Chapter Three – Diamonds and Distraction
1152 Words
The note stayed tucked inside her purse all week, folded like a secret she wasn’t ready to name. Every time Leila glanced at it, her heart kicked in protest, then settled into something warm and anxious. Not because of what it said—but because of what it didn’t.
She hadn’t asked for this attention. She hadn’t earned it in any obvious way. She was clumsy, blunt, and constantly overwhelmed by the orbit she’d been dragged into. And yet, somehow, she was becoming more than a disposable assistant. Draven Wolfe had made a decision.
She was going to be his date.
No—distraction, she reminded herself. There was a difference. And she wasn’t sure which one frightened her more.
By Friday evening, she stood frozen in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom. The gown—deep emerald and dangerously sculpted—looked nothing like the clothes she usually wore. It fit like a whisper of temptation, clinging to her curves and plunging in ways her usual dresses wouldn’t dare. Her hair had been styled into soft, deliberate waves. And the diamond earrings that had appeared mysteriously on her desk that morning now sparkled with indecent elegance against her bare skin.
She didn’t look like herself. But maybe that was the point.
The black car arrived at precisely 7:46 p.m., because of course it did. By 7:58, Leila was gliding across the marble entrance of the Newcrest Hotel’s grand ballroom, her arm tucked nervously into Draven Wolfe’s. Flashbulbs lit up around them like a war zone of luxury. She could feel the weight of every stare, every whispered speculation. Yet Draven moved like they didn’t exist—calm, unreadable, anchored in some gravity she didn’t understand.
The ballroom shimmered with excess. Chandeliers dripped gold. The air smelled of champagne and money. Women floated by in gowns that shimmered like stars. Men in sharp tuxedos greeted each other with firm handshakes and empty smiles.
Leila walked as gracefully as she could in heels, hyper-aware of how different she looked from everyone else. And yet, she belonged—if only because Draven said she did.
She quickly realized her presence had achieved its intended effect. Heads turned. Conversations paused. People watched her the way they’d watch a loaded gun at a diplomatic dinner—curious, but cautious.
Then came her.
A woman in a red gown, the kind of red that wasn’t chosen—it was claimed. Her eyes scanned Leila like a threat had walked in wearing emerald. She drifted toward them, smiling the way sharks sometimes do.
“Draven,” the woman purred, her voice velvet dipped in poison.
He returned a slow nod. “Elena.”
Elena. Of course she had a name like that. She looked like she came from money and revenge.
Her attention flicked to Leila, head tilted just enough to show superiority. “And this is?”
Draven didn’t even blink. “She’s with me.”
That was all.
Three words, delivered in a tone that brooked no questions.
Elena’s smile cracked just a little. “Lovely,” she said, eyes now colder. “Well, enjoy your evening.”
She disappeared into the crowd, leaving the scent of roses and war behind her.
Leila breathed out. “Friend of yours?”
Draven didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
They made their rounds through the room. People clinked glasses and wore civility like armor. Draven handled the politics like a chess master—sharp, poised, strategic. Leila played her role perfectly, listening more than speaking, laughing when appropriate, and offering observations he silently seemed to appreciate.
But beneath it all, there was tension.
It pulsed between them like static. Not the clumsy flirtation she’d experienced in the past, but something heavier. Loaded. Unresolved. It wasn’t just the way he looked at her—calm but intense—it was the way he didn’t look away. The way his hand rested at the small of her back, possessive without pressure. The way her skin burned under his touch.
At one point, when a senator’s wife leaned in a little too close, Draven’s hand slid lower, fingers brushing along the curve of Leila’s hip in silent declaration.
She knew exactly what he was doing.
But that didn’t stop her breath from catching.
She leaned toward him, voice low. “Your plan to distract them? It’s working. I’m officially distracting myself.”
His lips curved—almost a smile.
Later, during dinner, she caught herself watching him instead of the violinists performing near the fountain. He said little, but when he did, people leaned in. He didn’t charm; he controlled. And he didn’t make promises. He made statements that sounded like inevitabilities.
Leila didn’t know whether she admired him… or feared him a little.
At dessert, she stepped away for air, slipping onto the balcony that overlooked the glittering city. The cool night air kissed her bare shoulders, offering a moment of stillness in a room designed for theater.
She closed her eyes, letting the noise fall away.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” came his voice behind her.
She turned. “You sent a dress. Earrings. A driver. Was I supposed to interpret that as optional?”
His gaze was unreadable in the moonlight. “You could’ve said no.”
“I thought I was just a distraction.”
“You are,” he said. But his voice didn’t sound certain.
Silence stretched between them. The sky sparkled above, but the tension here on earth held more gravity.
She looked away. “This world… it’s not mine.”
Draven stepped closer. “It wasn’t mine either, once.”
Leila turned her head slightly, brows raised. It was the first personal thing he’d ever offered.
“I was raised in it,” he continued, “but I didn’t belong to it. Not really. That came later—when I stopped caring whether or not I fit.”
“Is that what I’m supposed to do? Stop caring?”
“No,” he said. “You’re supposed to make them care. Without trying. Like you always do.”
She blinked. “That sounded suspiciously like a compliment.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
She smiled, finally. But something stirred beneath it. She didn’t want to admit that she wanted more than compliments. She didn’t want to admit she liked standing here beside him, with the city glowing and his voice low and deliberate in the dark.
She didn’t want to admit anything.
So she said nothing.
Just stood beside him, her heart thudding harder than it should.
Eventually, he turned and offered his arm again. “Come back in. You’ve caused enough of a stir. Time to be useful.”
She took it, still unsure which part of this game she was playing—and which part she was beginning to enjoy too much.
- Writer
