Lila Sinclair's POV

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing the girl in front of me. The soft curls Ethan had fixed in my hair bounced over my shoulders, my dress hugged my body in all the right places, and the light makeup made me look like I belonged to this mansion, like I'd always been this polished.

Ethan leaned against the doorframe with that smug grin of his.

"Damn, Lila. If Damien doesn't thank my father for adopting you, I will."

I rolled my eyes, but heat rushed to my cheeks. "Stop flattering me."

"I'm not flattering," he said, stepping closer, his eyes scanning me slowly, deliberately. "I'm stating facts. Tonight, you're about to make one woman very jealous."

I raised my brow. "Stephanie?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Smart girl. You'll catch on quick."

I sighed. "So let me get this straight. You're dragging me to your ex's birthday party to... what? Parade me like some trophy?"

"Exactly." He smirked wider, his tone playful but sharp underneath. "Steph's the type who hates losing. She dumped me thinking she'd crawl back whenever she pleased. Tonight, you're going to help me prove she lost me for good."

I folded my arms. "And what do I get in return for being your little prop?"

"Fun," he said immediately, leaning in with a mischievous wink. "And maybe... a tiny crash course in surviving rich-people drama. Trust me, you'll need it."

I laughed despite myself. His energy was infectious...flirty, cocky, but so damn easy to be around.

***

The ride to the party felt like something out of a movie. The sleek black car, the city lights reflecting off tinted windows, Ethan in a perfectly tailored suit beside me. He was humming along to some playlist, relaxed, while I kept fiddling with my fingers.

"You nervous?" he asked, catching me.

"Of course I am," I muttered. "This is my first time walking into some glamorous party as... well, anything."

He reached over, brushing his fingers over mine in a casual but reassuring way. "Relax, Lil babyyy. All you gotta do is stand beside me, smile when I tell you to, laugh at my terrible jokes. Easy."

I smirked. "Your jokes are terrible already. That won't be acting."

"Exactly. You're perfect for this role." he smiled warmly and brushed my hair softly off my shoulders.

The mansion where the party was hosted was dripping in luxury, crystal chandeliers, waiters with champagne, the faint hum of a live band playing something jazzy in the background. And the people... God, everyone looked like they had been carved straight out of fashion magazines.

I froze for a second at the entrance, but Ethan pressed a hand to the small of my back.

"Breathe," he whispered, warm against my ear. "And remember, they wish they looked as good as you."

We entered, and heads turned. I swore I heard someone whisper, "Who's she?" The power of appearances was insane.

Then I saw her.

Stephanie.

She was tall, striking, with flawless red lips and a dress that clung to her like second skin. And the look on her face when her eyes landed on me and Ethan? pure venom dressed in a smile.

"Well, well," she purred as she walked over, champagne glass in hand. "Ethan. You finally learned how to accessorize."

I stiffened, but Ethan slipped his arm around my waist smoothly.

"Stephanie," he said warmly, almost mocking. "Meet Lila. My girl."

Her brows arched, lips twitching. "Your... girl?"

I forced myself to meet her gaze, faking confidence I didn't feel. "Hi."

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Cute." She turned back to Ethan, her voice sugar-coated poison. "Didn't think you'd move on so fast."

"Didn't think you'd care," he shot back easily, then kissed my temple for good measure. My stomach flipped, though I reminded myself this was all for show.

Stephanie's laugh was sharp. "Enjoy the party, Ethan. Don't choke on your rebound." And with that, she sauntered off, hips swaying like she owned the floor.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "She hates me."

"She hates losing," Ethan corrected, grinning. "And thanks to you, she's losing big time tonight."

I couldn't help but laugh. The rest of the evening blurred into music, laughter, and Ethan keeping me close, introducing me to his friends, making me laugh so much my cheeks hurt. For a moment, I forgot I was the outsider.

But somewhere between the toasts and the endless glasses of champagne, Ethan started to slip. His jokes got louder, his arm heavier around me. His laughter, looser.

