Ava hadn't expected her first date with Damien Wolfe to begin with a calendar invite.
Subject: Public Appearance Prep
Time: 10:00 AM
Location: Disclosed on arrival
Note: Dress comfortably. Bring no expectations.
Bring no expectations?
She almost laughed.
A black car waited outside her apartment, the driver silent, professional. Damien wasn't inside not that she expected him to be tho . The ride to the venue was a long boring one , But the moment she stepped out at their destination, her jaw dropped. It was worth the wait , so she thought.
A spa.
A five-star, members-only, A 'you don't walk without staring' spa.
Damien stood at the entrance, phone in hand, dressed in a grey turtleneck and dark coat that made him look like a cologne ad. He looked up the moment she approached.
"You're late," he said.
"You sent a calendar invite, not a royal decree."
His lip twitched. Almost a smile.
"I figured if you're going to be paraded in front of vultures next week, you might as well feel like a goddess."
"Is that a line?"
"No. It's good strategy."
****
The spa was... surreal. Steam rooms that smelled of lavender and silence. Warm oils, facials, a massage so luxurious Ava almost forgot her name. No cameras, no clicks, no Carrington-shaped shadows. Just warmth. Peace.
For two hours, Damien disappeared. She assumed he was making phone calls or being dramatic elsewhere. When he returned, he simply offered his arm.
"Come on," he said. "Next stop."
She expected another meeting. Instead, she found herself at Élan Mode... ELAN FREAKING MODE! , a designer boutique she'd only window-shopped through in dreams.
A boutique. Just for her.
"What are we doing here?" she whispered.
"You need to look the part."
Ava turned. "I know how to dress."
"You know how to survive. That's different."
He stepped forward, voice lowering.
"This world doesn't want to love you unless you fit their mold. I'm not asking you to change. But if we're playing their game... we win it our way."
Ava didn't speak.
He nodded once at the manager, who greeted her like royalty.'Ouuuuu ' she exclaimed within.
Dresses flowed around her. Soft silks. Clean lines. Earth tones, midnight blacks, champagne golds. Damien sat nearby, arms folded, only offering commentary when asked. And his eyes, those damn freaking annoying yet charming eyes, missed nothing.
When she stepped out in a deep emerald gown, his gaze sharpened.
"That one," he said.
"Why?"
"Because you walked like you owned the room."
Her cheeks flushed. She turned away.
They moved to a jewelry house next, where delicate diamonds glimmered beside onyx and sapphires. Damien didn't flinch at the prices. But he didn't buy the flashiest things either. He watched her reactions, choosing pieces that suited her, not the persona they were building.
Shoes came next, heels she'd never imagined touching. Nor dreamt of .
And finally, a makeup studio.
The artist had soft hands and warm eyes. "He said, 'elegant, but real,'" the woman told her. "Not too much."
Ava stared at her reflection when they were done.
She looked like herself. But sharper. Braver. Lit from within.
When she stepped out of the chair, Damien stood behind her, watching quietly.
"You did all this for appearances?" she asked.
"No," he said.
She turned.
"I did it because if we're pretending you belong in my world, the world should see the truth, you always did."
Ava stared at him, stunned.
It wasn't a line. It wasn't manipulation.
It was the first thing he'd said that felt like... a gift.
***
*Performance and Pressure*
The restaurant was sleek and silent . The kind of place where deals were whispered over imported wine and secrets were tucked between courses.
Ava sat across from Damien, her emerald dress clinging like it was made for this moment, her fingers loosely curled around a champagne flute she barely sipped from. She was aware of everything : the soft hum of foreign music, the weight of her earrings, the way Damien's business partner kept glancing at her like she was a riddle he couldn't solve.
"Damien," Mr. Legrand said, tilting his glass. "I must say, this is unexpected. You're not the type to bring... company."
Damien's lips curved, smooth. "Ava's not company. She's my fiancee."
Legrand's brows shot up.
Ava met his surprise with a composed smile and slid her hand across the table, resting it just beside Damien's. Close, but not touching. "It was a surprise for us, too," she said warmly. "But some things don't wait for perfect timing."
Legrand laughed, charmed. "Ah, to be in love and reckless."
Damien didn't flinch. But under the table, his fingers briefly brushed hers. It wasn't an accident.
"You're still moving forward with the Milan acquisition, I assume?" Legrand continued, eyeing Damien now with sharper interest.
Damien shifted, tone seamless. "With my name on every clause. I trust your team can handle that?"
Ava watched him become someone else, cooler, harder, sharp enough to cut glass. This Damien wasn't the man who chose simple silver over flashy gold for her wrists. This was the wolf behind the empire.
Still, something about the way his knee rested beside hers, just barely touching, reminded her that it wasn't a mask. It was a layer.
And he was letting her see beneath it.
***
Outside, the night met them with cold flashes of light.
The second the maître d' opened the door, it began.
Cameras. Shouting. Bursts of noise and color.
"Mr. Wolfe! Damien, over here..."
"Who's the woman? are the rumors true?"
"Ava Morgan! Former Carrington Events, how long have you two been together?"
"Is this a publicity stunt?"
Ava blinked, stunned by the aggression. Damien barely reacted.
He placed a hand on her lower back, guiding her down the stairs like they were walking into a wedding reception instead of a media circus.
She felt her heart racing. Her legs weren't trembling, but only just... Well she couldn't say.
One flash went off too close, and Ava instinctively stepped back.
Damien moved instantly, positioning himself between her and the chaos.
He leaned in, mouth near her ear. "Look at me. Just me."
She did.
"Smile," he said softly. "You're not afraid. You're choosing this."
Ava swallowed.
And then she smiled.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't poised. But it was real enough that the shouting dimmed.
Damien reached for her hand. She let him take it.
They walked toward the car as if none of it touched them, two silhouettes under city lights, caught in a moment too intimate for fiction.
And as the door closed behind them and the driver pulled away, Damien glanced at her.
"You okay?"
Ava exhaled slowly. "Ask me again when my heartbeat isn't trying to escape my ribs." she said , releasing a nervous laugh
He smirked. "You handled it."
"Barely."
"You didn't flinch."
"I nearly smacked a camera."
He laughed, a low, surprised sound. "You're better at this than you think."
She looked at him. Really looked at him.
"You weren't pretending back there," she said quietly.
"No."
"Why?"
He paused, eyes fixed ahead. "Because pretending with you feels worse than telling the truth."