Chapter 9
1147 Words
Calla Monroe had worn confidence like armor since the moment she married Damian Vale. But tonight—beneath the soft glitter of chandeliers and the cold smiles of high society—that armor was beginning to crack.
The gala was in full swing.
Crystal flutes of champagne. Music that sounded like elegance itself. Dresses that cost more than some people’s mortgages. And swirling among them all was Damian Vale—her husband in name, her enigma in reality.
He looked devastating in black. His tux was tailored to sin, and his presence silenced rooms. But Calla noticed the tightness in his jaw. The stiffness in his shoulders. The way his eyes kept flicking toward the entrance like he was waiting for a storm to walk in.
And walk in it did.
Celeste arrived.
Every conversation paused.
She wore red. Of course she did. Blood-red satin that clung to her curves like a second skin, her platinum hair cascading down her back in soft waves, and a smirk that promised war. Her eyes locked with Calla’s across the ballroom.
The corner of her lips curled.
Calla didn’t flinch.
She wouldn’t give that woman the satisfaction.
“Ready for battle?” Damian murmured at her side.
“Always,” she replied.
He glanced at her then, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do,” she said firmly. “We both do.”
Celeste glided toward them like she owned the building. She didn’t stop until she was inches from Damian.
“Darling,” she purred, reaching for his lapel, her manicured fingers brushing too intimately. “Black suits you. But then again, it always did.”
Damian stepped back subtly. “Celeste.”
She turned her eyes on Calla next. “And this must be the new Mrs. Vale.”
Calla smiled sweetly. “I’ve been Mrs. Vale for three months, but yes. Nice of you to catch up.”
The smile dropped from Celeste’s face for a split second. “Three months. That’s about how long your marriage will last. You’re new to this game, sweetheart. He doesn’t do forever.”
Calla’s voice was steady. “No, he doesn’t do liars. That’s why he left you.”
The gasp was audible from the woman behind Celeste. Damian’s lips twitched.
Celeste’s gaze sharpened into knives. “We’ll see how long you keep that smug look when the truth starts unraveling.”
“I sleep beside the truth every night,” Calla replied calmly.
“Oh honey,” Celeste said, voice saccharine and sharp, “you don’t even know who he really is.”
With that, she turned, hips swaying, leaving the scent of designer perfume and destruction behind her.
Damian exhaled.
Calla’s legs trembled under her gown.
They didn’t speak again until they were back in the car.
Damian’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel, though they had a chauffeur. The driver kept his eyes forward, expression locked in professional neutrality as the city lights passed in a blur.
“Do you think she’ll stop?” Calla asked finally.
Damian didn’t answer right away.
“She’s not going to stop until she’s destroyed everything she thinks belongs to her,” he said.
Calla turned to face him. “Then we destroy her first.”
He glanced at her. “You’re serious?”
She nodded. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. Not with you. Not with the world. We make this marriage look real. We make it untouchable. That’s how we win.”
Damian’s jaw ticked. “You’d risk that?”
“What am I risking? My pride? My name? Damian, she already tried to buy off a journalist to leak photos of me from college. She’s playing dirty. I’m not going to sit back and let her write the story.”
He studied her for a long moment.
And then, he nodded.
The next morning, Calla found a box outside her bedroom door.
A dress.
Black velvet. Custom fit. With a note that read:
Wear this tonight. We’re going public.
Underneath it: a diamond necklace with emeralds that looked too expensive to be real—except she knew they were.
She clutched the fabric against her chest, her throat tightening.
This was no longer an arrangement.
It was a declaration.
That evening, the cameras caught them the moment they stepped out of the car.
Flashes. Shouts. Reporters.
“Mr. Vale! Is this your wife?”
“Mrs. Vale, how long have you two been married?”
“Are the rumors about Celeste Stone true?”
Damian didn’t blink.
He pulled Calla to his side and kissed her.
Right there, in front of everyone.
It wasn’t soft.
It wasn’t polite.
It was a kiss that screamed mine.
The world exploded.
Calla leaned into him, hands resting on his chest as her head spun. His mouth was warm, firm, unyielding. There was no part of it that felt fake.
When he pulled away, he whispered in her ear, “That wasn’t for them.”
She stared up at him. “Then who was it for?”
His expression was unreadable. “You.”
Inside the event, they glided through handshakes and flattery like a couple seasoned in love. People noticed. Calla could feel the shift in how others looked at her now—less like a placeholder and more like a threat.
It felt… powerful.
Until she spotted Celeste.
Standing across the room, wine glass in hand, lips painted in a knowing smirk.
She raised her glass in a mock toast.
And then Calla’s phone buzzed in her clutch.
A blocked number.
One new photo message.
She opened it.
It was a picture of her father.
Sitting on a park bench.
Feeding pigeons.
Totally unaware.
A message followed:
“Be careful, Mrs. Vale. You’re not the only one with something to lose.”
Her blood turned to ice.
Calla barely remembered how she made it to the restroom.
She stood in front of the mirror, clutching the sink, trying to breathe.
This was no longer about pride.
This was a threat.
A real one.
Celeste wasn’t bluffing anymore—she was drawing blood.
Damian found her outside minutes later.
He took one look at her face and stiffened. “What happened?”
She handed him the phone.
His expression darkened with every second.
“Celeste,” he muttered.
“You said she wouldn’t cross the line.”
“She just did.”
Calla met his eyes. “Then cross it with me.”
Damian stared at her for a moment.
And then he pulled her into him and kissed her again—this time not for the cameras, not for the press, but like a man staking his claim on the battlefield.
Calla melted into it.
Into him.
Because war had been declared.
And they were going to win it together.
- Writer
