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Before I can react, Damien's presence looms beside me, his voice controlled but dripping with danger. "Take your damn hands off my wife, or risk losing them."
I flinch in surprise. "Damien," I say in both admonishment and confusion.
The man hastily withdraws his hand as if my skin burns him, but he masks his fear with bravado and extends his hand to me, a clear attempt to salvage his pride.
But Damien is unrelenting. "If you so much as think of touching her again, you'll wish you hadn't been born," his words like a sharpened blade.
The gentleman makes a hasty retreat, looking for all the world as though the fires of hell nip at his heels. With a tight smile still plastered on my face, I turn to my husband.
"That was uncalled for, and you know it," I whisper low enough for only him to hear among a sea of onlookers.
Damien's response comes low and fierce. "You belong to me, Isabella. Anyone who dares to challenge that will answer to me."
His possessive assertion wraps around me, an unyielding chain that both comforts and constrains. "The world should know you wear my ring, breathe my air, and exist because I allow it. If anyone crosses that line, they will learn why I'm the one they fear in whispers."
I don’t bother answering and just get back into the swing of things. The grandeur of the gala is overwhelming, every corner dripping with opulence and the heavy scent of ambition. I spot Seraphina in a gown that hugs her like the second skin of a creature born of moonlight and secrets.
Victor stands too close to be a coincidence. Their eyes lock on each other, a silent storm brewing in the scant space between them. I watch, curious and a touch envious of the palpable connection they share. As their gazes linger, the world around them blurs into irrelevance.
Victor lifts a hand, his fingers delicately moving a stray lock of Seraphina’s hair with a care that borders on reverence. For a second, the air crackles with electricity. Seraphina stiffens, and I can see her eyes darting, a silent signal of her war between longing and the constraining reality of prying eyes. With a whisper that doesn’t reach me, she steps away from him. I’m left wondering about the mystery of their interaction, questioning whether there might be burgeoning flames between them.
As Seraphina strides gracefully to find her seat, Victor’s eyes shadow her every move, an intense gaze that could either guard or devour. I stifle a laugh, recognizing the dance of denial and desire. It mirrors my own turbulent resistance to Damien, a battle that ultimately led to a surrender far sweeter than any old victory.
Soon enough, we approach the table designated for the evening's dignitaries. Damien's mother greets us with warmth in her eyes that matches her smile, silently communicating her approval. However, Aurora offers nothing more than a frosty glare. I roll my eyes discreetly, taking my seat while silently vowing not to let her disdain disrupt the evening. Damien leans down, his lips grazing my temple, a touch that sends a wave of calm through me.
"I'll be right back, love," he whispers.
He gives a subtle nod toward the guards standing watchfully to the side, a silent directive to guard me in his brief absence. I watch him walk away with the lines of his suit hugging his frame and every inch the CEO of Blackhart Enterprises. He’s about to address the eager room.
My gaze follows him as he strides confidently up to the podium on the stage. His presence commands attention, silencing the buzzing conversations as everyone turns to look at him. He clears his throat lightly, and then his deep voice rolls over the crowd like smooth whiskey.
"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests," he starts, his voice strong and assured. "Welcome to tonight's event. It's an honor to stand before you as we unite for a cause close to our hearts. The ongoing fight against childhood poverty. Tonight, your generosity will pave the way for a brighter future, providing education, healthcare, and stability. Let us remember that our shared humanity binds us in responsibility to the younger generation. Thank you all for your support and having big hearts. Together, we can make a difference."
A wave of applause cascades through the room as he concludes, the echoes of his message resonating with sincerity. For a moment, Damien surveys the crowd, but then his eyes lock onto mine, intense, full of pride, and something fiercer. My heart beats faster, responding to the silent conversation between us. He makes his way back to our table, each step measured and sure.
The plates arrive one after another in a symphony of culinary delight. Before me is a dish that is art on porcelain. Pan-seared salmon resting on a bed of wild rice drizzled with a delicate, herbed sauce. A colorful medley of seasonal vegetables adds vibrant contrast, and the aroma is enticing, promising flavors as rich as the setting.
Now, with the formalities set aside, a natural hum of conversations begins to bloom across the tables. The atmosphere is charged with a blend of business, philanthropy, and subtle elegance.
Laughter tinkles at a table nearby while a group of executives engage in a robust discussion to my left. I find myself drawn into a conversation about the impact of local non-profits, finding my voice and matching the passion with which Damien spoke earlier.
Turning to the elegantly dressed woman beside me, I engage in the dialogue. "I've heard about the local non-profits. They're making quite an impact on our city, aren't they?"
She nods emphatically, her eyes alight with joy. "Absolutely, Mrs. Blackhart. Organizations like these are lifelines. They provide essentials for children who would otherwise go without."
I respond with a sense of honesty despite not being as knowledgeable as I perhaps should be. "I might not know much about these organizations, but it's clear to me that any group dedicated to helping children is doing vital work. Hopefully, tonight's fundraiser will contribute significantly to their efforts."
Her smile is warm, and her reply assures me their intentions are as genuine as the cause. "Yes, they need clothes, shoes, school supplies... all the basics to have a decent start in life. And I assure you, we will make certain that every dollar from tonight is put to good use."
I feel a surge of respect for her and, by extension, for those gathered here tonight who share her passion. Smiling, I think to myself how refreshing it is to find that some people in our high society care about more than just their extravagant lifestyles. They care about making a difference for those who need it most.
"I need to use the restroom," I murmur to Damien before sliding the napkin from my lap. He nods, and as his hand rises, likely to signal one of his guards to accompany me, Aurora's sharp voice cleaves through the intimate gesture.
"I'll go with her," she interjects, eyes fixed on Damien, challenging him.
I blink, taken aback by her sudden offer. Damien's brow arches in surprise, scrutinizing his sister's intent.
"I'm trying to be nice, to make friends with Isabella," Aurora announces with a disarming smile. "Isn't that what you want?"
