Chapter 3 Lies Between Sheets

The gala was the kind of place where secrets wore suits and power came dressed in velvet.

Lila stepped out of the cab in a black slit dress she borrowed from a friend in drama school-too tight, too revealing, and exactly what she needed. If she was going to confront Damian Hart on his turf, she wasn't showing up like prey.

The entrance shimmered with crystal chandeliers. Everyone was dressed to kill. Literally, maybe.

She scanned the crowd. CEOs. Celebrities. Politicians. Cameras.

And him.

Damian stood near the grand staircase, talking to a silver-haired man who exuded quiet menace. Mr. Locke, if the research she'd done was right.

Damian saw her. His eyes moved slowly over her body like a scan. Cold. Calculating. But something in his gaze burned a little longer than necessary.

He excused himself from Locke and walked toward her.

"Wasn't sure you'd come," he said.

"You told me not to bring questions," she replied. "But I brought a warning."

She pressed the flash drive into his hand.

He looked at it, then back at her.

"Interesting," he murmured. "You're starting to play the game."

"I'm not playing," she said. "I'm surviving."

He leaned in, whispering into her ear. "Then let me teach you how to win."

He extended his hand. She took it, and they walked into the heart of the gala.

Their dance was not on the floor. It was in words, in glances, in the space between yes and no.

As music swelled, he brushed her waist, and she tensed.

"You still hate me," he said.

"Try despise."

"Good. That means you're still alive."