THE BILLIONAIRE’S SHATTERED VOW

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Chapter 5 - Masks and Mirrors

The flashbulbs were already exploding by the time the car pulled up to the front of the ballroom. Serena’s pulse hammered in her ears, louder than the muffled symphony music spilling from the event inside.

The driver opened her door, and cold air rushed in. She hesitated only a heartbeat before slipping out, heels clicking against the pavement.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The same girl who, days ago, had worn a threadbare apron in a crowded diner now stepped into the glow of a hundred cameras. The emerald gown hugged her frame, the diamond ring glittered, and her arm slid into Damian Wolfe’s like it belonged there.

He leaned down just slightly, his lips almost brushing her ear. “Smile.”

Her lips curved, though it felt more like baring teeth.

Inside, the ballroom shimmered with opulence—chandeliers dripping light, walls gleaming with gold leaf, every guest wrapped in couture and arrogance. Serena’s stomach tightened.

Damian moved through the crowd with the ease of a predator in his domain. People gravitated toward him, hungry for his approval. Serena followed, her fingers tight around his arm, forcing herself to match his confidence.

“Damian Wolfe,” cooed a woman with crimson lipstick, clasping his hand with both of hers. Her eyes flicked to Serena, sharp and assessing. “And this must be the fiancée we’ve all heard about.”

Serena forced her smile wider. “Serena Hayes. It’s lovely to meet you.”

The woman’s lips curved, but her eyes said I don’t buy it.

The questions came rapid-fire after that.

“How did you two meet?”

“When did Damian propose?”

“Will it be a spring wedding?”

Serena’s mind whirled. She clung to the script Vivian had drilled into her: they’d met at a charity gala; he proposed on a private balcony overlooking the city; yes, they were planning something intimate. Her voice stayed steady, her smile unwavering.

But when one reporter asked, “And what does Serena do?”—Damian opened his mouth, only for Serena to cut in first.

“I’m an artist,” she said, clear and unapologetic. “I paint.”

The crowd blinked. A few chuckled softly, dismissive. But Damian’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and unreadable.

She ignored it. For once, she wasn’t going to let him script her life.

Hours blurred in a haze of champagne glasses and fake laughter. Damian kept her tethered to his side, his hand resting possessively at the small of her back.

At one point, as she slipped away to catch her breath near the terrace doors, a man intercepted her. Tall, immaculately dressed, with eyes that gleamed too sharply to be kind.

“Serena Hayes,” he said smoothly. “The woman of the hour.”

She blinked. “Do I know you?”

“Nathaniel Crane.” His smile was polished, practiced. “Damian’s rival, depending on who you ask. But tonight, I’m simply a curious observer.”

Something about him made her skin prickle.

“You play your role well,” Nathaniel continued. “But I wonder… how long can you keep up the act?”

Her throat tightened. “Excuse me?”

He leaned closer, voice dropping. “If you ever tire of being Damian’s pawn, come find me. I could offer you something far better.”

Before she could respond, Damian appeared, his hand gripping Nathaniel’s shoulder with quiet menace.

“Crane,” he said, his tone like ice. “Circling carrion again, I see.”

Nathaniel only smiled wider. “Merely appreciating the art, Wolfe.” His eyes flicked deliberately to Serena. “Some things deserve better than a cage.”

Then he vanished into the crowd, leaving Serena shaken.

Damian’s grip on her arm tightened. “Stay away from him.”

“Why?” she shot back. “Because he’s right?”

His eyes burned into hers, and for a heartbeat, she thought he might drag her out of the ballroom entirely. But instead, he released her arm and smiled for the crowd, as though nothing had happened.

The mask was back in place.

Later, after the speeches and the endless photographs, Serena found herself on the terrace alone, finally gulping down air not tainted by perfume and pretense. The city lights stretched endlessly below, glittering like stars.

Her phone buzzed in her clutch. A text from her mother:

Don’t let them change you. Promise me.

She typed back quickly, I promise, Mom.

But even as she hit send, doubt gnawed at her.

Behind her, the glass doors clicked open. Damian stepped out, his silhouette cutting against the cityscape. He said nothing for a long moment, simply standing beside her, the distance between them charged.

“You did well tonight,” he said at last.

She huffed a laugh. “Your approval means so much.”

He turned his head, eyes locking with hers. “You surprised me.”

Her chest tightened. “Why? Because I didn’t play puppet?”

“Because you made them believe,” he said quietly. “Even me.”

Something electric pulsed between them then—dangerous, undeniable.

For one wild second, Serena thought he might close the gap between them, might kiss her right there under the city lights.

Her heart leapt—

But the doors burst open, and Vivian strode out, phone pressed to her ear, face pale.

“Damian,” she said urgently. “It’s your grandfather. He knows.”

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