Chapter 8: The Breaking Point
1064 Words
The banquet hall shimmered with opulence—crystal chandeliers hanging like brilliant constellations, polished marble floors reflecting the glow of golden light, and silk-draped tables arranged with Manhattan’s finest. The evening had barely begun, but the hum of conversation was already a deafening buzz in Ella’s ears.
Damian stood at her side, a hand possessively placed at the small of her back as he led her through the crowd. Together, they were a vision of perfection—powerful, enviable, untouchable. The perfect couple, or so everyone believed.
But to Ella, it felt suffocating.
Smiles. Small talk. Photo after photo. Damian handled everything with effortless charm, flashing his sharp, calculated smile at all the right moments. And Ella played her part flawlessly, though every second drained her like water slipping through a sieve.
The moment she had been dreading arrived far too soon.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” A voice rang out from the stage. The guests turned toward the man holding the microphone—a sharply dressed event host with a too-polished grin. “Tonight, we’re honored to celebrate Damian Black and his stunning fiancée, Ella Hart!”
Polite applause filled the room, though Ella’s stomach churned at the word fiancée.
The host continued, beaming, “And I’m thrilled to share some breaking news. The date has been set for this long-awaited union! Mark your calendars—three months from today, Damian and Ella will officially tie the knot!”
The applause swelled, louder now. Glasses clinked in celebration. Ella felt the air leave her lungs.
Three months.
She glanced at Damian, her mask faltering as her eyes searched his face. But he didn’t look at her. He simply smiled at the crowd, raising his champagne glass as if this announcement had been the plan all along.
Ella forced a smile as well, lifting her glass and swallowing the rising lump in her throat.
Three months. That’s it.
The rest of the gala blurred together. Guests came to congratulate them, women gushing over her ring and asking about wedding details Ella didn’t know. Damian’s hand never left her, a subtle reminder to play her part.
By the time the event ended, Ella was ready to scream.
The car ride back to Damian’s penthouse was silent—at first. Damian sat with his phone in hand, scrolling through emails as though nothing had happened. Ella stared out the window, the city lights flashing like warnings across her reflection.
Finally, she broke the silence.
“Three months?” Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a knife.
Damian didn’t look up. “You heard the announcement.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Ella turned to him, her anger simmering beneath the surface. “When were you going to tell me?”
“There was nothing to tell.”
“Nothing to—Damian, this is my life! My wedding! You don’t think I deserve to know when it’s happening?”
He sighed, slipping his phone into his pocket before looking at her, his expression calm but cold. “It doesn’t matter when the wedding is. It’s happening regardless.”
“Maybe to you, but it matters to me!” Ella snapped, her voice rising. “You act like this whole thing is just some business deal, but I’m not a pawn on your chessboard, Damian!”
His jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing. “That’s exactly what this is—a business arrangement. You knew that from the beginning. Or did you forget?”
The words stung like a slap, even though she had expected them. Ella shook her head, laughing bitterly. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re being dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” She turned fully to face him, her voice trembling with frustration. “I left my life behind for this. My job, my home—everything—so I could play this perfect little role for you. And I don’t even get the courtesy of knowing when I’m walking down the aisle?”
Damian’s expression hardened. “You agreed to this arrangement because you needed me. I gave you a way out of your mess, Ella. So don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor.”
For a moment, there was silence—thick, heavy silence. Ella stared at him, her heart pounding.
“You really don’t feel anything, do you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Damian’s gaze faltered for just a moment, but it was gone so quickly she almost didn’t catch it. “Feelings make you weak. I told you that from the beginning.”
Ella turned back to the window, swallowing against the lump in her throat. When the car finally pulled up to the penthouse, she pushed the door open before the chauffeur could assist her.
“Ella—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” she said sharply, climbing out and walking ahead of him into the building.
By the time Damian caught up to her, Ella was already kicking off her heels in the living room, her hands trembling with anger. He closed the door behind him and watched her silently, his calm presence only infuriating her more.
“Why are you so angry?” he asked, his tone still maddeningly even.
Ella turned to him, her eyes blazing. “Because I’m not some puppet for you to control, Damian! I’m a person. I have feelings, even if you don’t.”
Damian’s gaze darkened, his hands sliding into his pockets. “You think this is easy for me?”
“Oh, please.”
“Everything I do—everything—is for a reason,” Damian said, his voice low but dangerous. “You might not understand it, but I don’t have the luxury of feelings. The moment I let my guard down, people like me lose everything.”
“Well, congratulations,” Ella shot back. “You’re doing a great job of shutting everyone out.”
For a moment, they just stood there, glaring at each other. Damian looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he turned on his heel and stalked toward his office, leaving her alone in the vast, empty room.
Ella sank onto the couch, pressing her hands to her face as exhaustion crashed over her.
Three months.
How was she supposed to survive three months of this?
- Writer
