DAMIAN'S POV
The hum of conversation washes over me as I enter the ballroom. The ballroom glows under chandelier light, reflecting off marble floors and champagne flutes. Soft orchestral music sweeps through the room, but mostly I hear voices: laughter, greetings, small talk wrapped in money.
As I move through the crowd, I exchange handshakes and half-hugs with some of the men I invited.
"Damian! This event looks incredible. Your fiancée really outdid herself," Mark says, patting my shoulder.
I nod. "Yeah, can't be more proud."
A couple nearby laughs.
Another friend lifts his glass. "My wife nearly cried at the entrance display. The photos of the kids? Powerful stuff."
I offer a small smile. "That's the point."
Eventually I find my seat near the stage.
The children's performance begins, their violin notes waver, tiny fingers stiff with concentration. The audience reacts like wealthy adults do: fond, gentle applause, kind smiles.
Waiters glide past carrying trays of champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres smoked salmon canapés, truffle arancini, chocolate-dipped strawberries. I take a glass of champagne. The air carries hints of citrus and floral perfume drifting from the guests around me.
A soft, familiar movement pulls my attention. Uncle Harrison slides into the seat beside me. No warning, just presence.
I exhale. "Why are you here."
He smirks, draping one arm over the chair's back. "Supporting family. Your fiancée is hosting a gala for the homeless kids. Thats'a a good course, surely I'll come to support my nephew. What touches you touches me."
That's… actually a reasonable answer. Anyone would believe him. Just not me.
We watch the kids finish their song, several bow too early, one forgets to bow at all. Everyone laughs lightly.
Then the announcer walks to the mic.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here this evening. Five years ago, one woman started this foundation with nothing but determination and a borrowed office desk. Today, Little Lights has provided over seven hundred children with medical support, educational assistance, and safe environments to grow. Please welcome our founder, Marielle Morgan!"
The applause is real, not polite. Real.
The lights sweep across the stage, warm and golden, spotlighting her as she walks onto the stage in that black silk dress. A soft ripple of applause grows to enthusiastic cheers. The screen behind her lights up, a brief montage of her work: playgrounds built, children laughing, families supported, a foundation started from nothing.
My eyes lock on her as she walks down the steps from the stage. Silk glides across her curves. The black dress; elegant, minimal and devastating clings to her in all the right places. Her legs, toned and confident, carry her across the floor. The subtle sway of her hips is enough to distract me from everything else in the room. My jaw tightens, fingers curling slightly against my glass.
She takes the microphone, thanks everyone for their presence and money they'll be spending today. Another ripple of laughter. Then she goes on to give a short history of the foundation foster homes, outreach programs, and scholarship funds.
When she steps down, smiling and shaking hands along her path, I can't help but watch the way every person she touches lights up. Her dress glides, her steps assured, every inch of her a woman who earned this moment.
Harrison leans in slightly.
"She looks breathtaking. Dazzling; yes... but never belong in our circle."
I keep my eyes on Elle and ignore him.
He continues, almost conversational: "Timing and optics matter. A woman like her just makes headlines and gather sympathy. We need more than that; we need alliances."
A pause. Then casually, "That's why I brought Alexandra Beaumont tonight."
I turn just enough to see him stand. I knew he didn't come all the way for nothing.
"Be polite to her," Harrison says quietly. "She's… a more strategic match."
Then he walks away.
Seconds later, Alexandra appears. Silver dress, perfectly tailored. Platinum hair sharp as a blade. Her perfume, something cool and expensive settles around us as she takes Harrison's seat.
She gives me her hand before I fully meet her eye. "Hey, Damian."
Her voice is smooth, with her practiced social elegance.
I take her hand, briefly. "Alexandra."
She glances around the ballroom, then back at me.
"She's done remarkable work here," she says genuinely. "It's admirable."
Interesting but she shifts a little closer.
"But I imagine events like this… are easier with someone at your side who understands the business behind the philanthropy."
A subtle line. Not an insult. A suggestion.
"Perhaps." But even as I say it, my eyes drift back to Elle.
Elle keeps moving through the crowd as children start walking the stage in tiny tuxedos and glittery dresses like a miniature fashion show. She greets donors with warm laughs and quick handshakes. Eventually, her path brings her closer toward our table.
