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However, beneath this veneer of elegance and class, under each carefully chosen word and a polite smile, lies a thick tension. A subtle currency of power and influence exchanging hands, discernible only to the most astute observer like me. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the night ahead. This is the world of the wealthiest elite. A world of ostentatious displays and meticulously crafted personas. As I step off the last stair and into the throng, I am once again reminded that this is a world where I must tread lightly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Jackson, secluded in the kitchen area with a beautiful blonde playfully toying with his suit lapel. The sight of them is a bitter reminder of the discomfort I feel in this world of extravagance and deceit. Yet, as soon I step into his line of sight, his demeanor changes abruptly. His eyes widen slightly, and a flicker of anger fills his eyes. With a sudden jerk, he pushes the blonde away, straightening his suit and clearing his throat.
A mask of nonchalance replaces his earlier smirk, but it does little to conceal his surprise at my presence. The sudden break in their intimate tête-à-tête leaves the blonde bewildered and her painted lips parting in a silent protest. The spectacle leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I swallow my disdain before forcing a smile onto my face. Tonight, after all, is simply another act in this grand scheme.
"Hey!" the blonde says to his retreating back.
Jackson strides toward me with confident steps. As he gets closer, he scans my body, checking out what I'm wearing as he walks a circle around me. When he stops in front of me, he grabs my chin and turns my face from side to side, inspecting my makeup. Whenever Jackson comes too close, I feel myself tensing up. Somehow, I find myself searching for Damien. His presence, for reasons I can't fathom, feels like a safe harbor in the storm.
"This will do," he says. "You're presentable enough. Remember to keep your fucking mouth shut and just smile."
He grabs my arm, and we head toward the ballroom. I paste the biggest, fakest smile I can and start counting down the hours until this is over.
Jackson's grip on my arm is firm, almost mechanical, as he guides me through the crowd. We're not walking together. More like he's parading me around, proud of the trophy he's showing off. No one speaks to me. Their eyes glaze over me, a mere accessory to Jackson's grand presence. They laugh at his jokes and clink their glasses with his. Their fake laughter echoes in my ears. Whenever someone does address me, their words are empty, mere obligatory remarks about my dress or the weather. I respond with a curt nod and a pleasant smile, keeping my words as minimal as possible.
I excuse myself and head toward the bathroom to give myself a break. As I hurry through the hallway, I bump into Damien. Our eyes meet, and I feel a sudden warmth rush through me. He’s talking on the phone, and he looks angry.
“Have him waiting for me,” he says, looking directly at me. “I want him hanging. Only give him water. I’ll stop by in a few days. That should get him talking. If not, I’ll beat it out of him.”
My heart races as I stare into his eyes. My breath catches at seeing the darker side of Damien Blackhart. A side I’d never believed really existed. I look away, not wanting to confront him or delve deeper into the secrets he keeps hidden.
“Sorry,” I murmur before quickly moving away.
I have no idea why his presence affects me like this. In the bathroom, I heave a sigh of relief before checking my makeup to ensure no bruises are showing before heading back out to the party. I've become adept at this game of concealment, of revealing just enough to satisfy their curiosity but withholding enough to keep them at a distance. I carry on this charade, one nod, one smile at a time, counting the seconds until I can retreat from this pretentious spectacle.
Soon, we're nestled in the midst of his family, all eyes turned towards the guests. Damien begins to command the room as he saunters towards the center with a glass of champagne glinting in his hand. The room falls silent as a hush of expectancy infuses the air. His voice slices through the silence as smooth as velvet.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he begins, his voice resonating with an authoritative yet warm tone. "Tonight is an extraordinary night, a night that we gather not just in celebration of wealth and prosperity, but more importantly, in celebration of family."
His gaze travels around the room, and for a fleeting moment, our eyes meet. His gaze is piercing, quietly assessing, and it sends an unexpected tremor down my spine. I swiftly look away, unwilling to acknowledge the unnerving effect his gaze has on me.
"We are honored to celebrate our dear Aurora," he continues, his eyes now focused on his beaming sister. "Beautiful, charismatic, and undeniably intelligent, she has made an unforgettable mark on our hearts. Here's to a future filled with joy, love, and endless possibilities."
As he raises his glass, the room erupts in applause. Yet throughout his toast, his eyes keep finding mine, quietly assessing, sending tremor after tremor down my spine. The kind of tremor I don't want to acknowledge because I don't want to find him attractive. However, during the laughter and applause, I find myself drawn to him, my heart pounding with a rhythm I dare not decipher.
The applause rings through the room as Damien finishes his speech, and we’re all escorted to our tables for dinner. I find myself seated with Jackson's family, tucked between Jackson on my left and an unfamiliar face on my right. The chatter around me becomes a white noise, a mere backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts storming in my mind.
Through out the dinner, I can't help but feel the weight of Damien's gaze on me, which causes goosebumps along my skin. His unreadable eyes seem to hide an ocean of secrets, drawing me in despite my best attempts to remain detached. For now, I focus on the clinking cutlery and murmur of voices around me, waiting for the evening to end, one second at a time.
"Hi, I'm Victor," the guy to my right says to me with a smile.
I stare for a moment because he's so handsome. His eyes are a smoky grey color, warm and inviting, a contrast to the cold scrutiny I've received so far. His hair is a tousled mop of chestnut brown, giving him an air of approachable casualness despite his immaculate suit. However, I can sense the danger that lurks beneath his smile.
He leans closer and smiles again. "This is where you introduce yourself. You're Isabella Blackhart, right?"
Hearing that name snaps me out of my thoughts of his handsomeness. "Just Isabella," I say before staring straight ahead.
Victor leans over again. "Are you enjoying the party," he asks.
I continue staring ahead, and when the waiter brings out the next course of food, I start eating, effectively ignoring him. He leaves me alone and starts talking to Damien. Meanwhile, Jackson's been ignoring me since we sat down. A few minutes later, Victor leans over again.
"How's the food?" he says casually. "I think my meat is overcooked."
"Please leave me alone," I hiss at him.
Jackson grabs my hand, and my head whips toward him, thinking I've pissed him off by talking to someone. His eyes are wide, and he's staring at me with his body stiff as a board. A weird sound comes out of his mouth, and I frown.
"Jackson, let go of me," I say, quiet enough that only he can hear.
