Elle's Pov
Morning feels heavy. Sleep didn't help. My head is full of thoughts I don't want and questions I'm not ready for. Nothing dramatic, just a mornings where everything seems wrong.
I head to the kitchen for coffee, hoping it will fix me. Camila is already there, hands wrapped around her mug, shoulders tight. She looks like she's been standing there for a while.
I pour my coffee, take a sip of coffee and finally look at her. She's just staring into her cup.
"I didn't hear you come in last night."
She lets out a tired breath. "You were probably asleep."
"I wasn't," I mutter. "My head was too full."
"Because of yesterday?"
The tension I've been carrying from the gala finally bursts out. "I'm serious, Cam," I snap, setting my cup down hard. "Your boss…" I grab the nearest couch cushion and hurl it at the sofa like it's him. "He's impossible. I get it now. I finally understand how you survive every day dealing with him."
Her shoulders stiffen as walks to the couch and sinks into it. "Elle…"
"No, don't 'Elle' me." I start pacing, coffee forgotten. "He looked at me like I ruined his life. Like I asked for any of this."
She stays quiet, watching me.
"And he wants to keep this going," I continue, waving my hands. "For how long, Cam? I feel like I've lost my own life."
She tries to soften her expression. "Maybe he didn't mean it like that."
I give her a tired look. "Cam, come on. We both know he meant exactly what he said."
For a few moments, neither of us says anything. It's that quiet you get with someone who knows you too well, where everything is understood, but you still don't know how to put it into words.
"This is the best part," I add, laughing without humor. "He tried to pay me. Like I was some background extra. Not even a proper contract. Not like I would have agreed, but still..." I shake my head and flop beside her on the couch, burying my face in my hands. "I feel trapped in someone else's dream. I need to wake up for real."
Camila manages a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Elle maybe you should just go along with it. At least for tonight."
I turn my head slowly. "Go along with what?"
"There's a dinner with his family," she says softly, afraid I'll explode. "He told me to let you know."
The words hit me like ice water. My mouth drops open. "Dinner? With him? Cam… are you serious? You're joking, right?"
She bites her lip, trying not to roll her eyes. "It's just one night. You show up, smile, eat, and it's done."
"Never! No way," I sit up straighter, scoffing. "I'm not walking into that. It's insane." I let out a brittle sound that isn't really a laugh. The mere thought of it alone feels unreal.
Camila flinches. "Insane? Elle, insane is telling him about your vision. What were you thinking?!"
My laugh dies immediately, and silence presses in. I stare at the ceiling, then back down at my hands.
"I know it looks bad," I mutter, softer now, "but it can't be that bad, Cam."
Her eyes snap to mine, sharp and furious. "Elle, you don't just hand a man like Damian Blackwell something like that. You don't give him a weapon."
I shake my head, frustrated. "It wasn't a weapon. It was the truth. And trust me… you don't even want to know what I saw this time."
She slams her hands against her knees, leaning forward. "Seriously, Elle?! You just got engaged to the most powerful man in New York, and you gave him his secret? How reckless are you?"
I sink deeper into the couch, arms crossed, the energy bleeding out of me. I have never seen her this angry.
She sighs, defeated. "Elle, he doesn't play. Not with his company. And now you've dragged me into your mess. I didn't sign up for this."
The words sting. She stands, mutters something about a shower, and disappears down the hall.
Left alone, I lean back, staring at the ceiling. My chest won't settle. For a second, I wonder if I really have gone too far.
Then I whisper to the empty room. "No. If he wants a game, he'll get one."
Damian's Pov
7:42 p.m.
The tie is perfect, the cuffs sharp. I hate waiting. I pull out my phone and dial.
"Sir?"
"Is she ready?"
A pause. "Yes."
"Text me the address. Now." I end the call.
The message comes through, and I read it twice. The street name doesn't fit the picture in my head. I drive out anyway.
The neighbourhood rises around me. Quiet, polished, not poor but not elite either. A careful middle ground. Too clean.
My car slows as the numbers align. Brick walls, drawn blinds. It doesn't add up.
I call again. Camila answers on the second ring.
"Are you sure?" I ask. "This address. This house."
"Yes, sir. I can see your car from the window."
I glance up, catching a faint shadow moving behind the blinds.
"Alright," I say, gripping the wheel harder. "Have her come down then."
I sit there, staring at the building. Marielle Morgan doesn't fit in this picture. Neither does Camila.
Someone is paying for this carefully constructed quiet.
My mouth curves, humourless. "So who's keeping you, Elle?" I murmur, eyes fixed on the door.
Elle's Pov
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the dress Camila laid out. I'm not going anywhere.
"Elle, seriously, start getting ready," Camila says from the doorway, arms crossed.
"I said I'm not going," I shoot back. "I'd rather eat nails than sit through dinner with him."
She steps inside, voice rising. "Do you even hear yourself? It's one dinner. Just get dressed."
I spin around, narrowing my eyes. "Why are you being so pushy? Since when do you care this much about your boss?"
Her lips part. She wants to answer, then shuts them fast.
I step closer. "Seriously, Cam... what's going on? You've been acting strange all day, jumpy, avoiding my…"
"Elle, please, don't..." she starts, but I catch her hand before she can pull away.
A vision hits instantly.
Damian's office. His calm, cold voice.
"Mix up? Your friend repeated details from a private meeting. Details no one outside this room should ever have access to. Explain how she would know that?"
Camila's voice, shaking: "I'm sure she didn't. Elle doesn't care about this. She doesn't even know half of what I do here." Her voice softens, pleading. "She's not... she's not part this world, sir."
His reply, low and firm: "Then prove it."
Her head jerks up.
"Camila," he lets her name drag slowly, "If you want to keep this job, you'll help me get the answers I need. Pay attention. And when you see something you've missed, you'll let me know."
"She's my best friend!"
"That's why you'll get me answers. Use it."
The vision fades. I stumble back into the present. Camila's face is pale, stripped of colour.
"You didn't tell me," I whisper. My chest burns. "Were you going to give him what he wants?"
She shakes her head fast. "No, Elle. Never. I would never betray you."
"Then why keep me in the dark while he uses you to keep tabs on me?" My voice shakes with anger and pain.
Camila swallows hard. "I know you, Elle. If you knew, you'd panic, do something rash. And he already knows too much. He's outside at the moment. I can't risk him overhearing."
A chill settles in my chest. If Damian thinks he can manipulate me through her, he's completely wrong.
I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders. "Fine. I'll go to this dinner, but I'm doing it my way. On my terms."
A sharp knock, three times at the door.
Camila jumps, eyes wide, and darts out without another word.
A moment later, I heard that deep, measured voice. "Good evening."
He's stands in the doorway like he owns the place. Dark suit, darker presence. Camila lingers by the door, twisting her hands nervously.
His eyes lock on mine the moment he sees me. They don't flinch.
"You're late," he says quietly, as if I've kept him waiting.
I rest a hand on the couch for balance. "I wasn't planning on coming at all." I just don't know how to deal with a man who never blinks.
A faint, cold curve touches his lips. "Then it's a good thing I came to get you."
And just like that, I realize this dinner won't be about family at all. It's a battle.