I didn't sleep that night.

How could I? I'd just agreed to fake-date a man I'd met two hours ago, all to destroy my ex-husband who technically wasn't even my ex yet because we were still legally married even though we never actually had a wedding.

My head hurt.

At 6 AM, my phone rang. Unknown number. I already knew who it was.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, darling." Damien's voice was way too cheerful for this hour. "Hope I didn't wake you."

"I've been awake since three," I admitted.

"Good. That means you're taking this seriously." I could hear the smile in his voice. "My driver will pick you up at nine. We have shopping to do."

"Shopping?"

"Emma, you can't be seen with me wearing... whatever it is you're wearing right now."

I looked down at my ratty NYU t-shirt and pajama shorts. "How do you know what I'm wearing?"

He hung up.

I stared at my phone. Was he watching me? How did he even get my number?

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

The driver arrived at exactly 9 AM in a black Mercedes that probably cost more than my yearly salary used to be. He opened the door without a word, and I climbed in feeling completely out of place.

Damien was already inside.

He looked impossibly good in daylight-charcoal suit, no tie, hair slightly messy like he'd run his hands through it. He was scrolling through his phone, barely glancing at me.

"Seatbelt," he said.

I buckled up. The car started moving.

"Where are we going?"

"Marcus Atelier. They're holding the boutique for us."

"The entire boutique?"

"I don't like crowds." He finally looked at me, and those blue eyes scanned me from head to toe. Not sexual. Clinical. Like I was a project. "You'll need everything. Dresses, shoes, jewelry, lingerie-"

"I'm not wearing lingerie for you," I said quickly.

His eyebrow quirked. "It's not for me. It's for the photographers who will inevitably catch glimpses when you move, sit, dance. Every detail matters, Emma. If we're going to sell this, you need to look like you belong with me."

"And what does that look like?" I said with curiosity.

"Expensive. Confident. Untouchable." He turned back to his phone. "Right now, you look like a woman who's been crying for three months."

Jeez!!..I looked at myself. The words stung because they were true.

"I can pull this off," I said, lifting my chin.

"I know you can." His voice softened slightly. "That's why I chose you."

Marcus Atelier was the kind of place I used to walk past and dream about. Now I was being ushered inside like royalty, with an entire team of stylists waiting.

"Mr. Cross!" Marcus himself-a thin man with sharp features and an even sharper accent-air-kissed both of Damien's cheeks. "And this must be the lovely Emma."

"She needs everything," Damien said. "Evening wear, casual, business. I want her wardrobe completely rebuilt by end of day."

Marcus's eyes lit up. "Consider it done."

For the next four hours, I was poked, measured, dressed and undressed more times than I could count. Gowns in every color. Shoes that cost more than my monthly rent. Jewelry that required security guards to bring out.

Damien sat in a leather chair the entire time, watching. Occasionally he'd shake his head-no. Sometimes he'd nod-yes. Most of the time he just stared at me with an expression I couldn't read.

"Try the red one," he said when I was exhausted and ready to collapse.

"I've tried on thirty dresses"

"Try it."

I sighed and let Marcus's team squeeze me into a red silk gown that hugged every curve. It was backless, sophisticated, and made me look like someone else entirely.

Someone powerful.

I stepped out of the dressing room, and for the first time all day, Damien's expression changed.

He stood up.

Walked toward me slowly.

Stopped just inches away.

"This one," he said quietly. His eyes hadn't left mine. "You'll wear this tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Adrian's hosting a charity gala. We're going."

My stomach dropped. "Tonight? Damien, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was gentle, but his eyes were calculating. "This is what you signed up for, Emma. Tonight, we make our first public appearance. Together."

"He'll lose his mind," I whispered.

Damien smiled. "That's the point."

By seven PM, I was standing in front of my mirror and didn't recognize myself.

The red dress felt like it was made for me-because it was. My hair was styled in loose waves, makeup done by professionals who knew exactly how to make my eyes look bigger, my lips fuller. The diamond necklace Damien had insisted on felt cold against my skin.

I looked expensive.

I looked confident.

I looked like someone who belonged with Damien Cross.

The doorbell rang.

I opened it to find Damien in a full tuxedo, and oh God, it wasn't fair. No one should look that good.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No."

"Good. If you were ready, you'd be overconfident. Nerves will make this more believable." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

I took it.

His arm was solid under my touch. Strong. Steady.

