Chapter 4 The Gala

The dress for the gala arrived in a white garment bag sealed with a single crimson ribbon. Emma stared at it like it might bite. And in a way, it already had its contents and teeth, just not the kind you could see.

When she unzipped it, her breath caught.

It was black, backless. A slit that ran up her thigh like a whispered threat. The fabric was soft, expensive, and absolutely unforgiving. It wasn't made for comfort,it was made to be looked at. Touched. Owned.

Pinned to the neckline was a note, handwritten in sharp, masculine script.

"No underwear. I'll know." - D

She read it three times. Her hands trembled.

The ballroom glittered like a cage made of chandeliers and false charm. Damien was already there, of course, dressed in black tailored perfection, his presence impossible to ignore. He didn't wait for her at the door. He never would.

Instead, she found him through the crowd, and he found her with a single glance.

His gaze traveled down the length of her dress with slow deliberation. When their eyes met, a flicker of heat passed between them-hot enough to make her knees buckle.

"You listened," he said when she reached his side.

"I always listen."

"But you haven't learned to obey with grace."

Her brows furrowed. "What does that mean?"

Damien didn't answer. Instead, he took her hand in an unexpected, tender gesture and placed it on his arm. "Smile. You're supposed to be enchanted with me."

She forced a smile. "You're terrifying."

"Good. That's the foundation of respect."

They walked through the crowd, and Emma quickly realized the power he wielded wasn't limited to boardrooms. Every glance was different. Every handshake, submission. No one questioned his presence. No one touched her because she was with him.

He leaned in and murmured, "You're trembling again."

"I'm cold."

"You're lying."

She said nothing.

Later, on the Balcony

The air outside was cooler, quieter. She needed space. Distance. Something to slow the pounding in her chest.

But he found her again.

"You disappeared," he said from behind.

"I needed a moment."

Damien stepped closer. Close enough to steal her breath.

"And yet you didn't ask for one."

"I didn't think I needed permission to breathe."

He reached out, fingers brushing her bare back-lightly, but with devastating precision. "Everything you do now, Emma, is mine to allow."

Her breath hitched. "You're obsessed with control."

He smirked. "Because I know what to do with it."

Emma turned to face him fully, eyes wide, defiant. "And if I don't want to be controlled?"

"Then you shouldn't have signed the contract."

Silence stretched between them. Heavy. Electric.

Then, softly, "I don't know who I am with you."

"You're not supposed to," Damien said, his voice a whisper against her lips. "You're supposed to become something else entirely."

She swayed toward him. Just slightly.

And then his mouth was on hers.

The kiss wasn't sweet. It wasn't gentle. It was ownership-sharp, demanding, consuming. His hand slid to her waist, fingers digging into the silk, drawing her impossibly closer. Her hands pressed to his chest, not to push away-but to feel.

When he pulled back, she was breathless.

"This isn't part of the contract," she whispered.

"It is now," he replied