Married to my enemy

Chapter Seven

Chapter 7 – Bound by Fire

The morning light filtering through the curtains was too gentle, too golden, too soft for the kind of storm that brewed inside Alina Hayes.

She lay awake in the enormous bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her body hadn’t moved in hours, but her mind had been running all night. Over the kiss. Over the dinner. Over the way Damon looked at her as if he knew things about her that even she hadn't discovered yet.

Her stomach twisted. She hadn't cried. Not once. But the ache behind her eyes warned her it was only a matter of time.

She sat up slowly, brushing her hair away from her face. The silk robe Damon’s housekeeper had laid out for her felt like a prison uniform, no matter how luxurious it was. Everything in this house was gilded and cold — like a cage built for a queen with no power.

Alina stood and moved to the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her skin was pale, her lips still swollen from the kiss that had ignited a fire she didn’t ask for. She wanted to scream, to tear the memory of it from her body.

But what scared her more than the kiss itself was the way she had responded. Not just with fear or anger... but with something dangerously close to longing.

She turned away sharply. She wouldn't let him win. Not like this.

She dressed slowly, deliberately — jeans and a simple blouse, something real, something human. She needed to feel grounded. Not draped in silk and fear.

Downstairs, the scent of coffee greeted her before she entered the dining room. Damon was already seated at the breakfast table. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms again, he looked maddeningly composed, like nothing had happened.

He glanced up from his paper as she entered, his gaze flicking over her with that same infuriating calm.

"Good morning, wife," he said, voice smooth and unhurried.

She said nothing, walking past him to pour herself a cup of tea. Her hands trembled slightly, but she willed them still.

He folded his paper and leaned back in his chair. "Silent treatment?"

"Just trying not to start my day with violence," she replied coolly.

His lips twitched. "How noble."

They ate in silence. Every clink of silverware sounded like gunfire in the stillness between them. The air was thick with unspoken tension — remnants of the kiss, the threats, the warning glances.

"We have a gala to attend tonight," he said finally, setting down his fork.

Alina paused. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"You are," he said simply. "We have appearances to maintain. Besides, I want them to see you."

She turned slowly, narrowing her eyes. "See me? Like a trophy?"

His expression didn’t change. "Like a warning."

Alina felt her pulse skip.

"Wear something red," he added. "You look good in fire."

She didn't reply. She couldn’t. The heat in his gaze, the quiet command in his voice — it made something shift in her, and she hated it.

---

Hours later, she stood in front of the massive closet, staring at rows of designer dresses. She pulled out a blood-red gown — off-shoulder, form-fitting, the kind of dress that made you look powerful and exposed at the same time.

"Perfect," she muttered.

As the maid helped her into it, Alina steeled herself. Tonight, she wouldn't be Damon’s victim. She would be his equal. At least in the eyes of the people watching.

The dress hugged her curves like second skin, the slit up her thigh daring, the neckline bold. She added dark lipstick and diamond earrings. War paint.

When she descended the stairs, Damon was waiting.

He looked up from his watch, and for a brief moment, his expression faltered.

Then it returned. Cool. Controlled.

"You clean up well," he said.

"I’m not here to impress you."

"No," he agreed. "You’re here to haunt them."

The car ride was silent. Tense. Alina watched the city blur past the windows, her hands clenched in her lap. Her heart pounded, but her face was calm.

The gala was held in one of Manhattan’s oldest ballrooms. The chandeliers glittered like ice. Wealth poured out of every detail — gold trim, marble floors, string quartet music, champagne flutes held by manicured fingers.

And then there was them.

Damon Wolfe and his wife.

They entered as a unit, but not united. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back, not possessive, not gentle — strategic. He was making a statement.

Alina smiled for the cameras. Let them think what they wanted. Behind that smile was fury, fear, and a fire she refused to let burn her from the inside.

"You look stunning," a voice said beside her. She turned to see a woman, elegant, older, eyes sharp like polished glass.

"Thank you," Alina replied politely.

"I’m Victoria St. James," the woman said. "Old friend of the Wolfe family."

Alina's smile tightened. Damon, standing just a breath away, didn’t interrupt.

"And you must be the infamous new Mrs. Wolfe."

"I suppose I am."

"I expected someone... quieter."

Alina leaned forward slightly, her smile sharper now. "And I expected sharks to swim in deeper waters."

Victoria's expression barely shifted, but Alina saw the flicker of surprise.

Damon smirked beside her.

They moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries, playing the part. But underneath it all was a tension so thick, she could barely breathe.

At one point, a man approached — charming, laughing, bold.

"You’re even more beautiful in person," he said, lifting her hand to kiss it. Damon’s jaw ticked.

"Thank you," Alina replied with a coy smile.

"You must be Damon’s biggest gamble yet."

"Or his biggest regret," she said lightly.

The man laughed. Damon didn’t.

Later that night, as they stood alone on a balcony overlooking the city, Damon handed her a glass of champagne.

"You played your role well tonight," he said.

She sipped without looking at him. "So did you."

A pause.

"Victoria liked you."

"I wasn’t trying to be liked."

"That’s what made her like you."

Alina turned to face him. The city lights flickered behind him, but his eyes were darker than the night sky.

"What is all this really about, Damon? This marriage. This charade. The games. What do you want from me?"

He stared at her for a long time. Then, softly, almost sadly, he said, "Everything."

She laughed bitterly. "Then you’ll get nothing."

"We’ll see."

"Is this a game to you? Breaking me apart piece by piece just to see how long I can stand?"

He didn’t answer.

"You think pain makes people stronger," she said. "But sometimes, it just turns them into monsters."

"Maybe that’s what I want."

She stared at him, stunned.

"Then you’re more broken than I thought."

He moved closer, too close, but she didn’t step back.

"I don’t need your pity, Alina."

"Good. Because you’ll never have it."

For a moment, they just stood there — two storms colliding in silence.

Then he said, "Do you remember the first time you saw me?"

"Of course. You were destroying everything my father built."

"And you were wearing that blue dress. The one with the lace sleeves. You had fire in your eyes. Even then."

She blinked, caught off guard.

"You noticed that?"

"I noticed everything."

Something inside her cracked — not in surrender, but in confusion. She hated how he could still reach into her mind, tug at strings she didn’t know existed.

"Why me?" she asked. "Out of all the ways you could’ve destroyed my family. Why... this?"

He didn’t answer. He just looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes.

And that scared her more than anything.

Because even monsters could bleed. And Damon Wolfe — he bled in silence.

She turned away, the wind tangling in her hair. Her hands were cold, her heart colder.

"You can’t keep me in a cage and expect me to sing," she said softly.

"You haven’t sung in years."

She flinched.

"Goodnight, Damon."

He didn’t stop her as she walked away.

Inside the ballroom, the music swelled, laughter echoed, glasses clinked.

But on that balcony, in the shadow of a city that never slept, two people stood wrapped in silence and smoke.

Bound by fire.

And neither of them knew who would burn first.