The charity gala was a symphony of calculated opulence. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto a sea of black ties and gowns that cost more than most people's cars. The air hummed with low conversations, the clink of fine china, and the scent of money and gardenias. It was Damian's world, polished to a blinding shine.
And Jace was his most stunning accessory.
Dressed in a tailored tuxedo that made his eyes look like dark pools and his lean frame seem both elegant and dangerous, he stood at Damian's side. He'd been prepped for this. How to stand, how to smile (not too wide, it looks eager; not too small, it looks sullen), how to deflect invasive questions with a vague, pleasant non-answer. He was the beautiful, enigmatic companion. A testament to Damian's power and taste.
He played his part flawlessly. He laughed at the right moments during dull speeches. He accepted compliments on "his" taste in the silent auction items with a graceful nod. When Damian's hand settled possessively on the small of his back to guide him through the crowd, Jace didn't stiffen. He leaned into the touch, a subtle, public signal of belonging.
He caught sight of Luca across the room.
Luca was standing near a potted palm, looking utterly out of place in a rented suit, his face pale. He was staring at them, at the easy way Jace stood within Damian's orbit, and the look on his face was one of pure, gut-wrenching devastation. It was the look of a man watching his deepest fear and secret desire play out before him.
For a second, their eyes locked. Jace didn't let his mask slip. He offered Luca the same polite, distant smile he'd given the mayor's wife. He saw Luca flinch as if struck.
Good, Jace thought coldly. Let him hurt.
The pivotal moment came during the main fundraising appeal. The lights dimmed, a spotlight hitting the podium. The chairman of the charity, an elderly man with a voice like rustling banknotes, began his spiel. It was the peak of the evening, the moment of maximum, captive attention.
Damian leaned down, his lips brushing Jace's ear. "I have to take this call. A crisis in Singapore. Stay here. Be charming." He squeezed Jace's waist and melted into the shadows at the edge of the room, phone already to his ear.
This was it. The opening.
Jace waited a beat, then smoothly extracted himself from the circle of socialites he'd been placed in. He moved with purpose, not toward the exit, but toward the side of the room where the event's PR team had their temporary desk, stacked with tablets controlling the evening's digital displays the donor scroll, the silent auction bids, the presentation slides.
A harried-looking young woman with a headset was frantically tapping a tablet. "The slide for the pediatric wing renderings is corrupted!" she hissed to a colleague.
Jace approached, his expression one of polite concern. "Pardon me. My… partner, Mr. Moreau, mentioned there might be a technical issue. He's detained, but he asked if I could assist? I have some experience with these systems." His voice was calm, credible. He looked the part of someone who belonged.
The woman blinked, overwhelmed. "You work for Mr. Moreau?"
"In a manner of speaking," Jace said with a wry, charming smile that didn't reach his eyes. "May I?"
Desperate, she handed him the tablet. "It's the file labeled 'WING_FINAL.' It won't load."
Jace took it. His fingers flew over the screen, not to fix the corrupted file, but to navigate to the main display queue. With a few swift, precise taps, he deleted the corrupted file and replaced it with another one. A file he had prepared and uploaded to the event's server days ago, using access codes he'd gleaned from Damian's own planning documents.
"There," he said, handing the tablet back with a serene smile. "It should run now."
He stepped back, fading into the crowd just as the chairman said, "-and now, let's see the future we're building together!"
The screen behind the podium flashed. Instead of architectural renderings, two images filled the massive display.
On the left The bank statement page, with "RE: Carter Obligation – Final Settlement. Per L. Agreement." clearly visible, the date circled in digital red.
On the right: The text message log between Damian and Luca. The most damning lines were highlighted:
Damian: He's fulfilling the new terms of his arrangement.
Damian: He's in my bed. Where you were too cowardly to put him.
A dead, bewildered silence fell over the glittering crowd. Then a wave of confused murmurs rippled through the room. The chairman stared, slack-jawed, at the screen behind him.
Jace didn't look at the screen. He looked across the room at Luca, whose face had gone from pale to ashen, his hand clamped over his mouth. Then he turned his gaze to the shadows where Damian stood.
Damian had ended his call. He was staring at the screen, his body perfectly still. The calm, controlled mask was gone. In its place was a look of pure, unadulterated shock the look of a man whose impregnable fortress has just had its blueprints projected on the wall for his enemies to see. His eyes, wide and furious, scanned the crowd, searching.
They found Jace.
In that moment, across the sea of confused, scandalized faces, their eyes met. Jace didn't smile. He didn't gloat. He simply held Damian's gaze and gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.
My move.
Chaos erupted as the PR girl shrieked and killed the display. The spotlight swung wildly. But the damage was done. The secret was no longer in the dark. It was in the room, hanging in the air like gun smoke.
Jace turned and walked, not toward the panicked crowd, but toward a secluded veranda overlooking the city. He needed air. He needed to breathe.
He had just declared war in a room full of allies. He had exposed the lie, humiliated the king, and shattered the knight all with a few taps on a screen.
The quiet, obedient pet was gone forever. In his place stood a player who had just changed the game forever.
And as he stepped into the cool night air, his heart pounding not with fear, but with a fierce, terrifying exhilaration, he knew one thing for certain: the fight was finally on his terms.