By midnight, he was leaning against the bar, glass in hand, eyes half-lidded. "Lil babyy... you're the best fake girlfriend ever."

I frowned. "You're drunk."

"And you're... so pretty," he slurred with a lazy grin.

I sighed. "Great. Just great."

"Catch ya later, imma go hook up with some ass." he rose as he walked off

"Great! Time up, Lila." I muttered, and suddenly I felt out of place again. Alone, despite the crowd. Ethan was lost in his drunken haze, his friends laughing around him. Nobody noticed me slip away.

***

The night air was sharp as I walked down the driveway, heels clicking on pavement. I tried to call an Uber, but the app kept glitching. Figures.

Frustration bubbled in my chest. My first night out in this world, and of course, I end up stranded. I started walking, hugging myself, when headlights flashed across me. A car screeched to a halt inches away.

I gasped, stumbling back. My heart pounded as the tinted window lowered slightly.

"What the hell?!" I yelled, anger and nerves spilling out. "Do you not know how to drive? You almost killed me, you idiot!"

No answer. Just silence. My hands trembled as I stepped closer, glaring.

"Whoever you are, you need to open your damn eyes instead of speeding like a maniac..." I cursed.

Yes. This was me, whenever I get frustrated and confused.

"Move away!" I barked.

Then my gaze fell on the license plate.

My breath caught.

I knew that number. I knew the name written on the top of the plate.

My lips parted in shock, the words dying in my throat.

The car's engine revved, and before I could say anything else, it sped off into the night, leaving me standing frozen in the middle of the street.

Damien Blackwood.

It had been Damien.

The realization hit me like ice water, and my knees almost buckled. He'd seen me. Heard me. And the way I had screamed at him...God.

If looks could kill, I was sure I had just signed my death sentence.

Lila's POV

"Look who called today, pussyyy!" JoJo's voice blasted from the screen before his face even popped up.

I burst into laughter. He was leaning against some neon-lit wall, the strobes from a club bouncing across his dark shades like he thought he was a celebrity. "JoJo!" I grinned, instantly lighter. "God, do you ever change? Every time it's some dumbass word first thing on the call."

"Why would I?" He smirked, lips glistening from a drink. "You love me for it. Admit it."

I rolled my eyes. "You're insane."

"Insanely fine, maybe. Anyway, where the hell are you? This doesn't look like your ratty apartment."

I snorted. "Long story. But first, where are you? And why do I hear 'Despacito' blasting in the background?"

JoJo tilted his phone, showing flashing lights, half-naked strangers grinding against each other. "Club, baby. Some Tinder guy dragged me here. Thought he was gonna be my Prince Charming. Turns out, his cock was like a crayon. I had to cancel the deal."

I threw my head back, laughing so hard my stomach hurt. "A crayon? You didn't!"

"Bitch, yes I did." He rolled his eyes dramatically. "And not even the jumbo pack, like those tiny-ass broken crayons you find at the bottom of a kindergarten desk. Tragic."

I wheezed. "You should never settle for a crayon in the form of a cock, JoJo."

"Period!" He snapped his fingers. "Big, bold, thick, like a Sharpie, minimum. Otherwise, I'm out."

We both cracked up, the easy banter filling my chest with warmth. That's what I loved about him. No matter how shitty things got, JoJo could make me laugh.

"So, babe..." He sipped his drink, smirking. "Who you fucking tonight? Ethan? Damien? One of the butlers?"

"JoJo!" I shrieked, covering my face. "Shut the fuck up and speak to me like an educated human for once!"

He cackled. "Ohhh, listen to Miss Blackwood now. All proper and prim. You've been living there too long."

I sighed, suddenly serious. "Speaking of Blackwoods... I'm cooked, JoJo."

His smirk dropped. "Wait. What? Why?"

I chewed my lip. "Damien."

"What about him?"

I flopped back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. "You remember how I told you someone almost hit me with a car last night? That was him. And then today, at breakfast, he literally called me a stranger to my face. Said I was too 'ordinary' to be part of this family. Like... he's brutal, JoJo. Ruthless."

