Episode Eighteen: Flashbulbs
1065 Words
The moment the car stopped, my survival instincts activated.
“No.”
Damian glanced beside me calmly.
“That’s not encouraging.”
“There are so many people out there.”
“There are always many people.”
“That sentence alone should qualify you for therapy.”
Outside the tinted windows, camera flashes exploded nonstop across the entrance of the hotel.
Reporters crowded behind barricades.
Voices shouted over one another.
Security moved constantly through the chaos.
And somehow all of it waited for us.
I suddenly missed my tiny apartment with the emotional intensity of a war veteran remembering home.
The driver opened Damian’s door first.
The noise outside immediately doubled.
“Elena!”
“Damian!”
“Are the rumors true?”
“Did the hospital scandal bring you together?”
Absolutely feral behavior.
I stared straight ahead.
“Nope,” I whispered. “I’m leaving society.”
Damian adjusted his cufflinks beside me.
“You can’t leave while seated in the vehicle.”
“Watch me.”
One corner of his mouth almost moved again.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Then his expression shifted back into that calm billionaire composure I was beginning to recognize.
Controlled.
Untouchable.
Like nothing outside could reach him.
He looked toward me carefully.
“Stay close to me.”
“I hate when you say protective things.”
His gaze lingered briefly on my face.
“I’m serious.”
And somehow—
That made my pulse betray me again.
Wonderful.
A security guard opened my door before I could recover emotionally.
Instant chaos hit.
Flashes blinded me immediately.
Questions exploded from every direction.
“Elena, did the Vale family pay for your mother’s treatment?”
“How long have you been seeing Damian?”
“Were you involved with Isabelle before her death?”
The last question nearly stopped me cold.
Damian’s hand pressed lightly against my lower back.
Steadying.
Guiding.
The contact grounded me instantly.
And judging by the absolute frenzy from photographers afterward—
That was a mistake.
“Over here!”
“Look at him!”
“They’re together!”
Oh my God.
We hadn’t even entered the building yet.
I kept my expression neutral while panic screamed internally.
The entrance carpet stretched endlessly ahead beneath bright lights and cameras.
Everything looked polished.
Luxurious.
Artificial.
People dressed in expensive gowns and tailored tuxedos filled the massive entrance hall beyond the doors.
Money truly had a specific atmosphere.
Cold and sparkling.
“Smile slightly,” Damian murmured beside me.
“I might bite someone.”
“Preferably not investors.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Inside the ballroom, the noise shifted.
Less shouting.
More whispers.
But somehow the whispers felt worse.
Because everyone stared.
Everywhere.
I suddenly understood how animals felt inside zoos.
Crystal chandeliers hung overhead casting soft gold light across the enormous room.
A live orchestra played quietly somewhere near the stage.
Servers moved gracefully between guests carrying champagne.
The entire event looked elegant enough for a magazine spread.
And yet beneath all that beauty—
Tension crawled everywhere.
People watched Damian carefully.
Watched me even more carefully.
Like they were trying to solve a puzzle.
Or waiting for us to collapse publicly.
A blonde woman in a silver dress approached immediately.
Beautiful.
Polished.
Dangerous.
Her smile froze slightly when she saw me.
Interesting.
“Damian,” she greeted smoothly.
“Claire.”
Cold.
Professional.
Definitely history there.
Claire’s eyes shifted toward me with perfectly practiced politeness.
“So this is Elena.”
Not hostile.
Worse.
Curious.
Like she was evaluating competition.
I already hated this conversation.
Damian’s posture tightened almost invisibly.
“Elena, this is Claire Holloway.”
The name sounded familiar.
Then I remembered.
Board member’s daughter.
Socialite.
Frequently photographed beside Damian in old media articles.
Oh.
OH.
Suddenly several things made sense.
Claire extended her hand gracefully.
I shook it politely.
“You’ve certainly become popular quickly,” she said lightly.
Translation:
You ruined our entire social circle in record time.
I smiled politely anyway.
“Trauma really expands networking opportunities.”
For one beautiful second, Claire looked completely caught off guard.
Beside me, Damian made a suspicious coughing sound that looked dangerously close to hidden laughter.
Victory.
Tiny victory.
Claire recovered smoothly.
“I hope the media isn’t overwhelming you.”
“That’s generous considering some of them are currently inventing murder motives.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
A nearby businessman nearly inhaled champagne incorrectly.
Claire’s smile tightened slightly.
“Well.”
“Yes,” I agreed pleasantly.
Damian intervened before social homicide escalated further.
“We should greet the sponsors.”
Translation:
Please stop verbally fighting rich people.
Probably wise.
Claire stepped aside gracefully.
But before leaving, she looked directly at Damian.
“You could’ve warned me.”
Interesting.
Very interesting.
His expression cooled immediately.
“This isn’t your concern.”
That answer landed sharply enough that even I felt it.
Claire’s face changed for half a second.
Hurt.
Then gone.
She smiled again like nothing happened.
Professional rich people were terrifying.
After she disappeared into the crowd, I glanced sideways at Damian.
“You attract emotionally complicated women.”
“I wasn’t aware there was a collection.”
“Oh, there’s definitely a collection.”
A faint breath of amusement escaped him.
Rare.
Small.
Still unfairly effective.
Then suddenly the room shifted.
Subtle.
But noticeable.
Conversations lowered.
People turned toward the staircase above the ballroom.
I followed their attention automatically.
And froze.
Vivian Vale descended the stairs slowly beside several executives.
Power radiated off the woman effortlessly.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Controlled.
Like the entire room belonged to her simply because she decided it did.
Beside me, Damian’s posture hardened instantly again.
Family armor.
I noticed something else too.
Several board members looked nervous.
Actually nervous.
Interesting.
Vivian reached the bottom of the staircase gracefully.
Then her eyes landed on me.
Not Damian.
Me.
A tiny nod followed.
Approval maybe.
Or acknowledgment.
Hard to tell with terrifying billionaire grandmothers.
Then suddenly Damian leaned slightly closer beside me.
“Do not leave my side tonight.”
The quiet seriousness in his voice erased every trace of humor instantly.
I looked up sharply.
“What happened?”
His jaw tightened almost invisibly.
“Someone leaked the guest list.”
Cold spread through me immediately.
“And?”
His eyes scanned the ballroom carefully.
“And one of the hospital executives just arrived.”
- Writer
