FOR THE CAMERAS

Elena POV

Adrian extended his hand, the smile on his face bordering on arrogant. “Care to steal her for a dance?”

I felt Damien’s hesitation ripple through his body like an aftershock. His hand twitched against my waist, as if unsure whether to pull me closer or push me away. Then, slowly—grudgingly—he let go.

“Okay,” he said, his voice tight. “Go ahead.”

My eyes snapped to him. “What?” I whispered, incredulous. But he was already stepping back, jaw locked, eyes refusing to meet mine.

I turned to Adrian, swallowing the sick taste rising in my throat. The man standing before me was the man I once watched destroy everything I loved he was grinning like a wolf with blood on its teeth. He had no idea who I was. My new face, my new name, and the carefully sculpted mask I wore—it had worked.

He didn’t recognize the woman he’d helped ruin.

I slid my hand into his with a composure I didn’t feel.

“For the cameras,” I told myself.

The ballroom melted into gold and motion again as we began to dance. Adrian’s hand was too sure on my back, too familiar. He was the kind of man who never second-guessed himself, just rewrote the rules to suit his narrative. His touch made my skin crawl, but I kept my expression sweet, demure. Let him underestimate me.

“You move like you’ve done this a thousand times,” he said, voice low and flirtatious.

“Maybe I have,” I replied smoothly.

He chuckled. “You’re not like the others.”

“Oh?” I tilted my head, playing the part. “What makes you say that?”

He leaned closer, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read something hidden in my face. “You’ve got that look. Mystery. Danger.” A slow smile tugged at his lips. “And you’re stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

I laughed a short, sharp sound and pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Is that your favorite line?”

“It’s the truth,” he said, not missing a beat. “I’d remember a face like yours.”

My heart stuttered, but I didn’t let it show. He didn’t remember. Of course, he didn’t. I was just another beautiful stranger to him.

I gave him a slow, mocking smile. “Then I guess I’m lucky you have such a short memory.”

He blinked. Something flickered in his eyes, but he shook it off. “I like you, Damien’s. You’re… breathtaking”

“That’s a shame,” I said lightly, stepping away as the music wound to a close. “And yeah, he is lucky and I am too”

I turned without waiting for a response and walked off the dance floor. My heart pounded against my ribs as I scanned the room for Damien. I found him near the edge of the ballroom, a glass of champagne untouched in his hand, his posture rigid with something unspoken.

I didn’t wait until we were alone. I marched straight up to him, heat burning under my skin.

“You let me dance with him,” I hissed under my breath. “Why?”

He didn’t flinch. “Because he doesn’t know who you are.”

“That’s not the point,” I snapped. “He put his hands on me. He flirted with me. I had to smile through it like it meant nothing.”

“It does mean nothing,” Damien said, finally looking at me. “It’s a part of the plan.”

“It worked,” Damien said. “He’s interested. That gives us access.”

I crossed my arms, fury bubbling in my chest. “You didn’t even blink. Didn’t stop it. You just handed me over like I was bait.”

Damien’s jaw twitched. “Because you are.”

My breath caught.

He took a step closer, his voice lower now. “You knew what this was. You wanted your name cleared. That’s what we’re doing.”

“There’s a difference between strategy and selling me out.”

His expression darkened. “You’re not sold out. You’re the only person I trust to pull this off.”

“And what about what I trust?” I asked. “Or don’t trust?”

He didn’t answer. Not right away. His eyes dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes.

“He doesn’t see you,” Damien said. “But I do.”

My breath faltered.

“I see what it costs you to smile at him. To play this game. I see it all, Celine.”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “That’s why I didn’t stop you. Because you’re stronger than he’ll ever understand.”

I should have pulled away. Should have said something sharp to remind him this wasn’t real. But I didn’t.

Instead, I looked at him and felt the weight of everything we’d built—this fragile alliance made of lies and half-truths—and the way, despite everything, it had started to feel like something else.

Real. Dangerous.

I turned toward the crowd before I let myself slip too far.

“Charlotte’s watching Adrian like a hawk,” I said. “You were right. She’s spiraling.”

“She’ll make a scene,” Damien murmured. “Tonight or tomorrow. And when she does, we’ll have what we need.

The moment hung between us—tense, coiled. The memory of his hand on my waist, the near-kiss, the almost-truth in his eyes—all of it blurred now.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The weight of what we were doing, the lies, the manipulation, the stakes—pressed in from all sides. And yet, under it all, something unspoken hummed between us. Not trust. Not yet. But something.

“Earlier,” I said quietly, “when you said I was the love of your life… was that part of the act?”

His expression didn’t change. “What do you think?”

“I think I don’t know how to separate the truth from the performance anymore.”

“Good,” he said, brushing past me. “Neither can they.”

Later that night, after the party faded into drunken laughter and clinking glasses, I found myself alone on the terrace. The cool air bit at my skin, but I needed the space. The silence. The freedom from pretending.

The door creaked behind me.

“I figured I’d find you out here,” Damien said, stepping up beside me.

“I needed a minute,” I said. “Or five.”

He leaned on the railing beside me, silent for a beat.

“You were right,” he said finally. “I shouldn’t have given you out like that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that an apology?”

He smirked. “It’s the closest you’re going to get.”

I shook my head, a tired smile tugging at my lips. “He said I was beautiful. That he’d remember me if he’d seen me before.”

Damien’s jaw flexed. “He didn’t. That’s what matters.”

“No,” I said. “What matters is that I didn’t punch him.”

“That’s growth.”

We stood in silence, the sounds of the city stretching below us—horns, wind, laughter. Far away from the cameras, from the charade.

Damien turned to me, his voice lower now. “You’re doing more than playing a part, Celine.”

I glanced at him. “Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re not just pretending to be strong. You are strong.”

I looked away, the compliment cutting deeper than it should have.

“I don’t want to be strong,” I whispered. “I just want to be free.”

He nodded slowly. “We’ll get there.”

“You don’t promise things,” I said. “Not unless you can deliver.”

“I don’t make promises,” he said. “But I make things happen.”

We stood there a little longer, quiet and still. The city moved around us, but for once, we didn’t have to.

And in that silence, I knew—whatever this was between us, whatever we were building from lies and necessity—it was beginning to feel real.

Which made it all the more dangerous.