"Remember," he said as we walked to the car, "you're madly in love with me. You can't keep your hands off me. You look at me like I hung the moon."

"That's a lot of acting," I muttered.

"Then think of it this way-every smile you give me is a knife in Adrian's chest. Every touch is a reminder of what he lost. Every laugh is proof that you moved on."

I took a breath. "I can do that."

It's my chance to treat him bad the way he did to me so I have to put in all my best to do so.

"I know." He helped me into the car, then slid in beside me. "One more thing."

"What?"

He pulled out a small velvet box.

My heart stopped.

"Damien"

"Relax. It's not what you think." He opened it to reveal a stunning engagement ring. Emerald cut diamond, easily five carats, surrounded by smaller stones. "We're engaged, remember? You'll need to wear this."

He took my left hand-the same hand that used to wear Adrian's ring-and slid it on.

It fit perfectly.

"How did you know my size?" I asked.

"I know everything about you, Emma." His thumb brushed over my knuckles. "Your ring size. Your favorite coffee. The fact that you haven't eaten anything since this morning because you're too nervous."

He pulled out a protein bar from his jacket.

"Eat," he ordered. "You'll need your strength."

I took it, too shocked to argue.

This man had known me for less than twenty-four hours, and he already knew more about me than Adrian had learned in three years.

The gala was being held at the Castellan Hotel-of course it was. Adrian's family owned half the luxury hotels in the city.

Our car pulled up to the red carpet, and I could see the photographers already gathered. Flashes going off. People everywhere.

"Last chance to back out," Damien said.

I looked at the hotel. Somewhere inside, Adrian was probably laughing with Melissa. Probably celebrating how he'd dodged a bullet with me.

"Drive," I told the driver.

Damien's smile was pure satisfaction.

The car stopped. The door opened.

Damien stepped out first, and the cameras went insane. He was one of the most eligible bachelors in the city-powerful, wealthy, mysterious. Everyone wanted to know who he was dating.

He turned back and offered his hand.

I took it.

The moment I stepped out in that red dress, the noise doubled. Questions shouted from every direction.

"Mr. Cross! Who's your date?"

"Are you two together?"

"Is this your girlfriend?"

Damien ignored them all. He pulled me close, his hand on the small of my back, and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"Smile like you own the world," he said.

So I did.

I smiled like I'd never been broken. Like I'd never cried myself to sleep. Like I was exactly where I belonged.

And then we walked inside.

---

The ballroom was stunning. Crystal chandeliers, live orchestra, champagne towers. Everyone who was anyone in the city was here.

Including Adrian.

I spotted him immediately. He was standing near the bar with Melissa hanging off his arm. She was wearing pink-soft, innocent, everything I wasn't in this red dress.

He hadn't seen us yet.

"There," I murmured to Damien.

"I see him." Damien's hand tightened on my waist. "Remember, you're with me. You're happy. You're in love."

"Right."

"And Emma?" He turned me to face him. "For the next few hours, I need you to pretend I'm the only man in this room. Can you do that?"

I looked up at him. At those impossibly blue eyes. At the sharp jawline and the way he was looking at me like I mattered.

"Yeah," I breathed. "I can do that."

"Good girl."

He led me onto the floor, and we started dancing.

I'd forgotten how good it felt to be held like this. Damien was an excellent dancer-smooth, confident, leading me effortlessly across the floor. His hand was warm on my back. His eyes never left mine.

"You're doing great," he murmured.

"He hasn't noticed us yet."

"He will." Damien spun me, and my dress flared out. "Three... two... one..."

I turned back into his arms.

And locked eyes with Adrian across the room.

His face went white.

Then red.

Then he started walking toward us, dragging Melissa behind him.

"Showtime," Damien whispered.

"Emma."

Adrian's voice cut through the music. Cold. Sharp. Furious.

Damien and I stopped dancing. He kept his arm around my waist, pulling me closer-possessive, protective.

"Adrian," I said, keeping my voice steady. "What a surprise." I said smiling.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His eyes raked over me, over the dress, over Damien's hand on my body. "And with him?"

"I'm attending a charity gala with my fiancé," I said sweetly. "Is that a problem?"

Melissa's jaw actually dropped. "Fiancé?"

Adrian's face had gone from red to almost purple. "You're not engaged."

"Actually, she is." Damien extended his free hand toward Adrian-the picture of politeness. "Damien Cross. I don't believe we've been formally introduced. Oh wait, yes we have. When you tried to steal my company."

