Chapter 5 The Choice

The Grand Marlowe Hotel glittered brighter than ever for the season’s closing gala. Cassandra Vale stepped from her car with every ounce of her poise sharpened to perfection. Her gown was a vision of silver silk, her chin tilted high, her expression carved from serenity. Yet beneath the surface, her pulse throbbed with dread.

Damian Cross was already waiting at the entrance. He had chosen a suit for once, though he wore it with an irreverence that made it look like rebellion stitched into fine fabric. When he reached for her hand, she almost refused, almost reminded herself that this was only a charade. But the cameras were watching. So she let him lace their fingers together.

The flashes lit up around them. The whispers rose like a tide.

“Who is he really?”

“She has lost her mind.”

“Look at them. They are dangerous together.”

Inside the ballroom, the atmosphere was even sharper. Cassandra felt the eyes of every rival, every so-called ally, tracking her every move. This was the night her position would either solidify or crumble. And Damian, infuriating, reckless Damian, was the one tethering her fate.

As they mingled, the comments cut deeper than usual. A banker’s wife leaned close with a too-sweet smile. “My dear, you cannot be serious about this man. He will drag you down. Everyone can see it.”

Damian’s laugh was low and careless. “Funny. I thought everyone could see that she shines brighter with me beside her.”

Gasps circled the group, but Cassandra saw the shift. For every sneer, there was a flicker of doubt, even admiration. Damian had said it with such conviction that some were beginning to believe.

Still, Cassandra’s heart pounded. She had never balanced on a knife’s edge so sharply.

Hours later, the gala swelled to its peak. The orchestra struck up a waltz, and couples drifted to the floor. Damian extended his hand.

“Dance with me,” he said.

She hesitated. Dancing meant surrendering, even if only for a song. But his gaze held hers with a pull she could no longer deny. She placed her hand in his, and he drew her close.

The music surrounded them, but Cassandra heard only the rush of her own breath. Damian guided her with surprising grace, each step steady, each turn effortless. It was not an act anymore. She could feel it in the way his hand lingered at her back, the way his eyes never left her face.

“Everyone is watching,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Let them,” he replied. “For once, stop performing for them. Look at me.”

She did. And in his gaze, she saw no calculation, no façade. Only raw, unguarded truth.

Her chest tightened painfully. This was not part of the deal.

When the dance ended, Damian led her away from the floor. But before they reached the shadows, one of her rivals intercepted them. The same woman who had warned her at brunch now stood with a gleam of triumph in her eyes.

“Cassandra, darling,” she said loudly enough for several others to hear. “Tell us the truth. Is this romance real, or is it another one of your elaborate games?”

The group leaned in, waiting for Cassandra to stumble. Her image, her entire standing, hung in the silence.

Damian moved as if to answer, but Cassandra lifted her chin, silencing him with the smallest gesture. For once, she could not hide behind him. This choice had to be hers.

She drew a slow breath. “It began as a game,” she said, her voice steady. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. She felt Damian’s gaze burning at her side. “But somewhere along the way, it stopped being one. Believe what you want of me, but know this. I do not keep men at my side unless I choose them.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any whisper. Then, like a spark catching flame, the murmurs shifted. Some were scandalized, but others nodded with something close to respect. Cassandra Vale had not been exposed. She had declared her choice.

And she had chosen Damian.

Later, when the gala finally faded and the city’s lights stretched out below them, Cassandra and Damian stood together on the balcony. The night air was cool, brushing against her skin.

“You should not have said that,” Damian murmured, his voice quiet.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because now I cannot walk away.”

She turned to him, heart thundering. “Maybe I do not want you to.”

The smirk that so often danced on his lips was gone. What replaced it was softer, more dangerous. He reached for her, his hand cupping her face with a tenderness that undid her completely.

“Tell me the truth, Cassandra,” he said. “No masks, no audience. Do you want this?”

For once, she let the mask fall. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Yes.”

The distance between them vanished. His kiss was not staged this time. It was real, raw, and consuming, and when she leaned into it, she knew there would be no turning back.

The arrangement was over. The performance had ended. Yet as Cassandra stood wrapped in Damian’s arms, the city glittering around them, she realized the truth she had tried to deny.

The dangerous game they had begun had become something far more powerful. And for the first time in years, she was not afraid.

She was alive.