Chapter 4 - The Gala of Knives
By Friday evening, the annual Chicago Commerce Gala was underway in the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel.
Damian had insisted that I attend. He had dispatched a high-end styling team to the estate, providing a breathtaking emerald-green velvet evening gown that draped over my shoulders with effortless elegance.
When we stepped through the arched entrance of the ballroom, hundreds of high-society eyes turned toward us.
Whispers rippled through the sea of tuxedos and diamond chokers.
The gossip columns had spent three years reporting on the ruthless, solitary bachelor Damian Cross and his constant companion, the ambitious Vanessa Reed. Now, the discarded ex-wife was back at his side, wearing an understated diamond necklace that caught the chandelier light like shards of ice.
Damian offered me his arm, his expression proud, possessive, and triumphant.
I placed my hand lightly on the fabric of his sleeve, keeping a polite, two-inch distance between our bodies, never leaning in, never looking up into his face with the starry-eyed reverence of our youth.
"You look breathtaking tonight, Elena," Damian murmured, leaning close to my ear.
"The dress is well-tailored," I answered neutrally, scanning the room. "Thank you."
Damian’s jaw tightened. He wanted a reaction. He wanted me to flush with pride, to squeeze his arm, to show the room that I belonged to him.
Instead, I was treating him like an escort hired for an evening function.
Vanessa Reed approached our table carrying two glasses of vintage champagne. She wore an aggressive scarlet dress, slit to the thigh, looking every inch the corporate power broker.
"Mr. Cross," Vanessa smiled, handing him a glass while completely ignoring my presence. "Senator Sterling and the board directors from Apex Maritime are waiting in the private lounge. They want to finalize the terms of the terminal acquisition before the main speeches."
Damian hesitated, glancing at me. "Elena, would you like to come with us? You might find the logistics discussion interesting."
"No, thank you," I replied with a gracious, dismissive smile. "Ethan mentioned he wanted me to check his history essay online before nine. I'll find a quiet table near the terrace."
Damian stared at me, his eyes dark with mounting bewilderment.
Three years ago, if Vanessa had tried to pull him into a private room, I would have clung to his arm, demanding to be included, making a public scene that fueled boardroom gossip for weeks.
Now, I was casually dismissing him to go read an eighth-grade essay.
"Damian, they're waiting," Vanessa pressed, a smug, victorious smile pulling at her crimson lips as she guided him toward the VIP corridor.
Damian walked away, but he looked back over his shoulder three times, watching me navigate the room with serene, untouchable grace.
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He didn't realize that the quiet table I was heading toward wasn't for reading essays.
It was for an appointment with the chairman of Apex Maritime.
