Arabella stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of the deep crimson dress Damon had delivered that afternoon.
It clung to her curves like a second skin, with a high slit that teased the side of her thigh and a plunging neckline that made her question her own decency. Her long wavy brown hair was curled to perfection, cascading over her shoulders. Her brown eyes shimmered under soft gold makeup.
She looked like someone else. Someone powerful. Someone dangerous.
But inside, she felt like a fraud.
A knock on the door snapped her back to reality.
She opened it, expecting one of Damon's assistants—but there he was, leaning casually against the doorframe in a black designer tux, looking like a walking sin.
His jaw tightened the moment he saw her. "You actually wore it."
"You sent it," she replied flatly, stepping back to let him in.
His eyes roamed over her slowly—boldly—before meeting hers again. "You look… decent."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's your compliment?"
"I'm trying not to sound like a man who married you just to stare at your ass in public."
She snorted and grabbed her clutch. "Too late."
They stepped into the waiting limo, silence falling between them as the city lights blurred past. Damon poured them both champagne, handing her a glass without a word.
She took a sip, then glanced at him. "How many of these events do you attend a year?"
"Too many. They're full of fake smiles and worse intentions."
"Sounds a lot like this marriage."
He turned to her, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Touché."
The car pulled up to the Chancellor's estate, where flashing cameras were already waiting at the entrance. Arabella's heart thudded in her chest as the door opened.
Damon stepped out first, offering his hand.
She hesitated… then took it.
The moment her fingers touched his, his grip tightened just slightly—possessive. Warm. Reassuring. And for the first time, she realized something terrifying:
He made her feel safe.
As they walked down the carpet, the cameras exploded with flashes.
"Mr. Knight! Over here!"
"Is this your wife?"
Damon didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned in and whispered, "Smile like you love me."
She plastered on a smile.
Then he did something unexpected—he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close, his lips brushing her cheek just enough to send a shiver down her spine.
She glanced at him in surprise, but he was already smirking at the reporters.
"Perfect," he murmured. "Now they all believe you're mine."
As the flashes faded and the crowd thinned, Damon leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You really should stop looking at me like that, Arabella."
"Like what?" she asked, breath catching.
"Like you're wondering what I taste like."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're unbelievable."
"And yet you married me."