Episode Twenty: Dance With Me
1283 Words
The warning hung in the air long after Richard Hale smiled.
Because that was the terrifying part.
He smiled while saying it.
Like threatening people politely was completely normal in his world.
Beside me, Damian’s expression turned dangerously calm.
“The only dangerous thing here,” he said evenly, “is exploiting a patient’s death for financial protection.”
Oh.
Oh that landed hard.
Richard’s smile didn’t disappear.
But it tightened slightly around the edges.
Tiny c***k.
Still human after all.
Several nearby conversations quieted almost immediately.
People were listening now.
Watching.
Rich people truly treated tension like live entertainment.
Richard adjusted his cufflink smoothly.
“You should be careful with accusations, Damian.”
“You should be careful with hospital records.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
My pulse slammed painfully against my ribs.
Because that wasn’t subtle.
At all.
For half a second, something cold flashed through Richard’s eyes.
Gone instantly.
But I saw it.
So did Damian.
Interesting.
Dangerous.
Then Richard smiled again like none of it happened.
“I see grief has made everyone emotional.”
The dismissal in his voice made anger flare hot inside me.
Before I could stop myself—
“Funny,” I said calmly. “Most nurses just call that accountability.”
The nearby silence deepened.
Somewhere behind us, a woman nearly choked on champagne again.
Apparently I was developing a reputation.
Richard looked at me differently after that.
Less dismissive.
More cautious.
Good.
He should be cautious.
“I hope,” he said slowly, “you understand how complicated healthcare systems can be.”
I folded my arms lightly.
“I understand hospitals pretty well.”
A pause.
Then softly—
“Better than most executives.”
There it was again.
That subtle challenge underneath polite conversation.
Damian shifted slightly beside me.
Not stopping me.
Interesting.
Richard studied both of us carefully.
Then finally smiled once more.
“Enjoy your evening.”
Translation:
This conversation isn’t over.
He walked away smoothly afterward, disappearing back into the crowd like nothing happened.
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Well,” I muttered weakly, “that felt medically unsafe.”
Damian’s eyes remained fixed across the ballroom.
“He was testing you.”
“I noticed.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“And now he knows you’re paying attention.”
Cold settled slowly in my stomach.
Because that sounded bad.
Very bad.
The orchestra music swelled softly around us while conversations slowly resumed nearby.
But something had changed.
People looked at us differently now.
Less gossip.
More curiosity.
More caution.
I suddenly realized tonight wasn’t just public damage control anymore.
It was positioning.
Sides forming quietly beneath smiles and champagne.
God.
I missed normal people problems.
“I need air,” I whispered.
Damian looked toward me immediately.
Without hesitation.
“I’ll come with you.”
The answer arrived too quickly.
Too naturally.
My chest did something deeply inconvenient.
Again.
We slipped away from the ballroom through a side hallway lined with massive glass windows and expensive artwork.
The farther we moved from the crowd, the easier breathing became.
Finally we stepped onto a private terrace overlooking the city.
Cool night air hit instantly.
Thank God.
Below us, lights stretched endlessly across the skyline.
Beautiful.
Quiet.
Nothing like the storm inside the ballroom.
I moved toward the railing slowly.
My heels were officially attempting murder.
Rich people shoes were instruments of suffering.
Behind me, Damian loosened his tie slightly.
The movement felt strangely intimate out here alone.
No cameras.
No reporters.
No audience.
Just us.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
For several moments neither of us spoke.
Then—
“You were incredible tonight.”
I glanced sideways at him.
“That sounds suspiciously sincere.”
“It is sincere.”
Well.
That was emotionally unfortunate.
I looked back toward the city quickly.
“Your fake relationship compliments are getting too believable.”
“That wasn’t for the cameras.”
The quiet honesty in his voice hit harder than it should have.
The air suddenly felt thinner.
I swallowed carefully.
“You really think Richard Hale is involved?”
Damian moved beside me near the railing.
Close enough that I could feel warmth radiating from him.
Not touching.
Still distracting.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“You sound certain.”
“I’ve seen men like him before.”
Something about that answer felt personal.
Tired.
Experienced.
I looked toward him carefully.
“You’ve been dealing with people like this your whole life, haven’t you?”
A faint humorless smile touched his mouth.
“Most billionaires don’t build empires by being kind.”
“That’s… deeply concerning.”
“Correct.”
For a second, the heaviness between us softened slightly.
Then Damian looked out over the city again.
“When my father died, half the board tried removing me within forty-eight hours.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“They assumed I was inexperienced.” His expression stayed calm. “Too young. Too emotional.”
Anger sparked instantly inside me.
“That’s horrible.”
“It’s business.”
“That’s not a defense.”
A small silence followed.
Then unexpectedly—
“I know.”
God.
There it was again.
That quiet honesty.
No ego.
No pretending.
Just truth.
I leaned against the railing beside him.
“You know what’s weird?”
“What?”
“I used to think rich people were untouchable.”
A faint crease appeared between his brows.
“And now?”
I laughed softly under my breath.
“Now I think you’re all emotionally exhausted.”
To my complete shock, Damian actually laughed.
A real one this time.
Low.
Brief.
Warm.
The sound hit me directly in the chest.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
“You’re not entirely wrong,” he admitted.
The city lights reflected softly in his eyes when he looked at me again.
And suddenly the atmosphere shifted.
Subtle.
But real.
No ballroom.
No media.
No performance.
Just quiet.
Too quiet.
My pulse started acting unreliable again.
Damian’s gaze dropped briefly toward the bracelet on my wrist.
Isabelle’s bracelet.
Something softer crossed his expression.
“You kept it on.”
I looked down instinctively.
“Oh.”
Brilliant response, Elena.
Truly intellectual.
“I figured returning family jewelry during a gala might create headlines.”
A tiny smile touched his mouth again.
“You’re nervous.”
“You’re observant.”
“You tap your fingers when you’re anxious.”
I froze slightly.
Because that meant he’d been paying attention long enough to notice habits.
Dangerous.
Dangerous dangerous dangerous.
“You notice too much.”
“So do you.”
Fair.
The night air moved softly around us.
And somehow the space between us kept feeling smaller.
Then music drifted faintly from inside the ballroom.
A slow instrumental piece.
Elegant.
Quiet.
Damian looked toward the sound briefly before his gaze returned to mine.
And something changed in his expression.
Less guarded.
More uncertain.
Which honestly startled me more than confidence ever could.
Then quietly—
“Dance with me.”
My brain stopped functioning immediately.
“What?”
“No audience,” he said softly. “No cameras.”
That somehow made it worse.
Because if there were cameras, at least this could still be called performance.
But out here?
Alone?
This felt dangerously real.
“I don’t really dance,” I admitted weakly.
“Neither do I.”
“That feels statistically unlikely.”
A faint breath of amusement crossed his face.
Then he held out his hand.
Simple gesture.
Nothing dramatic.
And yet my heart reacted like it had personally lost its mind.
The smart answer was no.
Absolutely no.
Instead—
I placed my hand in his.
- Writer