Adrian ignored his hand. "This is a joke."

"Our engagement? I assure you, it's very real." Damien pulled me even closer. I could feel his heartbeat against my back-steady, calm. Mine was racing. "Emma said yes three days ago. Didn't she tell you?"

"Three days-" Adrian turned to me. "We were just discussing the divorce three days ago!"

"And I decided I didn't want to sign," I said. The lie came easier than I expected. "Not your version, anyway. My lawyers are drafting something more... appropriate."

"Your lawyers?" Adrian laughed, but it sounded unhinged. "You don't have lawyers. You don't have money. You don't have anything-"

"She has me," Damien interrupted. His voice was still polite, but there was steel underneath. "Which means she has the best legal team in the state. I'd suggest you prepare for a real negotiation, Castellan."

People were starting to stare. Phones were coming out.

Adrian noticed. His jaw clenched. "We need to talk. Privately."

"I don't think so," I said without hesitating.

"Emma" He reached for my arm.

Damien moved faster. He stepped between us, blocking Adrian completely.

"Touch her again," Damien said quietly, "and I'll break your hand."

The ballroom went silent.

Adrian and Damien stared at each other. The tension was suffocating.

"This isn't over," Adrian finally said.

"No," Damien agreed. "It's not. But right now, you're making a scene at your own charity gala. Your mother is watching from the balcony, and she looks very disappointed."

Adrian's eyes flicked up. Sure enough, Mrs. Castellan was watching with a pinched expression.

He stepped back. Straightened his jacket.

"Enjoy your evening," he said through gritted teeth. Then to me: "We will talk about this."

"No," I said. "We won't."

He left, dragging a stunned Melissa with him.

The moment they were gone, my knees almost gave out. Damien caught me.

"Breathe," he murmured into my ear. "You did perfectly."

"I think I'm going to throw up."

"Not in the Valentino dress, you're not." He guided me toward a private balcony, away from the prying eyes. "Come on."

The cool night air hit my face, and I gasped.

"Oh my God," I said. "Oh my God, did that actually just happen?"

I was so proud of myself for starting to overcome Adrian because he's a lot.

"It did." Damien leaned against the railing. "And it was spectacular."

"He looked like he wanted to murder you."

"Good. That means it's working." I smiled.

He pulled out his phone. "The video is already trending on social media. 'Damien Cross's Mystery Fiancée Confronts Her Ex.' You're famous, Emma."

"I don't want to be famous," I said. My hands were shaking. "I just wanted-I don't know what I wanted."

"Yes, you do." Damien pocketed his phone and turned to face me. "You wanted him to see you. To really see you. To realize what he lost."

"Did he?" I asked quietly. "Did he realize?"

"Did you see his face when he looked at you?" Damien stepped closer. "He realized. Trust me."

I closed my eyes. "This is crazy."

"Yes."

"We barely know each other."

"Also yes."

"I'm technically still married to him-"

"Not for long." Damien tilted my chin up. "Look at me."

I did.

"You did so well tonight," he said. "Better than I expected. You didn't break. You didn't cry. You stood there in your red dress and made him see exactly what he threw away."

"I was terrified," I admitted because that's true.

"I know. But you didn't show it." His thumb brushed my cheek. "That's strength, Emma."

The way he was looking at me-like I was something precious, something worth protecting-made my chest ache.

"Why are you really doing this?" I whispered. "It's not just about revenge, is it?"

I knew it wasn't just about the revenge and I looked straight to him to tell me if really it is.

Damien's expression shifted. Something darker crossed his face.

"Adrian Castellan destroyed something that mattered to me," he said quietly. "Not just my company. Something else. Someone else."

"Who?" I asked. I was more curious. I need to know more.

"My sister." His jaw clenched. "Three years ago, Adrian convinced her to invest her trust fund in one of his guaranteed ventures. It was a scam. She lost everything. And when she tried to fight back, when she tried to expose him, he buried her under legal fees and NDAs until she gave up."

My heart sank. "Damien"

"She moved to Europe to escape the shame," he continued. "Haven't seen her in two years. She won't even take my calls." His eyes met mine. "So yes, Emma. This is about revenge. But it's also about justice. Adrian Castellan has hurt too many people. He needs to pay."

I understood now. This wasn't just business. It was personal.

"What happened to your sister," I said, "it won't happen to me. I promise I'll see this through."

"I know you will." He stepped back, giving me space. "Come on. We should get back before people start gossiping."

