Chapter 3 The gala invitation

Damian

I didn't sleep.

Couldn't.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw hers-burning gold, like fire behind stormclouds. She haunted my dreams like a name I couldn't say aloud. And that scent... it clung to my clothes. My mind. My damn soul.

I spent the entire night reviewing her file.

"Rielle Kade." MBA from Oxford. Consultant for multiple European firms. Clean. Polished. Too clean.

No digital footprint before 2019.

Nothing.

No social media, no student records. Just... blank space. Like she dropped out of the sky fully formed.

The more I stared at her resume, the less I believed any of it.

There was something familiar about her. But every time I tried to place it, my thoughts went muddy, like my brain was trying to protect me from something I'd buried.

Zara.

I hadn't spoken her name in years. Wouldn't even let my wolf say it. It was better that way. Cleaner.

But now?

Now I couldn't stop comparing the two.

And it was driving me insane.

---

"Mr. Blackthorn?" my assistant, Lena, knocked once before slipping in.

I snapped out of my haze.

"You've got the gala tomorrow night. Board's expecting you to make an appearance."

I sighed. "Reschedule it."

She raised a brow. "It's the international acquisitions dinner. You're the keynote speaker."

Shit.

Right.

"I'll be there," I muttered.

"Oh, and Miss Kade confirmed her attendance. She'll be joining the VIP table."

My pulse spiked.

"Did I invite her?"

"You approved the guest list last week."

Damn it.

"Fine. That's fine."

Lena didn't miss the tension in my voice, but she was smart enough not to ask.

When she left, I finally let my wolf whisper the thing I'd been avoiding.

She's her.

No. She couldn't be.

Zara was dead.

I felt the bond break the night she was exiled. I saw the light in her eyes go dark as the guards dragged her through the snow.

Unless...

Unless she didn't die.

Unless she survived.

And now she was back-in my company, under a false name, pretending she didn't know who I was.

But why?

What did she want?

---

Zara

I wasn't supposed to be nervous.

I had this planned out to the second. Every move calculated. Every emotion boxed away like poison I'd promised never to drink again.

And yet... when the gala invitation hit my inbox, my stomach dropped.

I should've said no.

But I clicked Accept anyway.

Of course I did. That was the plan. Get close. Stay close. Learn what I needed to learn and burn him from the inside out.

But that didn't explain the stupid way I lingered over my outfit choices or how long I stood in front of the mirror rehearsing lines like some teenage girl hoping to impress her crush.

He wasn't my crush.

He was my enemy.

I'd survived exile because of that hatred.

But now, I wasn't sure if hatred was all that was left.

---

The gala was held at a luxury rooftop hall in Tribeca, glittering lights stretched across the ceiling like starlight. High society wolves brushed shoulders with powerful humans who had no idea they were drinking champagne next to beings who could rip them apart in seconds.

I arrived in black.

Not red. Not silver. Black silk, long and backless, my mark barely hidden beneath my curls.

The air shifted the moment I entered. Wolves feel each other, even in crowded rooms.

And then he turned.

Damian.

His suit was dark charcoal, crisp and tailored to perfection, but it was his eyes that landed like a blow.

For a second, I could've sworn he stopped breathing.

Then that damn smile returned.

Controlled. Careful. But... curious.

"Miss Kade," he greeted when I reached the table.

"Mr. Blackthorn."

"Didn't think you'd come."

"Didn't think I was invited."

He gestured to the empty seat beside him. "Looks like fate had plans for us."

I sat. "Fate has a twisted sense of humor."

He chuckled low under his breath. "You have no idea."

---

Dinner passed in a blur of wine and whispered conversations I barely followed. Damian's thigh brushed mine under the table more than once. I should've moved. Pulled back. But I didn't.

The bond was getting harder to ignore. My wolf stirred restlessly inside me, unsure whether to purr or snarl.

Then came the toasts. Damian stood at the center, glass raised high, commanding silence like he was born for it.

"In times of uncertainty," he said, "we don't just adapt. We evolve. We don't cower. We conquer."

Applause.

But his eyes found mine as he said the last word.

Conquer.

Was that what this was?

A game of power?

Or revenge?

Because I couldn't tell if I was winning anymore.

---

After dinner, he found me alone on the balcony.

The air was sharp, laced with city smoke and something older.

"You clean up well," he said behind me.

I didn't turn. "So do you."

Silence stretched between us.

Then, softer-too soft-he asked, "Why do you smell like her?"

My breath caught.

I turned slowly. "Like who?"

"Zara."

I swallowed. Hard. "Is that an ex?"

He didn't blink. "She was... more than that."

"Dead now, I assume?"

He looked away. "Yeah."

I shouldn't have said what I said next.

But it slipped out, bitter and quiet:

"Did you kill her?"

His jaw twitched.

"I tried not to."

I looked away, throat tight.

"Sounds like she got what she deserved."

"Maybe," he murmured. "But I never did."