Chapter 5 Lines in the Sand

The silence after Damien's confession lingered like a storm cloud in the center of the penthouse. Selena stood frozen, the echo of his words replaying in her head.

"Your father signed the deal that bled my mother's company dry."

So that was it.

This wasn't just a marriage.

It was a vendetta. A slow-burning revenge. She'd walked into a gilded trap, signed her name in gold ink, and now she was owned.

Not as a wife. As a weapon.

Selena turned, heart pounding. "So what now? Do I wait for you to finish your masterpiece of destruction? Or should I schedule my own funeral for the next press conference?"

Damien leaned against his desk, gaze unreadable. "You're not a casualty, Selena. You're the center of this storm."

She laughed bitterly. "You say that like it's a compliment."

"It is," he said, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. "I chose you. Not just for what you represent-but for what you are."

"And what's that?" she demanded.

"A woman who doesn't break easily."

She flinched-because he was right. Because weakness would get her swallowed whole. And because somewhere in the twisted shadows of their truth... she felt something she shouldn't.

Not hate.

Not exactly.

Something worse.

Curiosity.

Two Days Later – Charity Gala, Manhattan Ballroom

The gala was a dazzling affair-chandeliers dripping in crystals, violins swelling through the air

Here's Chapter Five (continued) of Bound by Contract: The Billionaire's Reluctant Bride, as the tension escalates in public, secrets stir beneath the surface, and Damien and Selena start to blur the line between pretending and feeling:

The gala was a dazzling affair-chandeliers dripping in crystals, violins swelling through the air, and every eye in Manhattan watching them. Damien and Selena stood at the top of the staircase like royalty summoned to court.

He looked untouchable in a black tuxedo, sharp and commanding. She wore a red satin gown that hugged her like a secret. She knew what she looked like-elegant, dangerous, perfectly poised.

Every camera in the room was already clicking.

"Smile," Damien murmured, his hand finding the small of her back. "They're watching."

"They always are," she said through clenched teeth, but her smile was picture-perfect. Her spine stiffened as his fingers rested a second too long on her bare skin. "Boundaries, remember?"

"You'll notice I haven't crossed any lines."

"You drew them in pencil."

"And you're doing a fine job of blurring them."

She didn't know whether to be furious or impressed.

Later – In the Ballroom

Guests floated around them like gossip on air. Champagne flutes sparkled. Laughter danced through marble columns.

Selena moved through the crowd with calculated grace. She was being watched-not just by photographers or socialites-but by her enemies. Damien's world was full of sharks. And tonight, they swam in black ties.

"You look radiant tonight, Mrs. Blackthorn," came a voice behind her.

She turned to see a man in his forties, salt-and-pepper hair, eyes like a scalpel. She recognized him.

Vincent Moreau. Investor. Ruthless. Allegedly mob-affiliated.

"I'm not Mrs. Blackthorn yet," she replied smoothly.

"No," he said, sipping his drink, "but it won't matter once the headlines run. In this world, perception is ownership."

She held his gaze. "Ownership is an illusion. Power isn't."

His grin sharpened. "Touché."

Damien was at her side a second later, his smile polite but lethal. "Vincent. Still circling my table?"

Vincent chuckled. "Always curious what you're willing to risk."

Damien's arm curled more firmly around Selena's waist. "More than you'd survive touching."

Selena said nothing, but every muscle in her body was alert. That wasn't posturing. That was a warning.

One meant for her, too.

Back at the Penthouse – Past Midnight

The limo ride home was thick with tension. Selena stared out the window, heart racing.

"You didn't have to do that," she said finally.

"Do what?" Damien asked, loosening his tie.

"Act like you care."

He didn't look at her. "You think I don't?"

"You said this marriage was business. A contract."

"And that makes it any less real?" His voice was low now, sharp. "You think power doesn't come with emotion? You think loyalty can be bought but not felt?"

She stared at him. "You don't love me, Damien."

"No," he said, his voice cutting through the space like glass. "But I'm not indifferent either. And maybe that's the most dangerous thing of all."

She turned away, breath caught somewhere between her ribs.

When they arrived at the penthouse, Damien opened the door for her. His fingers brushed hers. Just briefly.

And it lingered like fire.

Later That Night – Selena's Bedroom

She couldn't sleep.

Every conversation played over and over in her mind. Her father. Damien's mother. Vincent's veiled threat.

And that moment-his hand, the way it lingered.

Selena got out of bed and crossed to her desk. She opened her laptop and pulled up encrypted files she'd been quietly collecting.

Contracts. Press archives. Blackthorn Holdings.

If Damien had secrets, she was going to find them.

She wouldn't play victim. She wouldn't wait to be burned.

This time, she'd be the one holding the match.