The ceremony was over, but the nightmare wasn't.
Servants opened the tall doors leading out of the hall, and guests began to disperse, murmuring their congratulations with cautious smiles. But none of it felt real to Alira. Everything was a blur—faces, voices, the scent of fresh flowers and burning candles. All of it washed over her like waves she was too exhausted to fight.
She followed Damon through a long corridor as if she were tethered to him by an invisible chain. His strides were calm, unhurried, but there was an unquestionable authority in the way he moved. Every step echoed with control. Every breath he took seemed calculated.
Alira trailed half a step behind him, careful not to make noise, careful not to stumble. She tried to keep her gaze forward, her posture straight, her breathing even.
She didn't want him to look at her again with that suspicion in his eyes.
But Damon was already watching.
He stopped suddenly.
Alira nearly bumped into him.
He turned slightly, his gaze sliding to her like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. "Your steps," he said quietly.
Her breath caught. "M-My steps…?"
"They drag," he replied.
A cold wave swept through her. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize—"
"You weren't trained to walk in gowns like this," he continued, ignoring her apology. "Helena spent months preparing. She never dragged her steps."
Alira's fingers curled around her skirt.
A test.
This was a test.
She tried to force a smile, but her lips barely moved. "It's just nerves," she whispered.
Damon raised a brow, the smallest arch, but enough to send dread through her stomach. "Nerves," he repeated, as if tasting the word. "That's new."
Alira forced her gaze down, praying he would drop the topic.
He didn't.
"Look at me."
Her chest tightened. She lifted her eyes.
Damon stepped closer—not threateningly, but with a cold curiosity that felt worse.
"You didn't look at me during your vows," he murmured. "Not properly."
"I… I was overwhelmed," she said, barely managing to keep her voice steady.
"You looked at the priest more than at your groom." His tone remained even, calm—too calm. That was what made it terrifying.
Alira swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."
He tilted his head slightly, observing the tension in her jaw, the faint tremor in her hands, the way her breathing didn't match her words.
"Is that the only explanation?" he asked.
"Yes," she said quickly.
Too quickly.
Damon's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
Another test.
And she had already failed.
But he said nothing. Instead, he resumed walking, though slower this time—as if giving her a chance to correct her steps. Alira held her breath and forced herself to glide the way she thought Helena might have practiced. She kept her chin lifted, her hands relaxed.
She felt his gaze brush over her every few seconds.
The air grew heavier.
Another corridor. Another silent examination.
Then, out of nowhere, Damon spoke again. "Your dress."
She stiffened. "What about it?"
"You're holding it wrong."
She looked down at her hands. She was gripping the fabric too tightly, knuckles white, fingers trembling.
Damon approached her again, and Alira instinctively took half a step back.
His eyes flicked to her foot, catching the movement.
"Why did you move?" he asked.
"I—" she froze "—I thought you were going to adjust the dress."
"Helena never moved when I stepped toward her."
Another test. Another comparison she wasn't meant to win.
Alira forced her feet to stay rooted. Damon reached out—not to touch her, but to pinch the fabric between her fingers. "Relax your grip," he said.
She loosened it immediately.
Damon raised the skirt slightly, showing the proper way to hold the embroidered lace. "Like this," he murmured. "Not strangling it."
Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. "I apologize."
"You've apologized a lot tonight."
"Because I've made many mistakes."
He studied her again.
"No," he said quietly. "You've been different."
Her blood turned to ice.
Different.
Wrong.
Not Helena.
She forced her voice to steady. "I'll try harder."
"Try less," he corrected.
She blinked in confusion.
His eyes locked onto hers. "Trying makes you nervous. Helena never tried."
Alira's stomach twisted painfully.
Another subtle threat hidden inside a simple observation.
Damon turned and continued walking. Alira followed in silence, careful now—every step measured, every breath controlled. Her skin prickled under his occasional glances, each one feeling like it peeled back another layer of her disguise.
They reached a lounge room where refreshments were set up for the final part of the celebration. The room was dimly lit, filled with music and murmuring voices. Associates of the Vargaz family approached to greet Damon.
He greeted each of them with curt nods. When they congratulated the bride, Damon watched her every time she responded, as if weighing every word, every smile, every hesitation.
When one woman complimented her earrings, Alira touched them lightly and smiled. "Thank you. They were a gift from my sister."
Damon's head snapped toward her.
Her heart stopped.
He leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper only she could hear. "Your sister? Helena doesn't give gifts."
Alira's breath faltered. She had forgotten—Helena was cold, distant, famously self-centered.
"I meant… my cousin," Alira corrected quickly. "We call her 'Sister' sometimes. It's a habit."
Damon didn't blink.
Did he believe her?
Did he care?
Or was he collecting evidence?
When the guests eventually drifted away, Damon and Alira were alone again. The silence between them felt heavier now—dense with suspicion and unspoken questions.
Damon stepped closer once more, his presence overwhelming.
"Tell me something," he murmured.
Alira's throat tightened. "Yes?"
His gaze pierced her. "Do you know why I'm paying attention to small things?"
She couldn't speak.
Damon lowered his voice. "Because small things reveal what big lies try to hide."
Her chest constricted painfully.
He was warning her.
Testing her.
Cornering her.
She forced a trembling breath and nodded slowly. "I… understand."
Damon stepped back, but his eyes remained fixed on her, unwavering. "Good," he said softly. "Because I'm not done yet."
Alira felt her knees weaken.
This was only the beginning.
The smallest detail could expose her.
One wrong word.
One wrong step.
One wrong breath.
And Damon Vargaz would know exactly who she was.