Elle
The door opens, and Camila steps in, dropping her bag on the hall table like always.
I don't give her a second to breathe. "Your boss," I snap, grabbing a cushion and tossing it onto the couch like it's his face. "Is the most arrogant, selfish man alive. I finally get it. This is what you deal with every day."
Her shoulders stiffen as she bends to remove her shoes, slow and cautious. "Elle…"
"No, don't 'Elle' me." I pace the living room, the walls suddenly too close. My hands won't stay still. "He stood there like I ruined his life, like I begged for this. Do you know what he said? That we have to keep this ridiculous little show going for months. Months, Camila! As if I don't have my own life outside of his drama."
Camila sink onto the couch, lips pressed together, holding back words.
"This is the best part," I laugh, sharp and humourless. "He tried to pay me. Like I was some extra on a set. Not even a proper contract. It's not like I would have gone with it, but at least..." I cut myself off, shaking my head.
She twists her fingers in her lap, voice small. "Maybe he didn't mean it like that."
"Please." I cut her a look, every nerve buzzing. "Cam, the man is ice. He meant it."
The room goes quiet except for my unsteady breathing. I drop onto the couch beside her and cover my face with both hands. "I still think this is a bad dream. Any minute now, I'll wake up with popcorn in hand, scrolling through Netflix instead of... this."
Camila gives a small smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Elle maybe you should just go along with it. At least tomorrow night."
My head turns slowly. "Go along with what?"
"There's a dinner. With his family." Her voice is quiet, careful. "He told me to tell you."
The words hit like cold water. My mouth falls open. "Dinner? With him? Cam, do you even hear yourself? You're joking."
She bites her lip. "Come on, it's one night. You smile, eat, and then it's over."
"Never! No way," I sit up straighter, scoffing. "I'm not walking into that. It's insane." I let out a brittle sound that isn't really a laugh. The mere thought of 4it alone feels unreal.
Camila flinches. "Insane? Elle, insane is telling him about your vision. What were you thinking?!"
My laugh dies immediately, and silence presses in. I stare at the ceiling, then back down at my hands.
"I know it looks bad," I mutter, softer now, "but it can't be that bad, Cam."
Her eyes finally meet mine, sharp, furious. "You don't tell a man like Damian Blackwell something like that. You don't hand him a weapon against you."
"It wasn't a weapon. It was the truth. You don't even want to know what I saw this time?"
Her hands press hard against her knees. "Can you take this seriously for once?! You just got engaged to the most powerful man in New York City, and you told him about his secret. How unreasonable can you be?"
I want to argue, to laugh it off, but instead, I sink deeper into the couch, arms crossed, the energy bleeding out of me. I have never seen her this angry before.
She gives a tired sigh. "Elle, he doesn't play. Not with his company. And now you've dragged me into your mess. I didn't sign up for any of this."
The words sting. She stands, mutters something about a shower, and disappears down the hall.
Left alone, I lean back, staring at the ceiling. My chest won't settle. For a second, I wonder if I really have gone too far.
Then I whisper to the empty room, almost daring it to argue, "No. If he wants a game, he'll get one."
*****
Damian
7:42 p.m.
The tie sits clean against my collar, cuffs sharp. I hate waiting, so I pull out my phone and dial.
"Sir?"
"Is she ready?"
A pause. "Yes."
"Text me the address. Now." I don't wait for her reply before ending the call.
When the message comes through, I read it twice. The street name doesn't fit the picture in my head. I drive out anyway.
The neighbourhood rises around me. Quiet, polished, not poor but not elite either. A careful middle ground. Too clean.
My car slows as the numbers align. Brick walls, drawn blinds. No way.
I call again and Camila answers on the second ring.
"Are you sure?" My voice cuts the air. "This address. This house."
"Yes, sir. I can see your car from the window."
I tilt my head, spotting faint movement behind the blinds.
"Fine. Tell her to come down," I say, fingers tightening around the wheel.
For a moment, I sit there, staring at the building like it's lying to me. It doesn't add up. Elle Morgan doesn't fit in this setting. Neither does her friend.
Someone is paying. Someone with money.
My mouth curves, humourless. "So that's it, huh? Some rich fool is keeping you comfortable. Thinks buying a woman a roof makes him a man." I tap the wheel. "Figures. Women like you don't end up in places like this on their own."
Men like me didn't believe in coincidences.
"So who's keeping you, Elle?" I murmur, leaning back, eyes fixed on the door, waiting for the show to begin.
*****
Elle
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the dress Camila laid out. I don't move. I'm not going anywhere.
"Elle, seriously, start getting ready," Camila says from the doorway, arms crossed tight.
"I said I'm not going," I shoot back. "I'd rather eat nails than sit through dinner with him."
She steps inside, voice rising. "Do you even hear yourself? It's one dinner. Just get dressed."
I turn, narrowing my eyes. "Why are you pushing this so hard? Since when do you care if I play along with your boss?"
Her lips part, but she shuts them quickly. Too quick.
I stand, closing the distance between us. "No, really, Camila. Why are you acting like it's more than just your job? You've been weird all day. Jumpy. Avoiding me. Not looking me in the eye."
"Elle, please, don't…" she starts, but I grab her hand before she can finish.
And then I see it.
His office. Cold, sharp. Damian leaning back in his chair, eyes like steel. "If you want to keep this job, you'll watch her. Pay attention. And when you see something you've missed, you'll tell me."
The image slams through me, and then it's gone, as fast as it came. I gasp and let her hand go.
Camila's face goes pale.
"You didn't tell me," I whisper. My chest burns. "Were you actually planning to report to him?"
She shakes her head fast. "No, Elle. Never. I would never do that to you."
"Then why hide it?" My voice trembles. "Why let me walk around clueless while he's pulling your strings?"
"Because I know how you are. You'd do something drastic, and he already knows too much. He's outside right now. I don't want him hearing us."
Something cold turns solid inside me. If Damian thinks he can use her to control me, he's mistaken.
"Fine," I say, standing taller. "I'll go to that dinner. But on my own terms."
My heart thuds, I can feel the room shrinking around me.
Then, three sharp knocks at the door.
Camila's eyes go wide. She rushes out.
A moment later, I heard that deep, measured voice that makes my skin crawl.
"Good evening."
He stands in the entryway like he owns it. Dark suit, darker presence. The tie crisp against his collar, every line of him controlled. Camila hovers by the door, nervous hands twisting.
His eyes find mine the second I step forward. They don't move away.
"You're late," he says simply, as if I've kept him waiting.
I plant a hand on the couch. "I wasn't planning on coming at all." I want to hate him, but the truth is simpler. I just don't know how to win against a man who never blinks.
His lips curve, faint and cold. "Then it's a good thing I came to get you."
The air shifts. Quiet, tense, and his gaze never leaves mine.
And just like that, I know this dinner isn't going to be about family at all.