"Aww," JoJo said softly, like he was watching a rom-com.

I sat up, glaring. "Aww? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he smirked, "this is the perfect love story in the making."

I gagged, fake retching. "Please. Trash that thought. That man doesn't have a romantic bone in his body."

JoJo raised his brows. "Oh, but he's got bones elsewhere....tell me, who's hotter? Damien or Ethan?"

I hesitated. My face burned. "...If I'm not gonna lie, Damien is so motherfucking hot it's not fair."

JoJo let out a squeal. "See! Go wiggle that ass in front of him and watch him fall at your feet."

I snorted. "Do you ever give out advice that doesn't involve sex?"

"Nope," he grinned.

We laughed until our sides hurt. Then I softened, biting my lip. "But Ethan... Ethan's perfect. He's everything a woman would ever need. Sweet, funny, protective. But Damien..." I swallowed. "Every time I see him, my heart skips. I can't explain it. It's like...."

A sound.

I froze.

"JoJo... hang up. I heard something."

JoJo groaned. "Bitch, is it every day you hear noises in that creepy mansion? If you know it looks like a haunted house, just pack your bags and leave!"

I giggled nervously. "Shut up. Ethan said he'd pick me up in an hour, but right now I'm alone. So who the hell is here?"

"Then you better carry a cross and some holy water." He made the sign of the cross, laughing.

"Idiot. Hang up."

I clicked the call off and stood, phone light trembling in my hand as I stepped into the hallway. My pulse pounded in my ears. Each step echoed too loudly in the cavernous silence of the Blackwood mansion.

I reached the switch, flicked it on, and screamed. "Gracious heaven!"

My foot slipped on the polished floor, and I tipped backward, falling...

Until strong hands caught me.

My breath stilled. My palms slapped against a chest...hard, warm, unyielding. The scent of smoke and expensive cologne swallowed me whole.

Damien.

His eyes bore into mine, dark storms that froze me where I clung to him. My lips parted, my pulse betraying me. For a long, suspended moment, the world shrank to just us...the press of my fingers against his chest, the heat of his body, the sharp edge of his jaw so close I could trace it.

It was unbearable. Intoxicating. Dangerous.

Then he broke the gaze. Just like that. His voice came low, detached. "If you're not fit enough to stand, you shouldn't be walking around."

I straightened immediately, stepping back, adjusting my top. "Sorry."

His eyes flicked over me, unreadable. "Step up your game. Next time, you'll end up in the hospital."

I frowned, heat rising in my chest. "Do you actually think I just threw myself on you for no reason?"

He smirked faintly, still not looking at me. "Wouldn't surprise me. Any girl would kill to feel my skin."

My jaw dropped. The audacity. "Wow. What exactly are you feeling like? A god?"

He didn't stop walking, didn't even turn.

"Why are you so harsh to me?" I snapped. "It was a minor mistake. I apologised."

He paused, shoulders stiff. "Can I breathe?"

I stormed up to him, poking his chest with my finger. "Don't play games with me, Damien. Everyone makes mistakes. You too. And I said I was sorry....so forgive me, for fuck's sake!"

His hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist. He pushed it off him easily, like I was nothing. His eyes cut through me. "Do I need to remind you that you were picked to survive?"

I staggered back, breath catching.

He leaned closer, his voice razor-sharp. "Transfer this little fire of yours to the time when your mother was busy stealing, maybe she wouldn't be rotting in jail."

My mouth fell open. My chest burned. "You're... unbelievable."

He only shrugged, turning away again.

Fury surged through me. "You're not all that!" I shouted after him.

That stopped him. Slowly, dangerously, he turned. His steps were deliberate as he walked back, closing the distance until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. My back hit the wall.

He reached up, fingers sliding into my hair, tugging it back just enough to tilt my head. My breath hitched as his lips brushed the shell of my ear.

"See now?" he whispered, voice dark velvet. "I am all that. And your body knows it. It's begging for it....even if your mouth won't admit it."

