"Oh, sweetheart…" He smiled without warmth. "Especially here."
Before I could stop him, he was steering me across the room, each step a silent declaration of war. My pulse roared in my ears.
"Damien," I hissed under my breath, "what the hell are you doing?"
"Introducing you," he said simply, as if that explained anything.
We reached my father, and time seemed to slow. Damien's grip on my waist tightened like a vice.
"Mr. Bennett," Damien greeted, his voice silky and lethal. "It's been far too long."
My father's smile faltered, just for a second. "Blackwood." His gaze flicked to me, cool and assessing. "Elena."
I swallowed hard. "Dad."
Damien's smirk sharpened. "I was just telling Elena how lucky I am… to be married into such an illustrious family."
The tension was thick enough to choke on. My father's knuckles whitened around his glass. "Enjoy it while it lasts," he said quietly.
"Oh," Damien murmured, " But I do plan on doing that."
We moved through the glittering maze of people, politicians, CEOs, and women with diamonds that probably cost more than my apartment. Everyone wanted Damien's attention, but he never loosened his grip on me. His eyes scanned the room like a predator keeping track of prey and rivals at once.
The auction started an hour in. Items flashed across the stage, rare paintings, luxury vacations, a vintage sports car—until the host's voice suddenly shifted, dripping with excitement.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen… our next lot. A private evening with the stunning Mrs. Elena Blackwood."
The spotlight hit me.
My stomach dropped. "What?" I hissed under my breath.
Damien's jaw tightened. "They're not serious."
"Oh, they are," the host said with a laugh that carried across the room. "Dinner, drinks, and company with the lady herself. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."
I turned to Damien. "Tell them no."
Before he could respond, the bidding began.
"One hundred thousand," someone called from the front.
Damien's hand slid into mine, squeezing. "I'll shut it down."
"One-fifty!" a man in a gray suit shouted.
"Two hundred," Damien countered instantly, his voice like steel.
I sat frozen, skin prickling as numbers climbed higher. Every time Damien outbid someone, the heat in his eyes sharpened. He wasn't just playing to win—he was playing to claim.
Then it happened.
A sharp voice to my left called, "Three hundred thousand."
Damien turned his head—and that's when a man in a tux stepped in front of him, blocking his view. I didn't hear what was said, but Damien's posture shifted—shoulders squared, face hard.
It was a distraction.
"Three-fifty!" another bidder yelled, seizing the moment.
Damien's head snapped back toward the stage, but the host was already smiling. "Three hundred and fifty thousand, going once…"
"Four hundred," Damien barked.
But he was too late.
"…Sold! To the gentleman in the back."
The crowd broke into applause. My eyes followed the movement to the edge of the room—where a tall man in a tailored black suit lowered his paddle, his expression calm… smug, even.
I knew that face, recognized it in a second.
My blood turned cold.
It was Adrian Vale. The man my father had promised me to in an arranged marriage when I was nineteen. The deal had fallen apart when I left home—but clearly, he hadn't forgotten.
He started walking toward me with the slow, deliberate confidence of someone who already believed he owned me.
Damien moved instantly, stepping between us, his voice low and lethal. "She's not going anywhere with you."
Adrian's smile didn't waver. "You should have bid higher."
"She's my fucking fiancé".
"She's a contract I never tore up," Adrian said smoothly, his gaze flicking over Damien's shoulder to me. "Well Hello, Elena."
I swallowed hard, every instinct screaming to step back but Damien didn't move, his body blocking mine completely.
"You touch her, and I'll end you," Damien said, voice so cold it could cut glass.
Adrian chuckled. "We'll see who has the stronger claim."
Before Damien could respond, the host appeared at Adrian's side, giddy with the sale. "Mr. Vale, congratulations. Mrs. Blackwood, if you'll join him for a photograph—"
"Not happening," Damien snapped.
"It's part of the rules," Adrian replied, his smile widening. "And I always play by the rules… when they suit me."
Damien's grip on my hand tightened, and for the first time tonight, I felt something sharp and unrestrained radiating off him.
Jealousy.
Possessive, dangerous jealousy.
The kind that wasn't going to let this go.
And God help us both—I knew this was only the beginning.