Chapter 5

The gala was everything Mia had expected and nothing she was prepared for.

The ballroom of the Cross Enterprises building had been transformed — chandeliers dimmed to a warm gold, a string quartet playing somewhere she couldn’t quite locate, servers moving through a crowd of the city’s wealthiest people like they were part of the choreography. Mia stood at the edge of it in the green gown, feeling like an imposter in her own skin.

“You look terrified,” Damian said, appearing beside her with two glasses of champagne. He handed her one without asking if she wanted it.

“I look like someone about to be found out.”

“Then stop looking like that.” His voice dropped lower, meant only for her. “Chin up. Shoulders back. You’re not here to survive the night, Mia. You’re here to own it.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve been doing this your whole life.”

“I have.” He offered his arm, and after a beat of hesitation, she took it. “Which is why you’re going to watch me, and do exactly what I do.”

They moved through the crowd together, and Mia found herself surprised by how effortless it became — Damian’s hand at the small of her back, steady and sure, guiding her through introductions to men whose names she’d only ever seen in headlines. He didn’t perform affection the way she’d expected. He was quieter about it — a hand that lingered a second too long, a look that suggested private jokes they’d never actually shared. It was convincing precisely because it wasn’t showy.

It was working. She could feel it working, in the way people’s expressions softened when they looked at the two of them together, in the way no one seemed to question the marriage was anything but real.

Then Serena arrived, trailing a man Mia didn’t recognize, and the temperature of the room seemed to drop several degrees.

“Mia.” Serena’s smile was sharp as glass. “Don’t you look… put together.”

“Serena.” Mia matched the tone, surprising herself with how steady her voice came out. “I didn’t realize Cross Enterprises galas doubled as ambush opportunities.”

“Depends on the conversation.” Damian’s arm tightened slightly around Mia’s waist. “Careful, Serena.”

“Always am.” Serena’s gaze slid to the man beside her. “This is Marcus Vane. He sits on the board with your uncle. Marcus, meet the newest addition to the Cross family.”

Marcus extended a hand, his eyes assessing Mia with open curiosity. “I’ve heard a great deal about your marriage. Rather sudden, wasn’t it?”

“Love doesn’t always wait for convenient timing,” Mia said, and felt Damian’s hand press slightly firmer against her back — approval, maybe, or surprise that she’d found the right words without needing them fed to her.

“How poetic.” Serena’s smile didn’t waver, but something behind it had sharpened. “Tell me, Mia — how did you and Damian actually meet? I don’t believe anyone’s heard the real story.”

The question hung there, deceptively simple, a trap dressed up as small talk. Mia felt every instinct in her body freeze.

“Through mutual business contacts,” Damian said smoothly, before Mia had to answer. “Nothing as interesting as I’m sure you’re hoping for, Serena.”

“Pity.” Serena’s eyes lingered on Mia a beat too long. “I do love a good origin story.”

Marcus, sensing the tension but misreading its source, cleared his throat. “Well, whatever the story, congratulations are in order. Damian, your father would be pleased to see the company in such stable hands. Marriage does tend to steady a man in the board’s eyes.”

“That’s the idea,” Damian said, and something about the flat certainty in his voice made Mia’s stomach twist. He wasn’t wrong to use it that way. She’d known that going in. But hearing it said aloud, so casually, in a room full of people who’d never know the truth — it landed differently than she expected.

Serena and Marcus drifted off eventually, but the unease she’d left behind lingered like perfume in the air. Mia excused herself to the terrace, needing air that didn’t smell like champagne and calculation.

She hadn’t been alone more than a minute before Damian joined her, closing the terrace doors behind him to mute the noise of the party.

“You handled that well,” he said.

“I don’t want compliments. I want to know what she’s planning.” Mia turned to face him, arms crossed against the night air. “She’s not just trying to unsettle me for fun, Damian. She’s building toward something.”

“She’s trying to prove the marriage is fraudulent before the board vote next month.” His jaw tightened. “If she can convince even a few board members it’s a sham, my uncle challenges the will’s condition, and everything I’ve built becomes a legal battle I might not win.”

“Then we need a better story than ‘mutual business contacts.’ People believe details, not vague answers.”

“Agreed.” He studied her for a moment, something calculating behind his eyes — not cold this time, but focused, like he was solving a problem he actually cared about the answer to. “Which is why, starting tomorrow, we need to actually know each other. Not just perform knowing each other.”

“You want to rehearse a marriage.”

“I want to survive one,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

Before Mia could respond, the terrace doors opened behind them, and a member of the household staff — not Delia, someone Mia didn’t recognize — stepped through, phone in hand, expression tight with urgency.

“Mr. Cross. I’m sorry to interrupt.” He glanced at Mia, then back to Damian. “It’s about Mr. Bennett. Mia’s father. There’s been an incident.”

Mia’s blood went cold. “What kind of incident?”

The staff member hesitated, clearly unprepared to be the one delivering this particular news in the middle of a gala.

“He’s been taken to the hospital, ma’am. They’re saying it might have been deliberate.”