Chapter 3 Dinner with the Devil

The message was still glowing on her phone screen.

"We need to talk. Your husband isn't who you think he is."

Ava read it twice. Her fingers trembled around the phone. She looked around the dark parking lot, but there was no one suspicious in sight. The driver opened the car door for her, and she quickly slid into the backseat beside Damien, forcing her face into a neutral expression.

She couldn't afford to look shaken. Not around him.

Especially not after what he'd done to her that night using a kiss as a weapon in front of hundreds of people, humiliating her in a room full of strangers just to maintain an image.

Damien didn't speak on the ride home. He stared out the window, his jaw tight, as if the world had offended him. Ava sat quietly beside him, her mind racing with questions. Who sent the message? Was it a threat or warning?

She couldn't ask him. She couldn't bring herself to telling him either.He'd never admit anything and she couldn't reply. What if he was tracking her phone?

Back at the penthouse, Ava excused herself quickly and locked the guest room door. Her heart wouldn't slow down. She re-read the message under her blanket, trying to make sense of it. She thought about everything she already knew about Damien - which wasn't much. He never talked about his family. He avoided personal questions. And he never let anyone see him vulnerable.

Who was the man she had married? What was he hiding?And more importantly,why did someone think she needed to know?

---

The next morning, Ava barely had time to breathe before Damien's assistant, a woman named Cara, showed up at her door with a large garment bag and a fake smile.

"Mr. Thorne has a family dinner tonight. You're expected to attend. Wear this."

Ava looked at the dress and felt her stomach twist. It was blood red, backless, and tight enough to cut off her breathing. Again, not her style.But she nodded and took it anyway. "Thanks."

Cara didn't leave. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Let me give you some advice, Ava. Don't try to get comfortable. You're not part of this family. You're just passing through."

Ava's hand tightened around the dress. "Thanks for the advice," she said quietly, "but I didn't ask for it."

Cara smirked. "You'll wish you had."

That evening, Ava stepped into the mansion Damien called his "family home." It looked like a palace - marble floors, gold chandeliers, glass stairs, and oil paintings of people who looked equally cold and powerful.

Damien's mother, Eleanor Thorne, was the first to greet them. She didn't smile. She didn't speak. She just looked Ava up and down like she was inspecting a stain on her silk curtains.

"So this is the charity wife," she said coolly, sipping her wine.

Ava froze.

Damien didn't defend her. He just handed Eleanor a gift box and said, "Don't start."

Eleanor raised a brow. "Why? She knows it's not real. You told her, didn't you?"

Ava swallowed her shame like acid. She didn't respond. She couldn't.

Another voice joined them - male, older, sharper.

"Be nice, Eleanor. If Damien married her, she must be useful."

Ava turned to see Damien's father, Conrad Thorne, walking toward them. His hair was white, his posture military-straight. He looked powerful in a terrifying way, like he could crush people with a glance.

"Welcome to our home, Ava," he said smoothly. "Do sit down. We've been waiting."

The long dining table was filled with relatives and corporate allies - some Ava recognized from news headlines. Billionaires. Investors. Politicians.

And here she was, in their world, feeling like an insect under a microscope.Dinner was a storm of subtle insults and fake smiles.They asked her questions she wasn't prepared for. About art, finance, politics - things she hadn't studied. She answered politely, but the mocking glances never stopped.

Eleanor leaned in halfway through dessert. "You know, dear, Damien used to be engaged to a senator's daughter. Now he's with... well, whatever it is you do."

Ava forced a smile. "I was a secretary. At Thorne Enterprises."

The table went quiet. Some coughed awkwardly. Others chuckled.

"A secretary," Eleanor repeated, amused. "How romantic."

Damien said nothing. Not once did he defend her.Ava kept her eyes on her plate, trying not to crumble.

That was when the doors opened and someone unexpected stepped inside.

A sliver haired man in sharp suit. The same man who raised his glass to her at the gala.He walked in like he owned the place, every eye turning toward him.

"Mr. Gray," Damien's father said, standing up to shake his hand. "Didn't think you'd make it."

"I wouldn't miss it," the man replied, his eyes landing on Ava. "Especially after seeing such a lovely new addition to the family."

Ava felt her skin tighten.

Mr. Gray sat across from her, smiling kindly. "And you must be Ava."

She nodded politely. "Yes. It's nice to meet you."His eyes held hers for a little too long.

Then he said, with a slight smirk, "Have you checked your phone lately?"

Her heart stopped.

The voice. The message. It was him.

Damien looked between them, his expression unreadable.

Mr. Gray lifted his glass. "To family," he said.

Ava lifted hers.Her hands were trembling slightly. "To family."But her thoughts were far away.

What did he know? Why was he warning her?And how deep did Damien's secrets go?

As dessert is cleared, Ava's phone buzzes again beneath the table. Another message.

"He's not just cruel. He's dangerous. You need to protect yourself "