Chapter 7: Lines We Can’t Cross

Elena's heart pounded as Damien's fingers brushed against her wrist, the cool weight of the diamond bracelet a sharp contrast to the heat creeping up her skin. She should have pulled away, should have reminded him—this was an act, a business deal.

But she didn't.

Instead, she let the moment linger, let his gaze settle on her like a question she wasn't ready to answer.

Who said it's just a prop?

His words replayed in her head like a haunting melody, making her pulse quicken. He was playing with fire. Or maybe I am.

Elena swallowed hard, forcing a small laugh. "If you think expensive jewelry is going to distract me from asking questions, you're sorely mistaken, Mr. Blackwood."

A smirk ghosted across his lips, but there was something else in his eyes—something unreadable. "We'll see about that, Miss Carter."

Before she could respond, a voice interrupted them.

"Damien, I was wondering when I'd find you."

Elena turned, spotting the same man from earlier—Richard. He approached with slow, deliberate steps, his sharp blue eyes flicking between her and Damien like he was studying them.

"Enjoying the evening?" Richard asked smoothly, but there was an edge beneath his words.

Damien didn't even blink. "It's tolerable."

Richard chuckled. "Ah, Damien. Ever the charming host." His gaze shifted to Elena, curiosity dancing in his eyes. "And Miss Carter… still playing pretend?"

Elena stiffened. So he knew.

Before she could react, Damien's grip on her waist tightened slightly—a silent warning. Or maybe reassurance.

"I don't know what you mean," Elena said, tilting her head with a polite smile.

Richard smirked. "Of course you don't." His eyes flickered to Damien. "A word in private?"

Damien's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "I'll be back," he murmured to Elena before stepping aside with Richard.

She watched them, her journalist instincts kicking in. Their conversation was hushed, but their body language said everything. Damien was tense, his posture rigid, while Richard looked almost… amused.

What the hell was going on?

Elena had researched Damien before agreeing to this arrangement—she knew about his empire, his influence. But there were gaps in his history, parts of his past that were sealed shut.

And something told her Richard held the key.

"Your Damien is quite the mystery, isn't he?"

The smooth voice made Elena turn. Isabella.

The stunning woman held a glass of champagne, her expression unreadable.

"He's not my Damien," Elena corrected.

Isabella's lips curved slightly. "That's what you tell yourself now." She took a slow sip of her drink. "But be careful, Elena. Men like Damien Blackwood… they don't do things without reason."

Elena narrowed her eyes. "And what reason would he have for me?"

Isabella tilted her head. "That's the question, isn't it?"

Before Elena could press further, Damien returned, his expression unreadable.

"We're leaving," he said, his voice quieter than usual.

She blinked. "What? Why?"

"Because I said so."

There was no room for argument.

Elena hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Fine."

Damien placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. As they walked past Richard, she caught the older man's gaze—there was something almost knowing in his eyes, something that sent a chill down her spine.

And then, just as they stepped outside, Richard spoke.

"Good luck, Miss Carter. You're going to need it."

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