The clinking of crystal glasses echoed across the ballroom as the host raised a toast in Damien's honor. Elena stood by his side, champagne flute in hand, smile locked in place like it had been carved from stone.
"To Damien Cross," the man declared, "a ruthless mind with a heart just soft enough to fall in love."
Laughter. Applause. Eyes.
So many eyes.
Elena's heart thudded in her chest like a secret trying to escape.
Damien turned toward her with a practiced smile and leaned in. "Time to sell it."
His lips brushed her cheek—barely there, a whisper of contact—but the cameras caught it. From the corner of her eye, she saw flashes. Their "love" immortalized in pixels before it ever became real.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Damien said smoothly, lifting his glass, "I thank you for welcoming Elena to our world. She's shown me that even in the most calculated life... the unexpected can still surprise you."
More applause.
Elena smiled, bowed her head graciously, and played the part to perfection.
But as the crowd broke into smaller conversations again, someone stepped close enough to unsettle her.
"Miss Carter," a woman's voice purred.
Elena turned and met the eyes of a tall, icy-blonde woman in a velvet gown. Every inch of her radiated wealth, breeding, and danger.
"I'm Clarissa Vale," she said. "I used to be very close with Damien."
"Oh," Elena replied, surprised by the forwardness. "Nice to meet you."
Clarissa tilted her head, smile tight. "I couldn't help but wonder—how exactly did the two of you meet?"
Before Elena could answer, Damien's voice sliced in. "Clarissa."
She turned slowly. "Darling. Just catching up with your... charming fiancée."
"Catch up elsewhere," he said. Cold. Unmistakably final.
Clarissa's eyes flicked to Elena, then back to Damien. "Still breaking things when they get too close, hmm?"
She walked away without another word.
Elena exhaled sharply. "What was that about?"
"History," Damien said, jaw tight. "Forget her."
"Not likely," Elena muttered. "She practically growled at me."
Damien turned to her fully now, his expression unreadable. "Women like Clarissa don't like being replaced. Especially not with someone they think is... beneath them."
Elena bristled. "Beneath?"
He looked at her, eyes hard. "You're playing a dangerous role, Elena. Some people don't care that it's fake. They'll still try to ruin you."
The warning was real.
But so was the fire in Elena's chest.
"I'm not afraid of women like her," she said quietly.
"Good," he said. "Because they'll come at you with diamonds on their necks and knives behind their backs."
---
Later that night, back at the penthouse, Elena peeled off the golden gown and sat at the edge of her bed, exhausted but wide awake.
Her fingers traced the fake diamond ring on her finger.
A part of her felt like she had survived a battle.
Another part wondered how long she could keep pretending.
There was a soft knock.
She turned to find Damien standing in her doorway, uninvited but casual—like he owned every inch of space around him.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
"Not exactly," she replied. "Too many thoughts."
He stepped inside and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"You did well tonight," he said. "Better than I expected."
Elena raised an eyebrow. "That's your version of a compliment?"
"It's the closest you'll get."
She laughed quietly. "Noted."
A silence settled between them, heavy with things unsaid. Finally, she asked the question that had been sitting in her chest all evening.
"Why me, Damien? Out of all the women in your orbit—why me for this lie?"
He looked at her, and for a moment, something unguarded flickered in his eyes.
"Because you didn't ask for anything," he said. "You looked me in the eye when I made the offer and didn't try to seduce me, flatter me, or beg. You just... accepted."
He paused. "That kind of honesty is rare."
Elena blinked. "But this whole thing is a lie."
"And yet," he murmured, "you're the only one who feels real."
Then he turned and left, leaving her alone with that strange truth.
For the first time since signing the contract, Elena wasn't sure if Damien Cross was the devil in disguise—
—or just another soul trying not to drown in the fire he built.