The billionaire’s last chance

CHAPTER FOUR: THE GALA TRAP

(Masks, Moles & Dangerous Games)

The hotel ballroom glittered like a crown jewel, dripping with chandeliers and silk-draped tables. Elena smoothed the curve of her black satin gown, every nerve alive with irritation. She hated galas—forced smiles, expensive champagne, and men who thought a woman in heels was public property.

But mostly, she hated that Damien Kane was already here.

He leaned against the bar, tuxedo sharp enough to cut glass, holding court with two associates. His laugh carried across the room—low, careless, dangerous. He caught her looking and raised his glass in a mocking toast. Bastard.

Elena turned her attention to her phone. A new message blinked from a blocked number.

Progress report. Who’s winning?

Her stomach coiled. The mole was here. Watching.

“Smile, sweetheart,” a voice drawled at her shoulder.

She stiffened. “Damien.”

He slid closer, the scent of his cologne dizzying. “Relax. We’re supposed to look like colleagues who can barely stand each other, not like you’re plotting my murder.”

“Funny,” she muttered, sipping champagne. “I am plotting your murder.”

His grin was infuriating. “Save it for later. Right now, we have a performance to sell.”

Before she could retort, Damien raised his voice—just enough for nearby ears to catch. “Vega, if you screw this deal up again, I’ll personally make sure you never see another courtroom.”

Heads turned. Whispers sparked. Elena’s blood ran hot. Two could play this game.

She set her glass down with a sharp clink. “You arrogant, power-drunk sociopath,” she hissed, jabbing a manicured finger into his chest. “I’d rather defend a serial killer than let you lead this case.”

Gasps fluttered around them. Cameras lifted. Perfect.

Damien’s smirk deepened. “Careful, darling. People might think you’re obsessed with me.”

She slapped him. The sound cracked like a gunshot.

The crowd froze. Phones recorded. Damien’s jaw flexed, but instead of retaliating, he leaned in, voice low enough only she could hear.

“Conference room. Ten minutes.”

Then he walked away, leaving her pulse rioting in her throat.

⸻

The conference room was dim, the only light spilling from the city skyline beyond the glass walls. Elena pushed the door shut behind her, every inch of her buzzing with adrenaline.

Damien was already inside, whiskey in hand. Of course.

She crossed her arms. “What the hell was that circus?”

He gestured lazily with his glass. “A distraction. Now half the firm believes we’re one step away from stabbing each other with cocktail forks. No one will suspect we’re working together.”

Her glare could have burned him alive. “You didn’t warn me.”

“You play better when you’re cornered.”

She wanted to throttle him. Instead, she slammed her phone on the table. The message glowed on screen.

His expression darkened. “When did this come in?”

“Ten minutes ago. Right before your little stunt.”

He swore under his breath. “The mole’s here. And they’re close enough to track our every move.”

For a beat, silence stretched between them. Then Damien stepped forward, his eyes sharp, his voice quiet. “We find them, Vega. Before they ruin us both.”

Elena’s heart thudded, equal parts fury and something far more dangerous. His nearness did that—stripped away her logic, left only heat.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped.

“Like what?” His mouth curved.

“Like you enjoy this.”

He leaned in, lips a breath from hers. “I do.”

Her pulse spiked. She hated him. She wanted him. And maybe, God help her, she needed him.

His fingers brushed her wrist—light, deliberate. “We set the trap tonight,” he murmured. “We flush them out.”

“How?” Her voice was shaky, and she cursed herself for it.

Damien’s smile was pure sin. “By giving them something worth spying on.”

Before she could protest, he kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. It was fire and fury, a collision of wills that stole her breath and shredded her defenses. She should have shoved him away. She didn’t.

Her hand fisted in his lapel, pulling him closer. His teeth grazed her lip, and the sound she made was half growl, half surrender.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes glittered. “Bet half the firm already believes you’re sleeping with me. Now we give our mole the show they’re waiting for.”

Elena’s chest rose and fell, her thoughts a mess of denial and desire. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.” He traced her jaw with a finger, slow and possessive. “But you’re going to play along.”

The room spun with the weight of his words. For once, Elena Vega—the woman who never backed down, who never lost—had no ready comeback.

Because deep down, she knew he was right.

And worse… part of her wanted to.

Her phone buzzed again. Another anonymous text.

Nice performance. Kiss him harder next time.

Elena’s blood iced over.

Someone had been watching.

Fin

She tore her hand from Damien’s grip, clutching her phone like a weapon.

“They’re not just close,” she whispered. “They’re in this building.”