CHAPTER 5: The Gala
1180 Words
Christa had worn worse dresses in her life.
But none of them had ever felt like the armor she didn’t ask for.
She stood in front of the mirror inside the Blackwood penthouse bedroom, staring at herself like she was trying to recognize a version of her life she hadn’t agreed to become.
The dress was too elegant.
Deep, muted silk that caught the light softly instead of demanding attention. It fit her in a way that felt intentional, like it had been chosen by someone who understood how to make a person visible without letting them feel safe.
Behind her, the room stayed quiet.
Damian was not rushing her.
He rarely rushed anything.
That was almost worse.
Christa adjusted the fabric slightly at her waist, then exhaled.
“This feels unnecessary,” she said without turning around.
“It’s expected,” Damian replied from near the doorway.
She finally looked at him through the mirror.
He was dressed the same way the world always seemed to see him, controlled, precise, impossible to read. Black suit, clean lines, no visible hesitation in anything he wore or did.
Like uncertainty had never been allowed near him.
“Expected by whom?” Christa asked.
“Everyone who matters,” he said simply.
That answer irritated her more than she expected.
Because it wasn’t dramatic.
It was normal to him.
Christa turned fully now. “You keep saying things like that. ‘Everyone who matters.’ ‘Necessary structure.’ Do you ever talk like a person?”
A faint pause.
Then Damian replied, “Not in public.”
That didn’t help.
It just confirmed something she was starting to notice.
He didn’t switch between personalities.
He simply removed parts of himself depending on the audience.
A knock interrupted the moment.
A staff member entered quietly, handing Damian a small item before leaving immediately.
Christa watched the exchange.
“No one here speaks unless they’re spoken to?” she asked.
“They understand efficiency,” Damian replied.
She shook her head slightly. “That sounds like fear dressed up as professionalism.”
He didn’t respond to that.
Instead, he offered her his hand.
“Let’s go.”
The drive was silent.
Blackwood vehicles didn’t feel like normal cars. They felt like moving rooms sealed, insulated, separated from the world outside in a way that made Christa slightly uneasy.
She sat opposite Damian.
Not beside him.
That detail mattered more than she wanted to admit.
Outside the tinted windows, Lagos shimmered differently at night, less chaotic, more deceptive. Lights stretched across buildings like jewelry no one could afford, but everyone looked at it anyway.
Christa broke the silence first.
“What exactly is this event?”
“A business gala,” Damian replied.
“That’s not an answer.”
He glanced at her briefly. “It’s a visibility exercise.”
Christa frowned. “A what?”
“People need to see stability,” he said. “This reinforces perception.”
She leaned back slightly. “So I’m a perception now.”
“You’re my wife,” he corrected.
The words landed strangely.
Not soft.
Not emotional.
Just factual.
Christa looked away.
The building they arrived at didn’t feel like a venue.
It felt like a statement.
Tall. Glass-lit. Guarded by people who didn’t look like they were there to welcome anyone, only to control who got in.
As soon as they stepped out of the car, attention shifted.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
But immediately.
Christa felt it before she saw it.
Whispers moved through the air like currents.
She stayed close to Damian without meaning to.
He noticed.
But didn’t comment.
Inside, the world changed again.
Music. Crystal lights. Conversations layered over each other in a controlled chaos that somehow still felt curated.
Everyone looked like they belonged more than she did.
“Relax,” Damian said quietly beside her.
“I am relaxed,” she replied automatically.
That earned the smallest pause from him.
Not disbelief.
Recognition.
They moved deeper into the hall.
And that’s when Christa saw her.
Vanessa Laurent.
She wasn’t introduced.
She didn’t need to be.
Some people entered rooms like they already owned parts of them.
Vanessa wore red, not bright, not loud, but deliberate. The kind of red that didn’t ask for attention but assumed it would receive it anyway.
Her eyes landed on Damian first.
Then shifted to Christa.
And stayed there.
For a moment too long.
Christa felt immediately that quiet shift in the air when someone is evaluating you as if you’re a variable in a problem they have already solved.
Vanessa smiled.
Not warmly.
Not openly.
Politely.
“Damian,” she said, stepping closer.
“Vanessa,” he replied evenly.
So this was her.
Christa’s chest tightened slightly, though she didn’t show it.
Vanessa’s gaze flicked to Christa again. “I didn’t realize you’d brought company.”
There was something in the way she said it.
Not rude.
Worse.
Familiar.
Damian’s voice stayed steady. “Christa.”
Vanessa nodded slowly, like she was testing the name in her mind.
“Interesting,” she said softly.
Christa forced herself to meet her gaze. “Nice to meet you.”
Vanessa tilted her head slightly. “Is it?”
That question wasn’t meant for an answer.
It was meant to sit in the air.
Damian stepped slightly closer not protective in a visible way, but enough that the space changed.
“Enjoy the evening,” he said to Vanessa.
A pause.
Then Vanessa smiled again.
“I always do.”
And then she walked away.
Slowly.
Like she wasn’t leaving the conversation.
Just ending one layer of it.
Christa exhaled quietly only after Vanessa disappeared into the crowd.
“She’s…” Christa started.
“Not relevant,” Damian interrupted.
Christa looked at him. “She didn’t feel irrelevant.”
That made him pause slightly.
Just slightly.
Then he said, “Perception is not truth.”
Christa let out a faint breath. “You say that a lot to someone who controls perception for a living.”
Damian didn’t respond.
But something in his expression shifted almost unnoticeably.
Almost.
Across the room, someone laughed too loudly.
Someone else watched too closely.
And somewhere in the distance, Christa caught sight of a man observing Damian with a stillness that felt… calculated.
She didn’t know his name yet.
But she would later.
Ethan Blackwood.
For now, he simply watched.
And smiled like he was already counting something no one else could see.
Christa leaned slightly closer to Damian, lowering her voice. “Do I need to be worried about her?”
“Vanessa?” he asked.
“Yes.”
A pause.
Then Damian said, “No.”
But he didn’t look at her when he said it.
And somehow, that mattered more than the answer itself.
The night continued.
But something had already shifted.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that Christa could feel it beneath everything else.
Like the surface of this new world had finally stopped pretending it was safe.
And had started showing her what it really was.
- Writer
