Amelia looked up, her expression resolute. "I have no intention of embarrassing the Johnson family again. But if you wish to call off the engagement, that's perfectly fine with me."

Ethan let out a cold, disbelieving laugh. "Don't try reverse psychology on me. Once it's called off, there's no undoing it."

She met his gaze squarely, her eyes clear and direct. "Then call it off. But why frame it as a threat? Is there something you're feeling guilty about?" The whole performance struck her as strange and unnecessary.

"I..." Ethan faltered, suddenly at a loss for words. Truthfully, he wasn't entirely sure why he had issued the ultimatum either.

In her past life, Amelia had trusted Sabrina implicitly-and had been utterly manipulated because of it. She remembered a time when Ethan had been kind to her. But through a series of orchestrated disappointments, she had pushed him away until he drifted beyond reach.

In this life, she knew she could reclaim that path. Winning Ethan back, marrying him, securing the life that would send Sabrina into a jealous frenzy-it was all within her grasp.

But she didn't want it. Not like this. The engagement felt less like a promise and more like a shackle. She was no longer the person who craved that validation.

"So... where is Sabrina?" Ethan asked abruptly, visibly uncomfortable and eager to change the subject.

Before Amelia could formulate a reply, a new voice interrupted.

"Miss Johnson! There you are! My brother's been looking for you everywhere." Liam appeared, and without waiting for a response, he gently but firmly ushered her away from Ethan.

When Amelia had researched Damien online, Liam's name consistently appeared in connection with him. Unlike his reclusive brother, Liam was a permanent fixture in the gossip columns. She hadn't gotten a good look at him in the car earlier, but seeing him now-both brothers were undeniably more striking in person.

"Mission accomplished, bro!" Liam announced cheerfully to Damien.

Amelia turned to Damien, offering a quick explanation. "My apologies for the delay, Mr. Taylor. I was... detained."

"Some guy was giving her a hard time," Liam interjected helpfully.

Damien's brow furrowed slightly. "Was someone bothering you?"

"Don't you worry, Miss Johnson," Liam added with mock seriousness. "Whatever it is, big bro here can handle it."

Amelia offered a light chuckle. "It's nothing serious. Just a... friend."

"A friend?" Liam raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Looked more like he wanted to bite your head off. I know drama when I see it."

"We are scheduled to open the dance floor shortly," Damien said to Amelia, referring to the partnership he had personally requested.

"You can't be serious! We haven't practiced at all. We'll make fools of ourselves," she blurted out, genuine nerves surfacing.

Liam grinned. "No sweat! It's not too late for a crash course. I know just the place. Follow me."

"I hope there's enough time," Amelia murmured, deeply reluctant to give Sabrina any ammunition by failing spectacularly.

"There is enough time," Damien stated calmly. In his world, time tended to accommodate his wishes.

Liam led them to a private practice room upstairs and discreetly slipped out.

Damien extended his hand. Amelia took it, and his other arm slid naturally around her waist.

It was their first time dancing together, yet they moved with an unexpected, instinctive synchrony, each step and turn landing in perfect harmony.

After running through the routine twice, they prepared to leave.

But as they turned toward the door, the lights abruptly cut out, plunging the room into total darkness.

In the sudden, heavy silence, Amelia could hear Damien's breathing, noticeably heavier than before.

A note of concern entered her voice. "Mr. Taylor... are you alright?"

"Give me your hand." Damien's voice was low, but a subtle tension lurked beneath its calm surface.

Amelia paused. Before the lights went out, Damien had been standing to her left. Now, his voice seemed to come from a slightly different direction.

She shuffled blindly toward the sound, arms outstretched. After a few steps, her foot caught on something, sending her stumbling forward. Instead of hitting the floor, she collided with a solid, warm chest.

"I'm so sorry, I-" she began, trying to push herself upright.

"Don't. Move." The command in his tone was sharp, edged with something close to urgency.

"Mr. Taylor, are you alright?" She could feel a faint tremor running through his body, his breathing still uneven.

"My apologies... Just... give me a moment," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically strained, almost pleading.

Understanding dawned on Amelia. So, the formidable Master Taylor has a vulnerability. It seemed like a classic case of claustrophobia.

She softened her posture, gently patting his back. "It's okay. I'm right here. You're safe."

Damien didn't respond, but she felt the rigid tension in his frame begin to ease slightly.

After a long moment, she asked softly, "Do you think you can stand?"

"I can try. Will you help me?" His dark secret phobia was unpredictable, striking without warning.

Once he was steady on his feet, Amelia carefully guided him, one arm around his back, as they inched forward through the oppressive blackness. She was almost certain the exit was this way.

Her free hand finally brushed against the cool metal of the door handle. She pushed it open, and the bright hallway light flooded in, making them both blink.

"A circuit failure? But only in this one room?" Amelia frowned, turning to look at Damien.

His expression was dark, brows knitted together. There was no doubt in his mind-this had Liam's meddling written all over it.

Suddenly, Amelia reached up, her fingers gently brushing his forehead. "You're sweating."

He caught her wrist, his touch firm but not harsh. "Don't. It's not... pleasant."

She pulled her hand back instinctively. "Oh! The opening dance! What time is it?"

Damien checked his watch, his composure largely restored. "We have just enough time if we go now."

"Let's go, then," he said, offering his arm once more.

Amelia took it without a second thought.

"Amelia." His voice was quiet.

"Hmm?" The way he said her name, so intimate and direct, sent an unexpected flutter through her chest.

"May I call you that?"

"Of course." You're Master Taylor. You can call me whatever you like.

"And... I apologize for my behavior earlier," he added, a rare hint of genuine contrition in his voice.

She offered a small, understanding smile. "There's no need. I understand."

As they re-entered the main hall, the overhead lights dimmed on cue, and a single spotlight illuminated them, marking them as the evening's opening couple.

The sudden attention made Amelia's breath hitch.

Arm in arm, they walked to the center of the dance floor.

"Mr. Taylor, Are you nervous?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Call me Damien," he instructed softly.

"Oh... Damien. Are you nervous?"

"Don't be. Just be confident," he said, his intense gaze locking with hers. "If you feel unsure, look at me. Keep your focus entirely on me."

The truth was, Amelia wasn't nervous about the dance itself. It was the man she was dancing with, and the hundreds of eyes now fixed solely on them. Years of having her confidence systematically eroded couldn't be rebuilt in a single night.

Off to the side, whispers began to ripple through the crowd.

"Who is that with Damien? I've never seen her before."

"No idea. She's new."

"I've seen her," Chloe sneered, joining the conversation. "She showed up at some minor event once, head to toe in tacky knock-offs. Thought she was someone important."