Chapter 8: The Charity Gala part 2

The ballroom was growing suffocating, and Evelyn needed air.

The laughter, the whispers, the glittering gowns, the weight of stares—it was too much. She had played her part flawlessly all evening, smiled when she was expected to, stood silently beside Damien like a sculpted ornament. The perfect wife, the shocking new Mrs. Lancaster.

But the mask was heavy.

She slipped away when no one was looking, her steps quiet against the marble floor as she pushed open the tall glass doors leading to the balcony. The air outside was cool, a relief against her flushed skin. The city's skyline shimmered below like a bed of fallen stars, stretching endlessly under the velvet sky.

For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to breathe.

She placed her hands on the balcony's stone edge, the weight of everything pressing down on her shoulders. This wasn’t just an event—it was a declaration. She wasn’t Evelyn Carter anymore. She was Evelyn Lancaster. And the entire world was watching, waiting to see her slip.

"You certainly know how to stir up a crowd," came a familiar voice from behind her, warm and teasing.

She turned, startled—but then relaxed instantly.

“Alexander?” she said, blinking.

Leaning casually against the side of the archway stood Alexander Reed, CEO of Reed Innovations and one of Damien’s oldest business allies. Dressed in a sharp red tuxedo that somehow didn't make him look overdressed, he radiated effortless confidence. His dark eyes held that same glint of humor she remembered from countless quick chats and boardroom coffee breaks.

Back when she was just Damien’s secretary.

Alexander had always been kind. Not the superficial politeness that most men in power offered women in subordinate roles, but genuine warmth. He remembered her name. He listened when she spoke. He made her feel seen.

And now, unexpectedly, here he was.

"That’s me,” he said with a grin, stepping closer. “Though I’m still not used to seeing you like this.”

Evelyn laughed softly, the sound a balm to her fraying nerves. “Neither am I.”

Alexander gave her a look, not pitying, not probing—just understanding. “I didn’t think you were the ballroom type.”

“I’m not,” she admitted. “But apparently, I’m the wife type now.”

He chuckled. “You wear it well.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Thanks.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the city lights twinkling below them like quiet witnesses.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said eventually, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Alexander shrugged. “I had to see it with my own eyes. Damien Lancaster, married? Honestly, I thought the man would outlive every bachelor in the city.”

Her lips curved. “He probably thought the same.”

Alexander tilted his head slightly. “Are you okay, Evelyn?”

She hesitated. Not because the answer wasn’t ready, but because the question hit too close.

“I’m… adjusting,” she said, finally. It was the most honest thing she could manage without unraveling.

“I figured,” he said gently. “But if you ever need to talk—away from the noise—my door’s always open.”

She gave him a small, grateful smile. “I might take you up on that.”

Before she could say more, the doors to the balcony opened again with a smooth push—and the air changed instantly.

Damien Lancaster stepped into the moonlight.

Imposing, elegant, and as unreadable as ever in his black tuxedo. His piercing blue eyes swept the scene quickly, locking first on Alexander, then on Evelyn.

A slow, knowing smirk formed on his lips. “Didn’t know my wife was having secret meetings at our own event.”

Evelyn sighed, rubbing her temple. Of course.

Alexander just grinned. “Jealous already?”

Damien’s smirk deepened. “Only when necessary.”

“I was just keeping her company,” Alexander replied smoothly. “She looked like she needed a moment.”

“She has me for that,” Damien said casually, but there was something sharp underneath the calm exterior. “But it’s kind of you to try.”

Evelyn stepped between them, her voice flat. “Can we not do this right now?”

Alexander raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two to it.”

He turned to Evelyn, offering her a smile that felt steadying. “Congratulations again.”

Before she could thank him, Damien’s voice cut in—low, firm, unmistakably possessive.

“It’s Mrs. Lancaster to you.”

Alexander’s smile didn’t falter, but something in his eyes shifted—just for a second. Then he gave a slight bow. “Of course. Mrs. Lancaster.”

With that, he disappeared back through the glass doors, swallowed once more by the music and murmur of the ballroom.

Evelyn turned back to Damien, who was now watching her with something unreadable in his gaze. The weight of his stare was heavier out here, in the quiet. With no cameras. No crowds. No need for masks.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

“Didn’t I?” he asked. He stepped closer. “People need to be reminded who you belong to.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” she said, the heat in her voice surprising even herself.

He said nothing, but a flicker of something passed through his expression. Then he leaned in, voice brushing against her ear like velvet.

“Let’s remind them, anyway.”

A shiver rippled down her spine.

And without waiting for her reply, he took her hand and led her back inside—through the golden doors and into the glittering chaos once more.

The ballroom had shifted while they were gone. The music had softened, the mood turned more intimate. Champagne flutes clinked. Elegant women watched them return like hawks in couture gowns. The whispers returned instantly.

But Damien didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, it tightened—as if claiming her publicly, again and again.

And Evelyn? She didn’t fight it.

But she couldn’t shake the sensation.

The awareness of his every move. The lingering brush of his fingers. His gaze, constant and consuming.

Whatever this arrangement had started as—a contract, a cover, a mutually beneficial solution—it had taken on a life of its own. And Evelyn could feel it growing into something far more dangerous.

Because the tension between them was no longer just performative.

And worse—she was starting to feel it too.

The weight of his attention. The warmth of his touch. The way her heart betrayed her with every stolen glance.

She hadn’t signed up for this part.

And she wasn’t sure if she was ready for what came next.