Chapter 6 The Unraveling

The gala had been crafted to impress. Crystal chandeliers scattered golden light across the ballroom, the scent of roses and expensive perfume lingered in the air, and strings from the orchestra washed over the crowd like waves. Women in shimmering gowns clustered in glittering groups while men in tailored suits moved with deliberate elegance. Every glance, every hushed whisper, carried meaning in this room.

At the center of it all stood Cassandra. She was draped in deep emerald silk that clung to her body like it had been poured onto her skin. Jewels sparkled at her throat and ears, but none of them outshone the cool fire in her eyes. She was the image of composure, her chin lifted, her smile measured to perfection. To the untrained eye, she looked untouchable. Yet Damian, standing with his arm linked to hers, knew the truth. The faint pressure of her fingers digging into his sleeve told him she was on edge, even if the rest of the world could not see it.

“You look like you are walking into battle,” Damian murmured, his voice pitched for her ears alone. “Not into a ballroom.”

Her lips curved, though the smile did not reach her eyes. “Perhaps they are the same thing. Tonight, they may as well be.”

The words were meant to be dismissive, but Damian caught the tension beneath them. He scanned the crowd, taking in the predatory gazes trained on Cassandra. They were sharks circling blood, waiting for the smallest drop of weakness. Cassandra had chosen him to play the role of devoted partner, the distraction that would silence speculation. Yet Damian suspected that the deeper reason was not strategy. She had chosen him because no one would believe she could tame a man like him, which made their pairing look convincing.

He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. “Relax. Let them believe whatever story they want.”

She tilted her head slightly, not enough for the audience to notice, but enough to challenge him. “Easy for you to say. You do not have vultures waiting to tear you apart.”

Damian’s grin was sharp. “Then let them try. I enjoy a good fight.”

Before she could reply, the orchestra swelled, signaling the first waltz of the evening. Damian did not wait for her permission. He took her hand and led her toward the dance floor with an authority that drew several raised eyebrows. Cassandra was not known for dancing at these functions, and never with someone so… unsuitable. Her reputation had always been carefully curated, each step measured to protect her fragile place in this ruthless society. Yet here she was, in the arms of a man who looked as though he belonged more in the shadows of an alley than under the glow of chandeliers.

Gasps followed them as they took their place. Cassandra’s pulse quickened, but she allowed Damian to pull her close. His hand settled firmly against her back, his palm warm through the silk, guiding her with a confidence that stole her breath.

“This is not part of the arrangement,” she whispered as they began to move.

“Maybe not,” Damian said, his gaze locking with hers. His lips brushed the shell of her ear as he added, “But it feels real enough, does it not?”

She stiffened, though her body betrayed her by leaning ever so slightly closer. His words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Cassandra had spent years building a fortress around her desires. Every choice was calculated, every move rehearsed. But tonight, in his arms, control slipped like water through her fingers.

The waltz carried them in perfect rhythm. The crowd could not look away. Damian’s presence was magnetic, his movements smooth but threaded with an edge of danger. He danced as if he had claimed her, as if she belonged to him entirely, and the illusion was powerful. Cassandra forced herself to keep her expression composed, though inside she was unraveling.

She tried to focus on the room, on the glitter of diamonds and the sway of silk skirts, but her attention always returned to Damian. To the way his hand pressed into the curve of her back. To the heat of his body brushing against hers. To the gleam in his eyes that promised something far too reckless.

When the music slowed, the air thickened between them. They moved in silence, caught in a moment that felt too intimate for performance. Applause scattered across the ballroom as the song ended, but Cassandra hardly heard it.

Her gaze flicked across the room and landed on Lady Ashworth. The older woman stood near the edge of the dance floor, lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes sharp as a hawk’s. Cassandra knew that look. Lady Ashworth had smelled blood, and once she sensed weakness, she would never let go.

“Smile,” Damian murmured, his voice steady despite the storm swirling around them. “Or she wins.”

So Cassandra smiled, tilting her chin with practiced grace. Yet when Damian bent his head, brushing his mouth against hers in a kiss that looked staged to everyone else, she nearly forgot to breathe.

It should have been a calculated move, a carefully crafted illusion. Yet the moment his lips touched hers, everything shifted. The kiss was slow, deliberate, meant to be convincing. But beneath the pretense burned something raw. Cassandra felt the floor tilt beneath her, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her hands tightened against his chest, not to push him away but to steady herself.

The ballroom erupted in whispers. Gasps of scandal echoed, hands lifted to mouths, fans fluttered nervously. Every eye in the room was on them, every rival watching as their performance shattered the boundaries of rumor and became undeniable spectacle.

Cassandra broke the kiss with measured precision, lifting her gaze to Damian’s. His expression gave nothing away to the audience, but in his eyes she saw something that terrified her. The act had slipped. The line between deception and truth had blurred beyond repair.

She drew in a slow breath, steadying herself. “You should not have done that,” she whispered.

“Maybe,” Damian replied softly, his thumb grazing the back of her hand before he released it. “But you wanted me to.”

The words cut through her defenses like a blade. She turned sharply, guiding them off the dance floor with her composure intact, though inside her heart raced with a rhythm no music could match. The night was not over, but already Cassandra knew the truth.

The performance was no longer in her control. She was no longer certain where the lie ended and where her desire began.

And that was more dangerous than any scandal.