Chapter 3 3

The warm glow of chandeliers illuminated the grand ballroom of the Blackstone Hotel, the air buzzing with the hum of polite conversation and clinking champagne flutes. Elena scanned the crowd, her stomach a tight knot. This was her first official appearance as Damon Knight's fiancée, a role she had reluctantly agreed to play.

Her dress, a deep emerald green that complimented her olive skin, clung perfectly to her frame. It was one of the many designer gowns hand-delivered to her studio that week, each selected by Damon's team to ensure she "fit the image." She had grudgingly chosen this one, though her decision had less to do with appeasing anyone and more with making herself feel like she belonged in this glittering, unfamiliar world.

Damon stood beside her, effortlessly commanding attention. His tailored black tuxedo accentuated his tall frame and sharp features, and the way he moved through the crowd exuded power. People parted for him without hesitation, their smiles wide but cautious. He was a man who inspired respect and fear in equal measure.

"You're quiet," he remarked, leaning closer to her ear so only she could hear.

"I'm observing," she replied, her gaze flicking toward a group of women who whispered behind their glasses, their eyes darting to her with barely veiled curiosity.

"You're being judged," Damon said bluntly. "Don't let it bother you. They do it to everyone."

"It doesn't bother me," she lied, forcing a small smile. "I'm used to being watched."

He gave her a sideways glance, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Not like this, you're not."

Before she could respond, a portly man in a silver vest approached, his expression a mix of admiration and sycophancy. "Damon, my boy!" he exclaimed, extending a hand. "It's been too long. And who is this stunning young woman?"

Damon shifted seamlessly into his public persona, his smile polished and calculated. "Howard, meet my fiancée, Elena Castellano."

Howard took her hand, his grip overly enthusiastic. "Fiancée, you say? Damon, you've outdone yourself. A beauty and, no doubt, a brilliant mind to match."

Elena returned his smile, her tone cool but polite. "I'll let you decide once you've gotten to know me."

The man chuckled, clearly pleased with her response. "I look forward to it." With a nod, he excused himself, melting back into the crowd.

"Well done," Damon murmured, his voice low enough to be drowned out by the music.

"I wasn't auditioning for a role," she said, her tone clipped.

"That's where you're wrong," he replied. "Every moment in this world is an audition. Whether you like it or not."

The truth of his words sat uncomfortably in her chest. This wasn't her world, and no matter how much she tried to blend in, it was painfully obvious she didn't belong.

Across the room, Sophie stood near the bar, watching Elena with a mix of amusement and concern. She had managed to wrangle an invitation to the event under the guise of a "plus one," though her real motive was keeping an eye on her friend.

"She looks like she's handling it well," a voice said beside her.

Sophie turned to see a young man in a crisp suit nursing a glass of whiskey. His eyes, sharp and observant, were fixed on Elena and Damon.

"She's tougher than she looks," Sophie replied cautiously. "Do you know them?"

The man smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Let's just say I know Damon. Watching him navigate this little arrangement is... entertaining."

"Who are you?" Sophie asked, her tone suspicious.

"Daniel Grayson," he said, offering his hand. "Business associate. And you are?"

"Sophie," she replied, shaking his hand briefly. "Friend of Elena's."

"Ah," Daniel said, his expression shifting to something resembling genuine interest. "Then you must have some insight into how she's handling all this. It's not every day someone gets thrown into Damon's orbit."

"She's fine," Sophie said curtly, not liking his tone.

Daniel chuckled, raising his glass. "If you say so."

Later in the evening, Elena found herself standing alone near one of the grand windows, her fingers tightening around the stem of her champagne flute. The event was overwhelming, a constant blur of faces, names, and backhanded compliments.

"Escaping already?" Damon's voice came from behind her.

"I needed air," she said without turning around. "But there doesn't seem to be any here."

He stepped closer, his presence both comforting and unnerving. "You're doing well. Better than most would in your position."

"Don't patronize me," she said, finally looking at him.

His eyes narrowed slightly, though his tone remained calm. "That wasn't my intention. I meant it."

She studied him, searching for the cracks in his carefully maintained facade. "Do you ever get tired of pretending?"

Damon tilted his head, considering her question. "Pretending is part of the job. But tired? No. It's a means to an end."

"For you, maybe," she said. "But I don't want to lose myself in this... performance."

"You won't," he said simply. "Not if you know who you are."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Gregory Knight, his presence commanding attention even without speaking. He approached them with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Elena," Gregory said, his tone warm but calculated. "I must say, you've made quite an impression tonight."

"Thank you," she replied, her voice polite but distant.

Gregory turned to Damon, his expression hardening slightly. "A word, if you don't mind."

Damon gave Elena a reassuring nod before following his father to a quieter corner of the room.

"You need to tighten the reins," Gregory said without preamble.

"On what?" Damon asked, his tone devoid of patience.

"Her," Gregory said, nodding toward Elena. "She's doing fine, but she needs to understand the stakes here. This isn't just about appearances, Damon. It's about trust. If she can't handle the pressure, the entire merger could fall apart."

"She's handling it better than most would," Damon said, his voice firm. "And she's not a puppet. You'll get more out of her by giving her space than by trying to control her."

Gregory frowned but said nothing, his silence more telling than any words. Damon took it as a sign to end the conversation and walked away, his mind already turning over what his father's interference might mean for their arrangement.

The evening dragged on, but Elena managed to hold her own, navigating conversations with a grace she hadn't realized she possessed. By the time the event ended, she was exhausted but relieved to escape the spotlight.

Damon escorted her to the waiting car, his hand resting lightly on her lower back. The touch was barely noticeable, yet it sent a jolt of awareness through her.

"You survived," he said once they were seated inside.

"Did I?" she replied, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

He smirked, leaning back against the leather seat. "You did better than most would. But you should get used to it. There will be more events like this."

"Something to look forward to," she muttered, staring out the window.

The silence between them was heavy but not entirely uncomfortable. For all their differences, they had managed to find a rhythm, however tenuous it might be.

Elena glanced at Damon, studying his profile. There was something about him she couldn't quite unravel, a complexity hidden beneath the polished surface. She wasn't sure if it intrigued her or made her uneasy.

"Why do you do it?" she asked suddenly.

"Do what?"

"All of this," she said, gesturing vaguely. "The performance, the control, the... pretending."

He didn't answer right away, his gaze fixed on the city lights outside. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than she'd expected.

"Because I have to. People expect it, and I've learned that expectations are easier to meet than to fight."

Elena frowned, his words settling uncomfortably in her chest. She wanted to argue, to tell him he didn't have to live his life according to others' demands. But she knew better. His world was different from hers, bound by rules she couldn't fully understand.

Instead, she turned back to the window, her own thoughts swirling. This arrangement might have started as a means to an end, but it was becoming something far more complicated. And she wasn't sure either of them was ready for what lay ahead.