THE DEVIL FIANCE

CHAPTER 2: THE DEVIL’S GALA

The ring was burning a hole in my finger.

It was 8 PM and I was standing in the back of a black town car wearing a tuxedo that wasn’t mine. The tailor had come to the penthouse at 6 AM. Dahlia’s orders.

“Wear this. Don’t talk. Don’t eat. Don’t look nervous.”

Easy.

My phone hadn’t stopped buzzing since the photos went live this morning.

ELIAS HART: WHO IS HE?

CEO’S SECRET BOYFRIEND REVEALED_

My sister texted: is this real??

I didn’t answer.

Dahlia sat across from me, reviewing something on a tablet. Red gown. Diamond choker. Hair swept up. She looked like she was going to war, not a gala.

She hadn’t said more than five words to me all day.

“Rules,” she said without looking up.

I sat straighter.

“Hand on my back. Smile when cameras flash. If anyone asks how we met, we met at the Met last spring. If they ask when we’re getting married, ‘we’re taking it slow.’ If Victor is there—”

She finally looked at me.

“Let me handle him.”

HiThe car stopped. Flashes hit the windows before the door even opened.

Cross Tower’s annual charity gala.

The biggest room in New York full of people who could buy my entire town with pocket change.

Dahlia got out first.

Then she turned and held out her hand to me.

My heart did something stupid.

I took it.

The cameras exploded.

“Ms. Cross! Is it true?”

“Dahlia! Who is he?”

“Elias! Look here!”

Her hand was cold, but her grip was steady. She led me up the red carpet like I belonged there. Like I wasn’t a kid who’d never had a suit tailored before today.

Inside, the ballroom was glass and gold. Chandeliers big enough to kill someone. Waiters with champagne. Women in dresses that cost more than my dad’s hospital room.

And everyone was staring.

“Smile,” Dahlia murmured.

I did.

For two hours it was hell. Handshakes. Small talk.

“Art history? How charming.”

“So you’re the reason she’s smiling more.”

“Congratulations. When’s the wedding?”

I lied. I smiled. I kept my hand on the small of her back.

She was perfect. Ice cold and untouchable.

Until I saw him.

Victor Kensington.

Same tux. Same perfect jaw. But this time he wasn’t alone. He had a blonde on his arm and a tablet in his hand.

He made a beeline for us.

“Dahlia.” He kissed her cheek. Too close. “And the fiancé.” His eyes dragged over my tux. “Nice rental.”

Dahlia didn’t flinch. “Vic. Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Congratulate you?” He turned to me. “Elias, right? Tell me, how does it feel to go from Payless to Patek in 24 hours?”

A few people nearby went quiet.

I opened my mouth.

Dahlia’s hand tightened on mine. “He doesn’t owe you an explanation.”

“Oh, I think he does.” Victor held up the tablet. “The board does. They’re very curious about our new assistant. His finances. His family.”

My stomach dropped.

Dahlia stepped in front of me. “If you have something to say, say it to me.”

“I am.” He smiled. “Just thought Elias should hear it too.” He swiped the tablet.

And turned it toward the cameras.

On the screen, in big white letters:

ELIAS HART

PENDING INVESTIGATION: INSURANCE FRAUD SUSPECT

My blood went cold.

“That’s not—” I started.

“It’s from last year,” Dahlia cut in, voice sharp. “Dismissed. He was cleared.”

“Was he?” Vic tilted his head. “Funny. The hospital didn’t think so.”

More flashes. Whispers.

I could feel it. The room turned on me.

This was it. This was how I ruined her.

I looked at Dahlia. She was staring at Victor, jaw locked. For a second I thought she’d throw me to them. Cut me loose.

She didn’t.

Instead she turned to me. To the cameras. To everyone.

And she kissed me.

Not a peck. Not fake.

Her lips were warm and sure against mine, and her hand came up to my jaw like she’d done it a hundred times.

The room went silent except for the cameras.

When she pulled back, her eyes were only on me.

“We’re very happy,” she said quietly. Loud enough for everyone to hear. “And anyone who has a problem with my fiancé has a problem with me.”

Victor’s smile finally cracked.

The PR team swooped in. The music started again.

But my hands were shaking.

Dahlia led me to a quiet corner by the terrace doors.

“You okay?” she asked. The first time she’d asked me that.

“No,” I admitted. “That wasn’t real.”

“The investigation?”

“The kiss.”

She looked at me for a long time. Then she glanced over my shoulder.

“Elias. Don’t look now.”

“What?”

“Victor’s on the phone. And he’s smiling.”

I turned anyway.

Victor was across the room, phone to his ear. Watching us.

And he mouthed two words:

_48 hours._

Dahlia’s phone buzzed in her clutch. She pulled it out.

Her face went blank.

She showed me the screen.

FROM: BOARD OF DIRECTORS

PROOF OF COHABITATION REQUIRED IN 48 HOURS

OR MS. CROSS FORFEITS CEO POSITION

My chest went tight.

“You have to move in,” Dahlia said softly. “Tonight.”

I nodded. What else was there to do?

She slipped her arm through mine again. “One more thing before we go.”

“What?”

She reached into her clutch and pulled out a small velvet box.

Inside was another ring. Thinner. Matching mine.

“For the cameras tomorrow morning,” she said. “When we arrive at the penthouse together.”

She closed the box and pressed it into my palm.

Her fingers lingered.

“Elias,” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For not running.”

Before I could answer, the terrace doors behind us opened.

A reporter stood there. Phone raised. Recording.

“Ms. Cross! Is it true you’re forcing your assistant to move in with you?”

Dahlia didn’t answer.

She just took my hand, the ring box still in it, and walked straight toward the cameras.

We have 48hrs to prove we live together ... .and the board knows already.