Sienna Rivera wasn't used to dressing like this.
The gown Damien had sent to her suite arrived in a white garment bag labeled "Aurore"—the same designer who dressed European royalty and billionaires' wives. Inside was a midnight-black gown, satin and sinful, hugging every inch of her body like a secret. A daring slit ran up one thigh, and the low neckline made her blush just standing in front of the mirror.
Her hair was pinned up in a sleek, twisted bun. Gold earrings shimmered at her ears, and the diamond ring Damien had given her sparkled like fire. She looked like someone else. Someone powerful. Someone cold.
She looked like Damien's fiancée.
A soft knock at the door made her jump. Before she could answer, it opened.
Damien stood there, black tux, dark eyes, and that same calm, lethal energy that always seemed to unsettle her no matter how much distance she tried to keep. His gaze dropped to her dress, lingering.
"You clean up well," he said.
Sienna narrowed her eyes. "Is that your version of a compliment?"
He smirked. "If I say more, I might cancel the gala and keep you here all night."
Her heart thudded once—hard.
"You're not as charming as you think you are," she said, grabbing her clutch.
"And you're not as unaffected as you pretend to be," he shot back.
They rode the private elevator down together, tension stretched between them like a tight rope. No words. Just shared breath and unspoken history.
The gala was held at the Rosecliff Estate, a place that looked like it belonged in a movie. High ceilings, crystal chandeliers, walls adorned with million-dollar art. The press was waiting outside as their car pulled up, cameras already flashing.
"Remember," Damien said, his voice low as he adjusted his cufflinks. "You're mine. All eyes are watching. We don't fumble."
"I don't fumble," she whispered back, just before the door opened.
The second her heel hit the red carpet, flashes exploded. Photographers yelled their names, and Damien's arm slid around her waist as if it belonged there.
She smiled. She waved. She leaned into him just enough to sell it.
But behind the smile, her mind ran circles.
He doesn't know.
She kept telling herself that. Over and over.
Damien doesn't know he has a son.
Inside, the ballroom buzzed with New York's elite—senators, tech founders, media moguls. Champagne flowed like water. A string quartet played somewhere in the background. Sienna clung to her flute of bubbly, letting Damien lead her through the crowd with a practiced hand on the small of her back.
She was beginning to feel the mask slipping into place—until she heard a voice.
"Well, well. The infamous Sienna Rivera."
Sienna turned. A stunning brunette in a blood-red gown smiled at her like a cat with claws.
"Sabrina Langford," Damien said coolly. "Ex-fiancée. Briefly."
Sienna blinked. "Charming."
"Oh, we all make mistakes," Sabrina said sweetly, touching Damien's arm as if she still had a claim on it. "Some of us fix them. Others… marry them."
Damien's hand tightened on Sienna's waist. "Watch your words, Sabrina."
Sienna leaned forward with a smile. "Oh, don't worry. We're very happy together. Aren't we, darling?"
Damien met her gaze, something sharp flickering in his eyes.
"Ecstatic," he murmured. And just like that, he kissed her.
Right there in front of everyone.
It was soft at first, then deepened—his hand sliding up her back, her fingers tangling in his lapel. The room disappeared. For a moment, it wasn't about pretending. His lips felt real. His warmth was real.
It was a mistake.
Because when they broke apart, the cameras had already caught it. The flash. The chemistry. The heat.
And so had her heart.
She turned away, flustered, needing space—only to nearly bump into Noah, the charming VC investor from earlier.
"You okay?" he asked, eyes concerned.
She nodded too quickly. "Yes. I just… champagne's stronger than I thought."
"You sure? That kiss didn't look staged."
Sienna froze.
"You don't know what you saw," she said, her voice suddenly thin.
Noah raised a brow but didn't press.
Behind her, Damien was watching. His expression unreadable. His hand curled tightly around a glass of scotch.
Possessive.
Suspicious.
Something had shifted tonight, and she could feel it in her bones.
She had come here with the intention of hiding the truth.
But now… now she wasn't sure the truth would stay hidden much longer.