Damien entered the gallery hand-in-hand with Sienna Lively, the kind of woman the tabloids worshipped—petite, blonde, scandalously connected. Her laugh echoed like wind chimes as flashbulbs lit up their entrance.
Ariana stood near the champagne bar, sipping slowly, her other hand clenched around her clutch.
"Of course," she muttered. "He'd bring a date."
"You okay?" asked Kara, her coworker.
"I'm fine," Ariana lied, plastering on a neutral smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"
She watched from across the room as Damien whispered something in Sienna's ear. The girl laughed too loudly, touching his chest possessively. Ariana turned her gaze away, fire boiling beneath her cool exterior.
When Damien finally crossed the room and approached her, she didn't look up.
"Didn't know you'd be here," he said, voice casual.
"I was invited," she replied, still staring at the painting in front of her. "By the firm. Remember? I work there."
His smile faltered. "Right."
She finally turned to him. "Your girlfriend's cute."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Could've fooled me."
"Ariana…" His voice lowered.
"What are you doing, Damien?" she whispered harshly. "You can't keep looking at me like that, then walk in with her like I don't exist."
He stepped closer. "She's for the cameras. You know that."
"I don't want to know that," she said, retreating a step. "I want normal. I want boundaries. You said we shouldn't."
"And yet here we are," he murmured, eyes locking onto hers.
Before she could respond, a flash popped near them—paparazzi.
Damien instantly pulled back, smoothing his expression. "Be careful," he said quietly. "This world sees everything."
He walked away.
And Ariana was left with a heart that couldn't decide if it wanted to forget him—or fall harder.