Show Time

Amidst the chaos, Damien strolled through the room, heading toward the stage. A strange, new calm had descended into the place, replacing the cacophony with an electric tension shocked anticipation and curious silence.

Media personnel had their cameras trained on him, lenses swiveling as he moved. He knew in the next five minutes, every entrance and exit in this building would be blocked, reporters clamoring for a statement, a photograph, any movement from him.

So many questions would follow.

Why was he here?

Why participate in the event?

Why choose a “leftover” woman as his wife?

Did he know her before this moment?

Had she been placed in this position deliberately?

But Damien’s attention was fixed. His eyes found her. The woman who had, unknowingly or not, destroyed his plans. The woman he was meeting for the first time yet whose existence seemed to dominate his life.

The woman his father had loved more than him. She was powerful in a way that unsettled him, and he would uncover exactly why his father had forced this marriage. Every secret she held would be extracted.

For now, however, he would play the part of the obedient, loving suitor. Feed the wolves a shallow love story while he unraveled the truth from her treacherous lips.

Her eyes finally landed on him, following the shifting gazes of the audience. He could see her gasp softly, the slight tremor in her hands as she clutched the split gown with her left hand. Her style, even on this critical day, bordered on chaotic. Layers of makeup hid the real lines of her face, leaving Damien wondering what she might look like without the armor. It didn’t matter. If she were truly beautiful, she wouldn’t be standing here like this.

Emily felt it before she understood it his eyes, gray and chilling, burning her, freezing her at once. So that was her suitor. She couldn’t believe it. This had to be a cruel joke. No billionaire would be tangled in her life her mother didn’t have the reach for this. From this distance, and without her glasses, she could barely make out his features.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. Her mother couldn’t possibly have orchestrated this.

The presenter hurried to her side as Damien climbed the stairs, leaning in with a low whisper.

“So… this was your plan all along?”

“You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Damien stopped right in front of her. The silence of the crowd pressed down on them. The magazines hadn’t prepared her for this. His dark gray eyes bore into hers, unrelenting. She gripped the card in her hands tighter. Searching for a word, she found only one that flitted across her mind dangerous. Gorgeous, yes but dangerous, like a predator cloaked in calm calculation. It was a sin, she realized, that someone could look this perfect yet radiate menace. His black hair fell exactly where it should, each strand perfectly in place, yet the smile he gave the crowd as he moved forward was cold, calculated, frightening the kind of smile that promised a strike when least expected.

He towered over her once he reached her on stage. She felt small, diminished. And she had questions so many questions she had no answers to Why was he here? Why had he picked her? Was this all a joke she hadn’t been in on?

“Emily,” he said softly, though steel underlined every syllable. The depth of his voice seemed to reach the soles of her feet. It was low, rough, and impossible to ignore.

“It’s… nice to finally meet you,” he added, the smile still not touching his eyes.

She whispered back, almost shyly, “Nice… to meet you too,” mesmerized despite herself.

The presenter gestured toward the center of the stage, saving her from finding words. With a broad smile, she announced loudly to the audience, “A round of applause for our latest couple Damien and Emily!”

The cameras flashed relentlessly. Emily attempted a smile, but when she glanced at him, his face—stoic, sharp, unreadable froze hers in place.

“Now, now,” The presenter continued, turning toward them, “we do not want to waste our couple’s time. You have a very special task let’s do the Cupid’s kiss.”

Emily turned toward Damien, every nerve in her body alight with anticipation. He was taller than she had anticipated, imposing, unyielding. Damien leaned downward.

She was going to have her first kiss on stage, and the weight of the moment pressed her heart into her chest.

Her lips pressed against his lower lip, tentative at first. He bit gently, and she traced the spot with her tongue, savoring the warmth.

She clutched him closer, fingers tangling in his hair, following his lead, letting herself melt into the motion. His hands gripped her waist, deepening the kiss, taking control, pulling her impossibly closer.

Knees weak, she poured everything she had into the kiss, giving as much as she received. Tilting her lips to meet his more perfectly, she realized he wasn’t responding.

His hands had slipped from her waist. Heat flushed her cheeks, and embarrassment prickled through her. Slowly, reluctantly, she let her hands fall from his neck, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

She looked up. The presenter was staring at them, amusement clear.

“Well, that was some kiss,” she laughed lightly. “And, ladies and gentlemen, there are a couple of spare rooms if waiting isn’t your thing!” She attempted humor, though the crowd laughed a little too eagerly at the suggestion.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Damien muttered under his breath, his tone low, dangerously calm.

Without another word, he motioned for security. Grabbing Emily’s hand, he guided her down the stairs toward the exit.

The press followed, barking questions relentlessly. Had they met before? Was she his hidden mistress? Was this all a ploy? When would the wedding take place? One voice pierced through the sea of noise: “Why do you kiss like a slut?”

Emily nearly froze. Slut? They thought she was his mistress? That explained the perceived familiarity in their kiss.

Damien’s iron grip did not falter. He dragged her toward the car, ignoring the questions, the flashes, the whispers.

Once inside, he shoved her toward the backseat and followed. The driver snapped into attention.

“Go,” Damien ordered, voice sharp.

The tires screamed across the asphalt, ferrying them toward her new life.

The first five minutes passed in suffocating silence. Emily stole side glances at him, trying to decipher the stranger she had married. Her mind wandering to their kiss his soft lips. Blood rushed up to her cheeks shaking her head as if it would remove those thoughts.

She glimpsed only the sharp lines of his profile as he stared out the window. Was he thinking about them. She discarded the thought ofcourse he wouldn't. she was one of the numerous women he had kissed

She turned her attention to the half filled champagne glasses sat forgotten between them. She debated sipping hers but refrained. She couldn’t give him the wrong impression. Her mother’s lessons echoed

Know your place.

Damien finally spoke, the question unnecessary, answered before she could form it. His eyes met hers, anger so potent it made her flinch.

"you can drop the innocent act now, you've gotten what you wanted"

“What the fuck do you have over my father?”