My hands had betrayed me, gripping his chest, fingers trailing dangerously low, down toward the ridges of his abs. The pull between us was unbearable, a magnet I couldn't fight.

Then he pushed me back gently, stepping away, leaving me breathless.

"Damien..." I blinked. "uh... are you heading for the tea party? or is it over already?"

He smirked faintly. "Yes, I am."

My brows knit. "uh ..Ethan....He was supposed to pick me up... but he's late. Like, really late, and I don't know why..."

Damien didn't even look at me. "Definitely, he forgot about you, wear something decent. I'll drop you."

I blinked. "Wait... really?"

He was already walking off.

"Thank you... Dada," I teased, testing him.

He only shrugged, not slowing. "Don't make me regret it."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving me pressed against the wall, breathless, furious, and... trembling.

Damien's POV

"Is everything okay, miss?" I asked, though the words didn't come out kind, they came out sharp, annoyed, like I had already wasted too much time watching her fumble with herself.

The girl... Lila...sat there on the damn chair, struggling with a pair of heels as if it was rocket science. A pair of heels. Jesus Christ.

I adjusted the cuffs of my suit jacket, car keys clinking in my hand. I should've been out the door ten minutes ago, but here she was... fussing with straps, biting her lip, pouting like some helpless thing that expected a knight in shining armor to swoop in and fix her shoe.

I leaned against the frame of the door, crossing my arms. "You plan on carrying those on your hand the whole night?"

She looked up at me, her lips curved in that pout again, and to be honest, it made my stomach twist. Not because it was cute. Because it was pathetic. "I can't wear them," she murmured, almost like she wanted pity.

I arched a brow, letting my eyes deliberately drag down her figure and back up. She was dressed like she thought she was walking into a royal ball, not a Blackwood 'tea party.' Too much skin, too much effort, too much of everything. She didn't fit. Not here, not in this house, and not in those shoes.

"You can't wear shoes?" I scoffed, shaking my head. "What does that even mean? You're seriously expecting me to bend down and lace them for you? No thanks. Walk barefoot if you must. It might suit the stray-dog vibe you've got going."

Her lips parted. She sucked in a sharp breath like I had slapped her with words, but she didn't argue. She dropped back onto the chair and started fumbling again, fingers tangling with the straps, her face flushed in frustration.

I almost walked out. I should have walked out.

But something in the way she muttered under her breath, some curse words about me, I'm sure....made me pause. And then she pulled her phone out, of all things, and began googling how to tie heels.

I stared. For a second, I didn't even feel disgust. I almost... laughed.

This was who Dad thought was fit to bring into our family? A local girl who needed YouTube tutorials for footwear? Not as a maid, no! as a sister.

Ridiculous.

I sighed, walked back over, and without a word grabbed her ankle. She yelped softly, her eyes wide as I pulled her leg up closer and crouched down. The strap was a mess. Of course it was.

"This is embarrassing," I muttered, more to myself than her.

Just as I tugged at the lace, the shoe jerked, and her entire body pitched forward. One second she was perched on the chair, the next she was sprawled half over me, palms braced against my chest.

Her scent hit me first. Rosé. Not cheap perfume, but something delicate, lingering. Then her eyes.... big, green, too damn earnest for someone I had already decided I hated. They sparkled, and for a split second, I wondered if they were even real.

And just like that, I hated myself for noticing.

I clenched my jaw, finished the damn shoe with a rough tug, and stood. "You always do this as a hobby? Falling on people? Or is it just me you save the clumsiness for?"

Her cheeks flushed. "I....I didn't mean to...."

"Don't," I cut her off, raising a hand. "It's giving 'pick me' energy, and honestly? You're too pretty for that. So stop."

She blinked at me, lips parted. For a moment, she didn't even look embarrassed anymore, she looked... stunned.

I grabbed my keys, shook my head, and walked out.

***

She followed, of course. I heard the soft tap of her heels behind me, too light, too uneven. I didn't have to look back to know she was struggling to walk in them.

By the time I reached my car, she was still a few paces behind, holding onto the wall like a toddler learning to walk.

