Chapter 4 4

Becky's POV

The black town car pulled up to her apartment at exactly eight o'clock. The sleek vehicle gleamed under the streetlights, a silent reminder of the world she was about to step into. Becky inhaled deeply, smoothing down the black silk of her gown before opening the door and sliding inside.

The interior smelled of leather and expensive cologne. Damien Lancaster sat across from her, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tux. The sharp lines of his suit emphasized his broad shoulders, and under the soft glow of the car's lighting, his expression was unreadable.

"You're punctual," he remarked, eyes scanning her from head to toe.

Becky met his gaze without hesitation. "You don't seem like the type who tolerates lateness."

A hint of amusement flickered across his features. "Correct."

The car eased into motion, the hum of the engine filling the silence between them. Becky rested her hands on her lap, fingers gripping the delicate clutch she had picked out hours ago. The dress had been a last-minute decision-form-fitting but elegant, modest but striking. It had taken everything in her not to second-guess her choice when she'd slipped it on.

Damien's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he leaned back, tapping his fingers against the armrest. "Tonight, you're here to observe, not intervene. Understand?"

"Crystal clear."

"Good." He glanced out the window. "This gala is more than a social gathering. It's a battlefield, disguised with champagne and forced smiles."

The weight of his words settled over her. This wasn't just about networking or charity donations. This was business-the kind of business that determined the rise and fall of empires.

The city lights blurred past as the car glided through the streets, heading toward the grand hotel where the event was being held. Becky shifted, the silence stretching between them.

"Why me?" she finally asked.

Damien's gaze flicked back to her. "What do you mean?"

"You could've had any journalist cover this story- or shut it down entirely. But you didn't. You let me in."

His lips curved slightly, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe I enjoy the challenge."

A chill ran down her spine. She wasn't sure if she was playing the game, or if she had already become the pawn.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the grand hotel, where photographers and reporters clustered near the entrance, waiting for high-profile guests to arrive. The moment the door opened, Damien stepped out first, exuding the effortless confidence of a man who owned the very ground he walked on.

Becky followed, her heartbeat quickening as flashing lights erupted around them.

A strong hand rested against the small of her back. "Smile," Damien murmured close to her ear. "You're in the lion's den now."

Damien's POV

Becky handled the cameras better than expected. She didn't flinch under the flashing lights, nor did she stumble when questions were hurled their way. Smart woman.

Inside the ballroom, the air buzzed with the quiet hum of wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over the elegantly dressed guests, and the scent of expensive perfume mixed with aged whiskey.

Damien led Becky through the sea of people, his hand still resting lightly on her back. She didn't resist, but he could feel the tension in her posture. She was watching, absorbing everything.

"You're being evaluated," he murmured low enough that only she could hear.

Her lips barely moved. "By whom?"

"Everyone."

Several heads turned as they passed-some with curiosity, others with speculation. Damien caught sight of a few key players he had anticipated seeing tonight. Investors, rivals, men who played just as ruthlessly as he did.

A tall man in a navy tux approached, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly styled. "Damien," he greeted with a firm handshake. His sharp gaze flicked toward Becky. "And who is this?"

Damien didn't miss the way Becky straightened, meeting the man's gaze head-on.

"My guest for the evening," he replied smoothly.

The man's lips twitched. "Interesting. I wasn't aware you entertained guests outside of business."

Becky spoke before Damien could respond. "Maybe business isn't the only thing that holds his attention."

A spark of amusement danced in the man's eyes before he turned his attention back to Damien. "We'll speak later."

Damien nodded, watching as the man walked away.

"That was Vincent Grey," Becky murmured. "One of your competitors."

"Impressive. You've done your research."

"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't."

Damien chuckled, the sound low and approving. She was holding her own, adapting quickly. It was exactly what he had expected.

But what intrigued him was the fact that she wasn't just observing-she was playing the game.

"You're enjoying this," he noted.

Her eyes glimmered under the chandelier light. "Maybe a little."

A waiter passed by, offering a tray of champagne flutes. Damien took one, handing another to Becky. She hesitated before accepting it, bringing the glass to her lips.

A voice cut through the murmur of conversation. "Mr. Lancaster."

Damien turned, his expression cooling. Standing before him was a woman draped in a deep red gown, her dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

Becky tensed beside him, sensing the shift in his demeanor.

The woman's lips curled. "It's been a long time."

Damien exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around his glass.

"Too long, Victoria."