Chapter 4 4

The soft hum of the espresso machine filled the small café, accompanied by the occasional clink of cups against saucers. Elena sat at a corner table, her sketchpad open, though her pencil hovered above the page without moving. Her coffee sat untouched, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling.

She had spent the morning trying to shake the lingering tension from the gala. Damon's world was a spectacle of power plays and superficial alliances, and it had drained her in ways she hadn't anticipated. Yet, instead of retreating to her studio, she had ended up here, hoping the quiet space might offer her some clarity.

The bell above the door chimed, and she glanced up instinctively. Damon walked in, his presence commanding even in a casual jacket and dark jeans. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on her, and then he strode over, each step purposeful.

"You're avoiding me," he said, sliding into the chair across from her without waiting for an invitation.

"Good morning to you too," Elena replied, closing her sketchpad with deliberate slowness.

Damon leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Am I wrong?"

"I needed time to think," she admitted.

"And did you?"

"I did," she said, meeting his gaze. "Last night made one thing very clear. I don't belong in your world."

Damon's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. "You held your own better than most. That says more about you than you realize."

"I'm not looking for compliments," she said, her tone sharp.

"Good," he said smoothly. "Because I don't give them lightly."

Elena sighed, running a hand through her hair. "This isn't about whether I can handle it. It's about whether I want to. And honestly, I'm not sure I do."

Damon leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "We made a deal, Elena. If you're reconsidering, tell me now. But don't expect me to believe that you're backing out just because you had to make small talk with some entitled socialites."

"It's not just that," she said, her voice rising slightly. "It's the whole charade. Smiling when I don't want to, pretending I care about things I don't, letting people like your father judge me without even knowing me."

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might argue. Instead, he surprised her. "You're right. It's a charade. But it's also temporary."

Elena blinked, caught off guard. "Temporary?"

"This isn't forever," he said. "We both know that. Once the merger is finalized and our families are satisfied, we'll figure out an exit strategy. Until then, you endure. We both do."

The blunt honesty of his words disarmed her. She had expected him to brush off her concerns or remind her of the stakes, but his admission felt strangely... human.

"That's the first real thing you've said to me since we met," she said, her voice soft.

"I can be real when it's necessary," Damon replied, his tone light but his eyes serious.

"Then let's be real," she said, leaning forward. "I need boundaries. If this is going to work, I need to know where I stand."

Damon nodded, his expression unreadable. "Name them."

By the time their conversation ended, Elena felt a strange sense of relief. Damon might be frustrating, but at least he was willing to listen. She watched him leave the café, his broad shoulders disappearing into the busy street, and realized she felt lighter than she had in days.

The relief didn't last.

Later that afternoon, Elena returned to her studio to find Sophie waiting for her, a newspaper spread across the worktable. The headline read: Knight Heir's Fiancée Stuns at Blackstone Gala. Below it was a photo of her and Damon, his hand resting lightly on her back as they smiled for the cameras.

"Thought you might want to see this," Sophie said, her voice carefully neutral.

Elena picked up the paper, her stomach twisting. "They make it sound like I've been part of this world forever."

"That's the point, isn't it?" Sophie said. "Convince everyone you belong so they stop asking questions."

Elena set the paper down, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. "It doesn't feel real. None of it does."

"Then make it real," Sophie said firmly. "You're not a prop, Elena. If you're stuck in this, use it to your advantage."

"And how exactly do I do that?"

"By being yourself," Sophie said. "You don't have to play their game. Make them play yours."

Elena stared at her friend, the weight of her words sinking in. Maybe Sophie was right. Maybe she didn't have to lose herself in the process.

That evening, Damon returned to his penthouse to find Daniel Grayson waiting for him in the living room. The other man lounged on the leather sofa, a glass of scotch in hand, looking far too comfortable for someone who hadn't been invited.

"Breaking and entering, Daniel?" Damon said, closing the door behind him.

"The door was open," Daniel replied, raising his glass in mock salute. "You should consider better security."

Damon shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. "What do you want?"

"Just checking in," Daniel said, his tone casual. "Word on the street is that your fiancée made quite the impression at the gala."

"Is that so?"

"People are talking," Daniel said. "Wondering how a girl like her ended up with someone like you."

Damon poured himself a drink, his movements deliberate. "And what are you wondering, Daniel?"

"Whether this little arrangement of yours is as solid as it looks," Daniel said, his smile sharp. "Elena doesn't strike me as the type to follow orders. She's got fire. That's dangerous for someone in your position."

Damon sipped his drink, unfazed. "She's exactly what I need her to be."

"For now," Daniel said, standing. "But fire has a way of spreading. You might want to keep an eye on her."

He left without another word, leaving Damon alone with his thoughts.

Elena spent the next few days immersing herself in her work, trying to block out the noise of her new reality. The studio became her refuge, the smell of paint and the feel of the brush in her hand grounding her in a way nothing else could.

When Damon called to inform her of their next appearance-a charity gala for his company-she felt a wave of dread but swallowed it. This was the deal she had agreed to, and if she was going to survive it, she needed to follow Sophie's advice.

The night of the gala, she wore a sapphire gown that shimmered like water under the lights. She entered the venue on Damon's arm, her chin held high despite the stares and whispers that followed them.

By the end of the night, she had spoken to dozens of people, each conversation a delicate dance of politeness and subtle defiance. Damon watched her closely, his gaze unreadable, but she sensed his approval in the way he stood just a little closer than necessary.

When they finally stepped outside into the cool night air, Elena let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"You're getting better at this," Damon said, his tone almost teasing.

"Don't get used to it," she replied.

He chuckled, a sound that was both surprising and disarming. "You might be more dangerous than I thought."

Elena turned to him, her eyes sharp. "And you might not be as invincible as you think."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the city's noise filling the silence between them. They were two people from completely different worlds, bound together by circumstances neither fully controlled. Yet, in that moment, there was something unspoken between them-a connection that neither could deny nor fully understand.

The question was whether it would bring them closer together or tear them apart.