Chapter 3
1021 Words
The first thing Calla noticed about being “Mrs. Vale” was that everyone stared.
The second? They didn’t smile.
By the time she stepped out of the sleek town car and onto the red carpet outside the Vale Foundation Gala, it felt like the world was holding its breath—waiting for her to trip.
Cameras flashed. Voices rose. Someone shouted Damian’s name. Someone else called hers—though she knew they didn’t know who she was. Not yet.
But they would.
Damian’s hand was firm against the small of her back, steady and possessive as they made their way into the grand ballroom. Everything sparkled—crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, champagne bubbling in the hands of a thousand eyes.
She wore a black silk gown with a slit up one side and a neckline she never would’ve dared wear a week ago. Her hair was pinned up, her makeup bold, her nerves carefully buried beneath layers of practiced indifference.
“You’re doing fine,” Damian murmured beside her, his mouth barely moving.
“I feel like I’m on fire.”
“Good. That’s what they expect.”
“What does that mean?”
“That you’re untouchable,” he said. “Keep walking.”
As they approached the central staircase, a tall woman in emerald green stepped directly into their path.
Celeste Blackwell.
Calla knew without needing an introduction. The room dimmed just from her presence. Tall, icy, striking. She wore diamonds like armor and smiled like a wolf.
“Well,” Celeste purred, her voice like velvet over steel. “So it’s true. You’ve finally replaced me.”
Damian’s jaw tensed. “Celeste.”
Calla extended a hand. “Calla Monroe. It’s nice to meet you.”
Celeste ignored the hand completely. “You’re shorter than I expected.”
Calla’s smile didn’t falter. “And you’re exactly as rude as I imagined.”
There was a pause.
Then—Celeste laughed.
It was beautiful, venomous. “I see he’s upgraded his taste in personalities, if not pedigree.”
“She’s not your concern,” Damian said coolly.
“Isn’t she?” Celeste turned to him. “You know, I never took you for the impulsive type. But then again, I suppose even you can’t resist a pity project.”
Calla stepped forward. “I may not be old money or magazine-worthy, but I’m real. Something I’m guessing you’ve never been accused of.”
Damian blinked. Just once.
Celeste’s smile cracked, just barely. “Oh, darling. You’re adorable. This won’t last, of course. But I’m sure you’ll get a pretty severance package once he’s bored of the game.”
She swept past them with a faint rustle of silk and venom.
Calla didn’t speak for a moment. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Damian touched her elbow. “You okay?”
“She’s the kind of woman who stabs you in the back with a butter knife,” Calla muttered.
“She likes it dull. More painful that way.”
Later that night, Calla found herself alone on the ballroom balcony, letting the cool night air settle her thoughts.
Inside, Damian was speaking to investors, smiling that carefully calculated smile. Everything about him was choreographed. Sharp. Intentional.
She was the only part that didn’t fit.
Or maybe… that’s why he’d chosen her.
“Lovely night for pretending, isn’t it?”
Calla turned to find Celeste standing beside her, clutching a fresh flute of champagne and staring out over the skyline.
“What do you want?” Calla asked.
“To chat.” Celeste sipped her drink. “You’re not the first. You won’t be the last. Damian goes through people like empty wine bottles—shiny, satisfying, and quickly tossed aside.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.” Her smile turned cruel. “Because I know what he’s really like. I know his father’s conditions. I know the secrets you’ll never see coming. And when you fall, sweetheart, it won’t be graceful.”
Calla didn’t flinch. “Is this how you deal with rejection? Intimidating the next girl in line?”
Celeste’s expression didn’t crack. “We were engaged. For five years. I helped him build everything you see. And you? You’re just the woman holding his place until I take it back.”
Calla’s stomach twisted.
Was she?
“Here’s a piece of free advice,” Celeste said, brushing imaginary lint from her dress. “Damian doesn’t love. He invests. And when your stock drops, he’ll cut his losses—fast.”
She dropped the champagne glass on the railing, letting it teeter for just a second before catching it lazily.
“Cheers, Mrs. Vale,” she whispered. “Enjoy the illusion while it lasts.”
Calla didn’t speak to Damian until they were back in the car.
The silence stretched like a chasm.
“You knew she’d be there,” Calla said finally.
“Yes.”
“You knew she’d corner me.”
“She’s predictable.”
“She’s vicious.” Calla turned to him. “Why did you break it off?”
Damian’s eyes didn’t leave the window. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
He exhaled slowly. “She leaked information. About my father. About the company. About me. To the press. She denied it, of course. But I knew. The timing, the access, the motive—it was all there.”
Calla went quiet.
“I needed someone I could trust. Someone outside all of it.”
“And you picked a delivery girl.”
He finally turned to look at her. “Because you had nothing to gain and everything to lose.”
Calla’s heart twisted.
“And what if I fall in love with you?” she asked, echoing the question from before.
Damian held her gaze. “Then I’ll remind you what this is.”
“Cold.”
“Safe.”
She nodded slowly. “And her?”
“She won’t win.”
Calla wanted to believe him.
But the echo of Celeste’s words haunted her all the way home.
- Writer