"Too late for that," I said.

He smiled. "Fair point."

We stayed at the gala for another hour. I could feel Adrian's eyes on me the entire time-watching as Damien introduced me to his business partners, as we danced, as he kept his hand on me like I was something precious.

Every glance, every touch was calculated. And it was working.

When we finally left, the photographers went crazy again. This time, Damien kissed my hand for the cameras. It was chaste, old-fashioned, and somehow more intimate than anything Adrian had ever done.

In the car, I finally let myself collapse.

"How long do we have to keep this up?" I asked.

"Six months," Damien said. "Until the Hartfield merger falls through."

"And then?"

"Then you're free. Five million dollars richer, legally divorced, and you can do whatever you want with your life."

Six months of pretending to be in love with Damien Cross. Six months of driving Adrian crazy.

Six months of being the woman I'd always wanted to be-strong, confident, untouchable.

"Okay," I said. "What's next?"

"Next?" Damien's smile was dangerous. "Next, you move in with me."

My eyes widened. "What?"

"We're engaged, Emma. Engaged couples live together. If you stay in that little apartment, no one will believe this is real."

"I can't just move in with you-"

"You can, and you will." His tone left no room for argument. "My penthouse has five bedrooms. You'll have your own space. Your own bathroom. Complete privacy. But publicly, we need to sell this relationship. Which means you need to be seen coming and going from my place."

He was right. I hated it, but he was right.

"When?" I asked.

"Tomorrow. I'll send movers for your things."

"I barely have any things-"

"Then it'll be quick." He looked at me. "This is happening, Emma. Are you ready?"

Was I ready to move in with a stranger? To pretend to be engaged to him? To face Adrian's wrath for the next six months?

No.

But I was going to do it anyway.

"I'm ready," I said.

Damien's smile was pure satisfaction.

"Welcome to your new life, darling."

I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine.

For a moment, I panicked-my heart racing, breath caught in my throat. Then I remembered.

Damien's penthouse. My new home. My new life.

I sat up slowly, taking in the guest room he'd given me. Calling it a "room" felt like an insult. It was bigger than my entire apartment had been. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. The bed was massive, covered in silk sheets that probably cost more than my car. There was a sitting area, a walk-in closet already filled with the clothes from yesterday's shopping spree, and a bathroom with a tub big enough to swim in.

This was temporary, I reminded myself. Six months. Then I'd take my five million and disappear.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Adrian:We need to talk.

Adrian:Emma, answer me.

Adrian:This is childish. Call me back.

Twelve missed calls. Twenty texts. All from last night after I'd turned my phone on silent.

I deleted every single one without reading the rest.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," I called, pulling the sheets up even though I was wearing perfectly modest pajamas.

The door opened, but it wasn't Damien. It was a woman in her fifties, elegant and composed, carrying a silver tray.

"Good morning, Miss Emma," she said with a warm smile. "I'm Margaret, Mr. Cross's housekeeper. I've brought you breakfast."

"Oh, you didn't have to"

"Mr. Cross insists." She set the tray on the bedside table. Coffee, fresh pastries, fruit, and what looked like an omelet that belonged in a restaurant. "He's already left for the office, but he asked me to make sure you're comfortable."

"He left?" I glanced at the clock. 6:47 AM. "It's barely seven."

"Mr. Cross is an early riser," Margaret said. "But he left this for you."

She handed me a note card. Heavy stock, expensive. The handwriting was sharp, precise.

Emma-

Make yourself at home. My credit card is in the kitchen drawer (black Amex, don't lose it). Buy whatever you need. Margaret will help you settle in.

We have dinner tonight at Rousseau's at 8 PM. Wear the navy dress.

-D

P.S. Don't answer Adrian's calls. It'll drive him crazy.

I couldn't help but smile at that last line.

"Mr. Cross mentioned you might need help unpacking?" Margaret asked.

"I don't really have much to unpack," I admitted. "Everything I own fit in three boxes."

Her expression softened with something that looked like sympathy, but she was too professional to comment.

"Well then," she said, "perhaps you'd like a tour of the penthouse? It's easy to get lost your first few days."

Damn!! Lost was an understatement.

Damien's penthouse took up the entire top floor of the building. Five bedrooms, six bathrooms, a kitchen that looked like it belonged on a cooking show, a home office, a gym, a library, and a living room with windows that made you feel like you were floating above the city.