I straighten; ridiculous reflex, but there it is. Though she doesn't see us at first, she's leaned close to an old couple, hand lightly on the gentleman's arm as she speaks with pure grace.
Then she turns and starts to step our way, but Alexandra rises first like a queen meeting a rival.
She offers her hand to Elle with an effortless smile.
"You must be Elle. I'm Alexandra Beaumont; Damian's date for tonight."
There's a hush in the air. I feel the words hit but I allow it. Besides, she said last night meant nothing so this, apparently, is nothing too.
Her hand wraps around mine like a restraint.
I let it stay, because pulling away now would explode the evening.
But inside, something flares hot. Neither attraction nor ego. It was anger for my uncle.
I feel boxed in. A Blackwell showpiece for display, and still… I keep smiling.
Elle freezes just a bit then lifts a calm, elegant smile.
"Oh. I wasn't aware Damian brought a date."
Not a wobble in her voice. Class.
"Family arrangement," Alexandra replies lightly, brushing imaginary lint from her dress. "His uncle was kind enough to invite me. It's important for Damian to be accompanied by someone who understands events like this."
Translation: His world. Not yours.
I could see the shift in Elle's expression but her smile remains perfect. "Yes. And it's important these events stay focused on the children and the cause… not on the accessories people bring with them."
Then, she doubles down.
"Besides, whether recommended by an uncle or not… people always drift back to where their heart truly belongs."
Boom. That one lands. An elegant comeback.
She steps closer. I feel her hand rise, then the tug on my collar. And before my brain catches up, her lips are on mine.
Not long. Not sloppy. Just… territorial.
The room reacts. Oh, it reacts.
Conversations cut off. People lower their glasses as their eyes widen in amusement. A few soft gasps are heard.
I hear a woman close to us whisper: "Awww, so beautiful."
Elle pulls back, meets my eyes for a single molten second.
"See you later, baby."
And God help me, I feel something in my chest crack open. That took words out of my mouth. Alexandra's smile stays on her lips but under the table, her fingers clamp slightly around my wrist.
Elle turns to me again. "Damian."
I'm about to speak but Alexandra smoothly interrupts: "We were just admiring tonight's program. You should be very proud. Truly."
Elle gives a single nod. "Thank you, Alexandra. Enjoy the evening."
She moves on, drifting back into the crowd. But she's not calm. I know her. She's burning.
When I turn toward Alexandra, she's still smiling, but it's now strained.
"That was… dramatic," she says.
I lean in, not in a flirtatious nor polite way.
"You crossed a line the moment you introduced yourself as my date."
Her eyes sharpen.
I continue, "Don't ever claim me like that in front of my fiancée again."
She stiffens as her hand loosens from mine. "But Harrison..."
"I don't care what Harrison wanted." I don't raise my voice. I don't need to. "I'm not your accessory. And Elle is not someone you get to disrespect."
Her lips tighten, clearly pale and angry.
Across the room, I spot Harrison watching, interested. Like the outcome still benefits him, no matter which direction the fire spreads.
A murmur of conversation rises again around us, people pretending not to have witnessed that entire micro-war.
I sit back in my chair, loosening my hand from Alexandra's as if discarding something unpleasant.
The anger is still there but now it has a direction. I need to find Elle.
My gaze moves across the ballroom… and then I see her. She's walking toward a side hallway with a young man, mid-30s, donor badge on his jacket. Smiling too closely, leaning too far in. Jealousy punches through me first. Then instinct.
I stand.
I'm moving before I fully think it through.
I slip out of the chair, ignoring Alexandra's soft "Damian...?" behind me.
I weave through guests, faster now. Champagne glasses blur past, conversations fade. I catch sight of Elle disappearing behind the curtain dividing the hall from the lobby.
I follow.
The music grows quieter, the lighting dimmer.
Then I hear it.
"No, please, stop..."
Her voice.
I round the corner and see him:
the donor, hand on her wrist, other on her waist pushing, pressing while Elle tries to pull away.
I grab him by the collar. He turns just in time for my fist to meet his jaw. Hard.
The impact cracks through the hallway. He crashes back into the wall with a dull thud.
Elle gasps.
He looks up at me dazed but furious.
Elle steps behind me, breathing hard, almost shaking and I know this man is lucky I only used my fist.
The man wipes blood from his lip.
"What the hell?!"
I stare him down. "She said no. You're finished here. And if you don't walk away now, I'll finish you personally."