Chapter Four: The Gala of Pretenses
1273 Words
Ariana stared at her reflection, stunned.
The woman in the mirror didn’t look like a girl from a one-bedroom apartment above a flower shop. She looked… expensive. Sophisticated. Like someone who knew how to glide across marble floors in heels that cost a month’s rent.
The silk gown hugged her frame perfectly—deep emerald green, with an off-shoulder neckline and a slit that made her blush. Her hair had been twisted into soft waves, and her makeup was flawless, thanks to the team Damien had sent over that morning.
Ariana barely recognized herself.
“This dress is magic,” she whispered.
“No,” said the stylist behind her, smiling. “You just finally look like someone the world’s going to have to notice.”
A few hours later, a black Bentley waited at the curb. Damien stood beside it, dressed in a midnight-black tuxedo that looked like it had been sewn onto him by the gods of elegance. His hair was slicked back neatly, his expression unreadable as always—until his eyes met hers.
And for a brief second, he looked… stunned.
“You clean up well,” he said, lips curling.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she shot back, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach.
He opened the car door for her. “Ready to face the wolves?”
Ariana hesitated. “Let’s just hope I don’t trip in these heels.”
He gave a rare chuckle. “Hold on to me, then. I promise not to let you fall.”
---
The gala was everything Ariana had feared—and more.
Crystalline chandeliers sparkled from the ceiling of the grand ballroom. A live string quartet played in the background, and the crowd shimmered in a blur of diamonds, laughter, and champagne.
Damien held her hand firmly, his grip warm and possessive as he guided her through the sea of high society. Every few steps, someone would stop to greet him—an executive, a socialite, a business rival with a fake smile—and each time, Damien introduced Ariana as his fiancée with effortless charm.
But behind the smiles, she felt the judgment.
Some looked at her with envy. Others, with thinly veiled disdain.
What’s a girl like her doing with Damien Westwood? their eyes seemed to ask.
She clung tighter to Damien’s arm, forcing a dazzling smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Relax,” he whispered close to her ear. “You’re doing great.”
“I feel like an imposter.”
He leaned in closer. “Then keep pretending. That’s the point.”
---
They made their way to the center of the ballroom, where photographers waited.
“Smile like I just proposed to you,” Damien said under his breath.
Ariana turned to him just in time to catch his hand gently tilting her chin up. He smiled at her—slow, practiced, devastating—and her heart skipped a beat.
Then he kissed her.
Soft. Intentional. Just long enough to send a message.
The cameras flashed like lightning.
When he pulled away, her breath caught in her throat—not because of the cameras, but because of the way he’d looked at her. Like he meant it.
Like it wasn’t just a performance.
Damien turned toward the press. “My fiancée,” he said proudly. “Ariana Cruz. The woman who changed everything.”
She forced another smile.
Inside, she was unraveling.
As the night wore on, Ariana slipped away to the balcony for air. She leaned against the stone railing, the cool night breeze kissing her bare shoulders.
“You’re good at this,” came a voice behind her.
She turned to see a tall, elegant woman with sleek dark hair and eyes like polished steel. She was beautiful. And terrifying.
“I’m sorry?” Ariana asked.
“I mean the act. The smiles. The dress. Damien always had good taste in accessories.”
The words landed like a slap.
“And you are?” Ariana asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Elena Blackwell. Damien’s ex. And—depending on how well you play your part—possibly his future again.”
Ariana blinked.
“I was supposed to be here tonight. But you showed up.” Elena smiled tightly. “You’re temporary, sweetheart. He’ll get bored eventually.”
Ariana’s spine straightened. “Good to know. I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”
With that, she turned and walked away before Elena could see the way her hands trembled.
Back inside, Damien found her again.
“You okay?”
“Peachy,” she said, slipping her hand into his like it belonged there.
Because tonight, it did.
But in the back of her mind, one thought lingered like a shadow:
> What happens when the pretending becomes real… and one of them gets hurt?
Damien guided Ariana back onto the ballroom floor, his hand warm against the small of her back. But she wasn’t really present anymore. Elena’s words clung to her like smoke, curling into her thoughts and leaving a bitter taste behind.
Temporary.
That single word echoed louder than the music.
“Did Elena say something to you?” Damien asked suddenly, eyes narrowing as he glanced around the room.
Ariana shook her head quickly. “No. Just... small talk.”
He didn’t believe her. That much was clear. But he didn’t press, and for that, she was grateful. She wasn’t sure what she would’ve said—Your ex just reminded me that I’m the knockoff handbag in a room full of designer clutches? Yeah, no thanks.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of forced laughter, too-sweet champagne, and painful shoes.
When they finally slipped into the back of the waiting car, Ariana exhaled loudly and kicked off her heels with a groan.
“That bad?” Damien asked, watching her.
She gave him a side glance. “Let’s just say if this whole billionaire thing falls through, I could run a pretty successful business faking love for the rich and emotionally unavailable.”
He smiled faintly. “And how would you rate your first assignment?”
She tilted her head. “Tiring. Confusing. Weirdly intimate. And... not entirely awful.”
He nodded slowly. “You held your own. They’ll be talking about us all week.”
“Us,” she repeated softly, to herself more than him.
Damien’s expression shifted—something softer, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. But just as quickly, it vanished.
“I’ll have the team reach out tomorrow about interviews. There’ll be press requests. You’ll need to learn how to deflect the personal ones.”
“Got it. Lie through my teeth, but make it charming.”
He chuckled. “Exactly.”
The car pulled up to her apartment, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
“Do you want to come up?” she asked without thinking. The words had tumbled out, unplanned.
Damien’s gaze flicked to hers. There was something unreadable in his expression—something tight and conflicted.
“No,” he said quietly. “Not tonight.”
She nodded and reached for the door.
“Ariana,” he said suddenly.
She turned back.
“That kiss earlier…” His voice lowered. “It wasn’t just for the cameras.”
Her breath caught, but he was already looking away.
She got out of the car and walked to her door on shaky legs, heart pounding in her chest.
Inside her small apartment, she leaned against the door and pressed her hand over her heart.
She was falling.
And it wasn’t pretend anymore.
- Writer
