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“Okay,” I tell him.
“In this life or the next, you're irrevocably mine. My heart beats in that chest of yours, and every shadow that falls on you is cast by me. Remember that, Isabella, whenever you think of running,” he says before leaning back.
I'm silent while I take in the gravity of his promise. I care for Damien deeply, more than I ever thought possible, yet the dangers that shadow his life are real and unpredictable. Can I embrace this life with all its uncertainties, or will the risks prove too great? This is the decision I must face.
28
CHAPTER 28
Isabella
Tonight is the night of the gala, and Damien has spared no expense to ensure I am pampered throughout the day, treating me like the royalty he believes I am. Early in the morning, a masseuse arrives, using her skilled hands to deftly knead away the tension that had built up over the chaotic past weeks. As relaxation seeps into my muscles, I can't help but feel a growing sense of anticipation for the evening ahead.
Around midday, a hair stylist crafts my hair into an elegant updo, with loose, cascading curls that frame my face with a softness that belies the firm resolve within me. Each strand is meticulously placed, the result being both lush and refined. As the sun dips lower, a makeup artist brushes my face into a flawless canvas. Smokey eyeshadow makes my eyes smolder, while a touch of rose on my cheeks provides a delicate contrast to the boldness of my gaze.
Finally, the pinnacle of the transformation comes as I slip into my gown. It's a breathtaking creation, red silk that clings and falls in all the right places, with a daring slit up the side that promises a glimpse of leg with every step I take. The fabric catches the light and seems to glow with its own inner fire, a reflection of the passion I carry within me. I secure the delicate straps of my high heels.
I stand before the mirror, taking in the woman who stares back at me. The reflection shows a queen, regal and ready to face whatever the night may bring. Damien walks into the room, and his confident steps falter for a moment as he takes in my appearance.
"Beautiful," he mutters under his breath, and there's a heat in his gaze that sends a ripple of excitement through me.
"None of that, Mr. Blackhart," I say with a playful warning in my tone, but the words only seem to draw him closer.
In a few strides, he's right behind me, with his hands finding their way to my hips to bring me flush against him, my back to his chest. His touch is tender yet possessive, and I feel his fingers trace down to rest on the slight bump of our growing child. Thanks to the artful scrunching of the dress, the baby is cleverly concealed. Yet to him, I know, it's the most beautiful part of all. Damien leans down and kisses the nape of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Tonight," he whispers against my ear. “You'll outshine every woman there." His breath is warm on my skin, and his words weave a thrilling anticipation through me. "Every man in the room will have their eyes on you."
His hands tighten possessively on my hips, pulling me harder against him. "But that ring on your finger makes a very clear statement. They can look all they want, but you're taken. You'remine." The heat of his proximity sends desire coursing through me. My breathing becomes deeper, more deliberate. I close my eyes for a moment to collect myself.
With an effort, I steady my voice, turning my head to murmur back at him. "I'm not worried about other men, Damien. You shouldn't be, either." It's a declaration mingled with the fiery confidence his love has kindled in me. He pauses for a heartbeat, then his grip relaxes, and he steps back.
In a swift, fluid motion, Damien catches my hand, his fingers interlacing with mine, and leads me away from the room. Together, we move through the house and step out into the cool embrace of the evening. The waiting vehicles stand like silent sentinels, ready to bear us off into a night that's ours to conquer.
The vehicle purrs to a stop in front of the venue, a beautiful edifice rising like a dream against the evening sky. Damien steps out first, commanding and assured, and then circles the car to open the door for me. His hand is a promise as it enfolds mine, leading me out into the flood of cameras and flashing lights.
"Smile, love," he murmurs, and I summon my brightest smile, the one I save just for him, hoping it hides the panic fluttering in my chest.
I step out of the car, and it's like stepping onto a stage. The lights are blinding, and the chatter of the crowd is a deafening roar in my ears. The smile on my lips feels like a mask, pasted on to present a brave face to the gawking world, and I pray that I don't look as terrified as I feel. Like a deer caught in a frenzy of camera flashes.
We weave through the frenetic sea of photographers, and voices are tossed at us like darts, most of them business-related, probing Blackhart Enterprises. For a moment, the chaos makes me forget the reality of our lives. That the public sees Damien only as a successful businessman.
"Who is this lovely lady hanging on your arm, Mr. Blackhart? Is she going to be added to the other notches on your bedpost?" The question slices through the buzz, crude and sharp. My heart stutters and a flush of humiliation scorches my cheeks.
Damien halts and turns, his eyes finding the source with a deadly glare. "This is my wife," he growls. "Show some fucking respect." His command is swift. Someone from his team steps forward, and the offending journalist is swiftly removed from the crowd, and his protests are lost to the night.
"No one knew you were married," he shouts in defense as he's escorted away.
Damien just shrugs, nonchalant, his voice cold steel. "Whether you knew or not doesn't give you the right to speak about women that way."
A shocked silence falls over the crowd. Damien’s words are a direct challenge to the social order, where women are often seen as mere adornments. Without another word, he pulls me close, and we make our way inside, leaving the bewildered whispers behind us.
Inside the gala, the atmosphere is electric, and every detail is curated to perfection. Beautiful chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the room, and the air buzzes with the melody of a hidden orchestra. My fingers lightly brush the silk of my gown as Damien leads me through the throng of distinguished guests. With each introduction, I offer a genuine smile, and my responses are laced with a newfound ease that never accompanied me during my previous marriage. Here, with Damien, I find I'm not the awkward accessory I was once reduced to. I am a partner, an equal.
As the sea of faces parts to make way for us, I marvel silently at the splendor. I'm introduced to titans of industry, their heavy accolades slipping into our conversation as smoothly as Damien's hand rests on my back. His guiding presence is a constant assurance, and I bask in the respect that's readily afforded to us, tome, his partner, not just in life but in vision.
As Damien and I weave through the crowd, I can't help but feel a swell of pride. The elaborate chandeliers cast a soft glow on all the guests, and their laughter mingled with the gentle hum of the orchestra. My hand rests lightly on his arm as I smile at the people greeting me. I’m in the middle of introducing myself to a potential donor for the foundation when suddenly, a chill runs up my spine. A man I don't recognize approaches and sets his hand on my elbow.
"You must be Mrs. Blackhart," he says, a bit too familiar for my taste.