"Mr. Cross doesn't entertain often," Margaret explained as we walked through the immaculate space. "But when he does, he prefers intimate gatherings. Ten people maximum."

"How long have you worked for him?" I asked.

"Eight years." Her face lit up. "He's a good man, Miss Emma. I know the media makes him out to be cold, ruthless, but he's been nothing but kind to me and my family. When my husband was sick, Mr. Cross paid for the best doctors, the best treatment. He didn't have to do that."

I filed that information away. Damien Cross-ruthless businessman with a soft spot for the people who worked for him.

"Does he..." I hesitated. "Does he date much?"

Margaret's smile turned knowing. "Mr. Cross has had companions, yes. But nothing serious. Not since-" She stopped herself. "I shouldn't gossip."

"Since what?" I pressed.

She looked conflicted, then sighed. "Since his sister left. He's been... different. More focused on work. Less interested in personal connections." She gave me a meaningful look. "Until now, apparently."

I wanted to tell her it was fake. That Damien and I were just playing a game. But that would defeat the entire purpose.

"He's been very kind to me," I said instead. Which was true, in a strange, calculating way.

"Good." Margaret patted my hand. "You seem like a lovely girl. And goodness knows Mr. Cross could use someone to soften those sharp edges."

If only she knew.

I spent the rest of the morning exploring the penthouse, trying not to feel like an imposter. Every surface was expensive. Every piece of art looked like it belonged in a museum. Even the books in the library were first editions.

This wasn't my world.

But it could be, whispered a traitorous voice in my head. For six months, this is your world.

My phone buzzed again. I almost ignored it, thinking it was Adrian, but the caller ID said "Unknown."

I answered. "Hello?"

"Emma Hartley?" A woman's voice, sharp and professional.

"Yes?"

"This is Victoria Chen from Metropolitan Magazine. I'd love to schedule an interview about your engagement to Damien Cross. Our readers are dying to know-"

I hung up.

The phone immediately rang again. Different number.

"Miss Hartley, this is James Park from City Elite News"

I hung up again.

By the third call, I'd turned my phone off completely.

Gosh!..How did they get my number? How did they even know who I was?

The answer came twenty minutes later when Margaret found me in the library, looking frazzled.

"Miss Emma, you should see this." She held out a tablet.

The screen showed a gossip website, and my face was plastered across the front page.

"WHO IS DAMIEN CROSS'S MYSTERY WOMAN?"

Below that, a photo from last night-me stepping out of the car in that red dress, Damien's hand on my back, looking at him like he was the only person in the world.

We looked real. We looked like a couple actually in love.

I scrolled down. More photos. Us dancing. Him whispering in my ear. The moment Adrian confronted us, Damien's hand protectively on my waist.

And then-

"Oh no."

There were photos of me from before. Old social media pictures I thought I'd deleted. Me at my college graduation. Me at some party I barely remembered. Me with Adrian, back when I thought we were happy.

Someone had dug into my entire history.

The article was brutal.

"Sources close to the situation reveal that Emma Hartley, 26, was previously engaged to billionaire heir Adrian Castellan. The engagement ended dramatically just three months ago when Hartley allegedly walked out of her own wedding. Now she's been spotted with Damien Cross, 32, Castellan's known business rival. Coincidence? Or calculated revenge?"

"This is bad," I whispered.

"Mr. Cross called," Margaret said gently. "He said not to worry. His PR team is handling it."

"His PR team?" I looked up. "He has a PR team?"

"Of course, dear. When you're that wealthy and that private, you need people to control the narrative." She squeezed my shoulder. "Just breathe. This will blow over."

But it didn't feel like it would blow over.

It felt like a storm was coming.

---

At 7 PM, I stood in front of my closet, staring at the navy dress Damien had specified.

It was beautiful-elegant, sophisticated, with a neckline that was modest but still showed just enough. I put it on, zipped it up, and looked at myself in the mirror.

I looked like someone else.

Someone confident. Someone who belonged at fancy restaurants with billionaires.

Someone who wasn't terrified out of her mind.

"You can do this," I told my reflection.

The intercom buzzed.

"Miss Emma?" Margaret's voice. "Mr. Cross is here."

My heart jumped. "I'll be right down."

I grabbed the clutch that matched the dress-also chosen by Damien-and headed downstairs.

Damien was waiting in the foyer, checking his phone. He'd changed into a different suit-charcoal gray, perfectly tailored. When he heard me on the stairs, he looked up.