I couldn't help it. A laugh escaped me, low and bitter.

"You can't even walk in medium heels?" I opened the door, slid inside, and revved the engine. She was still outside, just staring at the car like it was some alien spaceship.

I leaned on the horn. She flinched. Then she muttered something I couldn't hear... her lips moving furiously.

I got out again, exhaling like I was about to lose my patience. "Why the hell are you still standing there? What are you complaining about now?"

She crossed her arms. "I... I can't open it."

My brows lifted. "You can't open a car door?"

She tilted her head, lips pressed into a pout that looked almost intentional. "Ethan always opens it for me."

I barked out a laugh, bitter and disbelieving. "Of course he does."

I slid back inside, hit the button, and let the car door swing open automatically. Her eyes widened, and then she laughed...a bubbly, childish sound that didn't fit her supposed age at all.

I gripped the steering wheel harder. She slid into the seat, brushing down her dress, and for a moment, the car smelled like her perfume again.

***

"Why didn't Ethan show up?" she asked softly after a stretch of silence.

"Ask him," I muttered, eyes fixed on the road.

She shifted, her voice dipping even lower. "Sorry... for stressing you."

I didn't answer. Instead, I pressed harder on the accelerator, the hum of the engine filling the quiet.

"Tell me the location," I said flatly.

She blinked. "The location?"

"Yes. Where is this party?"

Her mouth opened, closed. "Um..."

I slammed the brakes. The tires screeched. She gasped, clutching her seatbelt.

"You don't even know where you're going?" My voice was sharper now, edged with disbelief.

She fumbled with her hands. "Ethan said it's a tea party..."

I stared at her. Then I laughed. A low, dangerous laugh.

"You dressed like a Barbie doll for a tea party?"

Her brows furrowed. "It... it fits the name."

I shook my head. "Tea party is sarcasm, bruh... It means a party filled with alcohol, drugs, chaos. Not Earl Grey and cupcakes."

Her face flushed red. "I didn't know...."

"Clearly." I rolled my eyes. "And you think Ethan's some innocent choir boy? He's the life of every reckless thing you can imagine."

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She just looked down, biting her lip.

Minutes later, I pulled into a street...only to curse under my breath. "Fuck. Fuck."

She lifted her head, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"The police invaded. Party's over."

She sighed like the disappointment was hers to bear.

I swung the car into reverse, then pulled over to the side of the road.

"So?" she asked softly.

"So you're hopping out," I said.

Her head snapped toward me. "What?"

"You heard me." I put the gear in park. "Out. I've got somewhere else to be."

She sat there frozen. "But...how? Where do I go?"

I nodded toward the dim street ahead. "Straight. Then follow the painted region. You'll figure it out."

Her lips parted in disbelief, but she didn't argue. She stepped out, heels dangling from her fingers again.

I didn't wait. I didn't want to see the look on her face. I pressed down on the accelerator, leaving her standing there.

But the mirror betrayed me.

I saw her....small, fragile, shivering slightly under the streetlight. Heels in her hand, shoulders tight. Alone.

For a second, the memory of her first night in this house flickered.... the defiance, the way she stood in front of me even when I cut her down. And now? She looked... breakable.

"Fuck," I muttered.

Before I knew it, I was circling back. The car screeched as I pulled up beside her.

I lowered the window. "Get in."

She blinked at me, almost stunned. Then, slowly, she climbed back in, sinking into the seat.

"You... came back," she whispered.

"Don't flatter yourself." I kept my eyes on the road, jaw tight. "I can't go home now."

She looked at me cautiously. "Then... where are we going?"

I smirked, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Buckle up. We're going to my kind of party."

She swallowed hard, her hands fumbling with the seatbelt. And in that quiet moment, I saw it.... the flicker of fear. The way her pulse ticked at her neck. Social anxiety, written all over her.

And I thought to myself: good. Let her tremble. Let her break.

Because no matter how green her eyes shone or how sweet she smelled, she was still the daughter of a murderer, and I'd make sure she never got comfortable in my world.