Chapter 9: The Test Begins

Natasha swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the delicate stem of the champagne flute in her hand. Mr. Blackwood's piercing gaze made her feel as if he could see straight through her, peeling away any facade she might have had.

Damian stood beside her, his grip subtly firm on her lower back—a silent reassurance. But even with him there, she knew she was on her own in this test.

"Tell me, Natasha," Mr. Blackwood mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "What is it that draws you to my son?"

Natasha hesitated for only a fraction of a second before answering, "He's… different."

A murmur of amusement spread through the nearby onlookers. It was clear that 'different' wasn't an answer they were expecting or accepting.

Mr. Blackwood smirked, but the amusement didn't reach his eyes. "Different? How so?"

Natasha met his gaze head-on. "He doesn't just follow the script. He doesn't just do what's expected of him. He has his own mind, and he isn't afraid to use it."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, a slow chuckle escaped from the billionaire's lips. "Interesting answer."

Damian's father turned to the elegantly dressed guests around them. "She thinks my son is different."

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd, but Natasha held her ground. She wasn't about to let them intimidate her.

Just then, Tiffany made her move. Dressed in a shimmering silver gown, she glided forward, her lips curling into a fake smile. "Natasha, darling, I don't think you understand how things work here."

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "Enlighten me."

Tiffany's smile widened. "In our world, everything has a price. Including love."

A waiter passed by, and Tiffany grabbed a glass of wine, raising it toward Natasha as if in a mock toast. "I hope you're ready to pay up."

Natasha clenched her jaw, but before she could respond, Mr. Blackwood's voice cut through the tension. "Perhaps we should give her a real challenge. A taste of our world."

Damian's father gestured toward a grand staircase leading to a hidden area of the mansion. "Natasha, why don't you join me in the VIP lounge? Let's see how well you truly belong here."

Damian's grip on Natasha's waist tightened. "Father—"

Mr. Blackwood raised a hand. "No objections, son. If she's to stand by your side, she needs to prove she can handle the weight of this life."

The crowd's murmurs grew louder. Natasha knew this was a game. A carefully orchestrated test to see if she would crumble under the pressure.

She lifted her chin. "Lead the way."

Damian cursed under his breath, but Natasha had already made up her mind. If this was a test, she wouldn't just pass—she'd make sure they never questioned her again.