And his expression shifted.

"Perfect," he said quietly. "You look perfect."

"You chose the dress," I pointed out.

"I chose well." He offered his arm. "Ready?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really." But he was smiling. "Come on. We have a reservation."

---

Rousseau's was the kind of restaurant that required reservations six months in advance. Unless you were Damien Cross, apparently.

We were shown to a private table in the back-intimate, candlelit, impossibly romantic. The other diners were staring, whispering behind their hands.

"They're all looking at us," I murmured once we sat down.

"Good." Damien unfolded his napkin. "That's the point."

"I saw the articles," I said. "About me. About us."

"I know. I sent them."

I blinked. "You what?"

"Not the content-I don't control what gossip rags write. But I made sure they knew where we'd be tonight." He looked completely unbothered. "The more public our relationship, the more it will eat at Adrian."

"You leaked our location?"

"Emma, everything we do from now on is a performance. Dinner at exclusive restaurants. Weekend trips. Charity events. All of it designed to show Adrian exactly what he lost."

I should have been angry. Should have felt manipulated.

But honestly? He was right. Adrian needs to know what he'd lost.

"So what's tonight's performance?" I asked.

"Tonight, we're madly in love." His eyes locked on mine. "You can't stop smiling. You laugh at everything I say. You touch my hand across the table. You look at me like I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"That's a lot of acting."

"Is it?" He leaned forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're already doing most of that."

My cheeks heated. "I'm just following instructions."

"Sure you are." His smile was infuriating.

The waiter appeared before I could respond, taking our drink orders. Damien ordered wine without asking what I wanted-but somehow picked my favorite.

"How did you know I like Pinot Noir?" I asked once the waiter left.

"I told you. I know everything about you."

"That's creepy."

"That's thorough." He leaned back. "I don't do anything halfway, Emma. If I'm going to destroy Adrian Castellan, I need to understand every piece on the board. Including you."

"I'm a piece on the board?"

"You're the queen." His eyes glinted. "The most powerful piece in the game."

---

Dinner was... surprisingly nice.

Damien was charming when he wanted to be. Funny, even. He told stories about his early days building his company, about the mistakes he'd made, the risks he'd taken. He asked about my life, my dreams, the things I'd given up when I was with Adrian.

"I wanted to be a writer," I admitted over dessert. "Not like, novels or anything fancy. Just... travel writing. Going to interesting places, telling stories about the people I met."

"Why didn't you?"

"Adrian said it wasn't practical. That I should focus on being his wife, building his life instead of chasing pipe dreams."

Damien's jaw tightened. "He's an idiot."

"Yeah," I said softly. "I'm starting to realize that."

He reached across the table and took my hand. His touch was warm, solid.

"When this is over," he said, "when you have your five million and your freedom-go chase those dreams. Write about every place you've ever wanted to see. Don't let anyone tell you it's not practical."

I stared at our joined hands.

"Why are you being nice to me?" I whispered.

"Because despite what the media says, I'm not actually a heartless bastard." His thumb brushed over my knuckles. "And because you deserve better than what Adrian gave you."

For a moment, I forgot this was fake.

For a moment, I let myself believe that Damien Cross actually cared.

Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his expression turned predatory.

"What?" I asked.

"Adrian's here."

My heart stopped. "What?"

"In the restaurant. He just walked in with Melissa." Damien's smile was pure satisfaction. "Right on schedule."

"You knew he'd come?"

"I made sure he'd come. His assistant is on my payroll." He squeezed my hand. "Remember-you're madly in love with me. Show him what he lost."

I didn't have to look to know when Adrian spotted us. I felt his stare like a physical weight.

"Emma," Damien said softly. "Look at me."

I did.

"Forget he's here," he murmured. "Just focus on me."

So I did. I looked at Damien Cross-at his sharp blue eyes, his perfect features, the way he was looking at me like I mattered.

And then he leaned across the table, his eyes locked on mine-not with tenderness, but with something sharper. Before I could process what was happening, his lips were on mine.

It wasn't gentle.

It was heated, sudden...he needed to prove something to Adrian.

My body froze, but my heart didn't get the memo, it raced, wild and confused. I tasted a mix of fire and frustration in that kiss. And when he finally pulled back, breath shallow, I just sat there, stunned, unsure whether to pull him back in.

Because it felt like it wasn't just a kiss.

It sounds like it is a message.

And every nerve in my body received it loud and clear.