp, she was elegant, and she had just saved the largest merger of my career with a single sentence.

But as I stood there alone, watching the way other men looked at her as she crossed the ballroom, the victory felt hollow. I had built a massive infrastructure of lies to bring her back into my life. I had bought media companies, threatened contractors, and signed contracts worth billions just to keep her within my reach.

She thought she was playing a part for the investors. She thought this was all a transaction to save her career and my stock price.

But as I watched her disappear through the arched doorway at the back of the room, my chest felt tight with a dark, suffocating realization.

What if the lie was no longer for the world, but for myself, because I knew that at the end of these twelve months, the contract wouldn't be enough to make her stay?